Page 76 of Scarlet Mark
“Tell Jenkins that Killian sends his regards,” I said, smiling. “And that I hope he’s enjoying his tour around Europe.” It hadn’t been part of the plan to let him know I was here until he heard about the deaths of his friends. Alas, some situations required improvisation.
“What the fuck is going on?” Hampton demanded, flinching at the blade in his abdomen.
“You’re a monster who rapes and abuses women. And I’m here to ensure you never procreate,” I summarized. “Oh, and you have your buddy Jenkins to thank for all of this.”
He held up a bloody hand as I stepped closer. “Wait. We can work this out. I have money, friends in high places, anything you need.” He held out the phone. “Whatever your beef with Malcom is, I want no part of it. You can have him.”
“I assure you that you have absolutely nothing I want or need, and begging only makes you look weak. But I’ll accept this, thank you.” I took the phone. “Do you hear that, Malcom? It’s the sound of your empire collapsing around you.”
“Mister Bedivere,” Malcom replied, as calm and collected as ever. “Surely there is some sort of arrangement we can come to. This is just exhausting, isn’t it?”
“Exhausting?” I repeated with a humorless laugh. “No, Senator. It’s exhilarating.” To prove my point, I knelt and ran my blade across Hampton’s throat the same way I did Franklin’s. His shriek died in a series of gurgles I made sure Malcom heard through the phone. “Sorry, I assume you alerted the authorities while trying to stall me, and didn’t feel I had time to delay.”
His responding silence confirmed my suspicion.
“Well, it’s been great catching up with you, but I really must be going. Don’t worry, though. I’ll see you soon. And Assad, too.” I pressed End and slid the phone into my pocket.
Hampton stared up at me with glassy eyes, his death imminent.
“You deserved worse,” I said, frustrated that he’d died so easily.
I turned to find Amara observing from the doorway, my jacket still around her shoulders, her fingers white against her clutch. “I… I…” She visibly shook, her lips trembling.
I had her in my arms several steps later, pulling her against me in a hug while doing my best not to touch her with the bloody dagger. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
We really didn’t have time to waste, not with the police on their way, but I couldn’t just drag her out of here. Not in her current state.
She collapsed into me, her body trembling violently against mine as incomprehensible words left her mouth. Something about losing herself, fear, and a word I despised—failure.
“You didn’t fail,” I promised her. “You’re incredibly resilient to even be standing in this room. That’s not a failure, Amara. It’s a sign of strength.” I checked my watch, flinching. “Kitten, I need you to call on that part of you, the fighter in you, the one that allowed you to walk into the ballroom tonight with unrestrained confidence. Because we need to go.”
There was no time for cleanup. No time to hide our presence here. Running was our only option.
Thankfully, we’d been in masks the entire time.
Unfortunately, Amara’s prints would be all over this room. And likely the prints of countless other women. Maybe even men, too. I touched nothing other than her, my blades, and Hampton’s phone. All items I would be taking with us.
“Wh-what?” she mumbled, pulling back to study me, her gaze red from crying.
“The police are coming,” I whispered. And while I’d dealt with those types of issues before, her presence would make that task much more difficult. “Can you try to walk with me?”
“I… I… Yes.” She swallowed, her eyes seeming to clear as she shook her head. “Yes, of course.”
I glanced around, searching for any further evidence of our presence here. Amara still had her clothes, shoes, purse, my jacket. I returned to Hampton, wiping the blood off on his jacket as best I could before retrieving my other throwing dagger and repeating the process. Then I slid them into my pocket beside his phone and reached for Amara’s hand. She grabbed it like a lifeline, her pale cheeks making me concerned that she might relapse again.
I tugged her toward the door, then released her to grab the sleeve of my jacket hanging from her arm. Using it as a glove, I unlocked and twisted the knob, then peeked out into the hallway.
Silence.
Chances were the police were near the front gates, which would be blocked by all the cars waiting for their owners outside.
Thank fuck for well-attended masquerade balls.
“Let’s go,” I said, leading her into the corridor and using my makeshift glove to close the door. Releasing my jacket, I found her hand again and began a swift walk back toward the party with her keeping up at my side.
She said nothing.
I said nothing.
