Page 74 of Scarlet Mark
The thought stirred something inside me, a dark yearning, one tied to the female at my side and the opportunities that existed between us.
This could be my future.
Taking on assignments with this female as my partner.
Oh, Arthur would never allow it.
But maybe it was time to break a few rules. I’d done everything he ever asked of me for longer than I cared to remember, very rarely taking things for myself. The Tabella Della Morte was my first love and my primary mission. But life constantly evolved, and maybe, for once, I wanted something more.
Maybe I wanted Amara. Indefinitely.
An insane notion after so little time, but we clicked. And as my father always told me, sometimes you just know.
No. This is too much.
I shook the thoughts away, refusing to focus on any of it right now. Distractions ruined plans, and I had no intention of fucking this up tonight. It was an in-and-out job. No emotions allowed.
Amara had gone cold beside me, her arm ice against mine.
“Harness it,” I whispered, sensing the pain radiating off her. “Use it.”
She said nothing, her body seeming to move on autopilot. When we reached the final door, I tried to give her a moment to regroup her thoughts, but she was already turning the handle and stepping inside a typical sitting room.
I glanced around for any perceived threats or security. Nothing out of the ordinary. But Amara kept walking, going directly to a closet.
No, not a closet.
A door to another room.
One that had my stomach churning.
This was the master’s playroom, a dungeon of sorts that would typically appeal to my assassin senses. But it provided me with too vivid an insight into the types of things these men had done to her.
Especially as she settled in the middle of the cement floor, on her knees, head bowed.
“Amara?” I whispered, again glancing around and thankfully finding us alone. “What are you doing?”
But it was as if she’d stopped hearing me, her training having taken over in some fucked-up manner.
When I touched her shoulder, I found it ice cold and stiff. She didn’t acknowledge me, just took a steadying breath, her hands clasped around the purse on her thighs as she waited.
This was not what we discussed.
I needed her to play a mute sex kitten, to stick the men with the needles when they were too distracted by her body to notice, then force the poison down their throats.
But the Amara before me was a broken doll, a woman retreating into the recesses of her mind and refusing to face reality.
This was the headspace she must fall into when afraid. Or perhaps the state she adopted when she needed to turn off her mind, to accept the pain about to be inflicted on her body.
Fuck.
Killian
Iknelt before Amara, needing her to snap out of this as soon as possible. Because Hampton hadn’t described this location to me, just the seating area. This was no doubt where he planned to move the party, but we shouldn’t know it exists yet.
That he left it unlocked spoke volumes about the unvisited nature of this part of the home. Especially to keep it open during a party. Ballsy as hell. And totally irrelevant.
“Amara,” I whispered again, trying to catch her gaze.
