Page 75 of Scarlet Mark
No reply, her eyes affixed to the ground as her head remained bowed.
I cupped her cheek to tilt her face upward and took in her vacant expression. She didn’t blink, her pupils so dilated I couldn’t discern the color of her irises.
“Kitten.” I swept my thumb over her bottom lip, which parted on autopilot. She’d been fine only moments ago, but something about the hallway had triggered this reaction. Perhaps a nightmare of sorts, her conditioning kicking in, something that regressed her to this heartbreaking state of a woman trained to be used.
“Starting without us?” Franklin drawled from the doorway, a glass of bourbon in his hand.
Amara’s eyes closed, but not before I caught the tear lurking in the corner.
Right.
Plan B.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead, then brushed my lips against her ear. “Don’t disappear on me, sweetheart. I’ll fix this.”
“Making yourself right at home, I see,” Hampton said as he joined Franklin.
“I am,” I admitted, standing. “Your accommodations are impressive. Although, I was surprised to find the door to your play area unlocked. Were you already expecting someone for the evening?”
“We were shopping,” Franklin admitted.
I slowly removed my jacket, not wanting to soil it, and slid it over Amara’s shoulders to help shield her from their hungry gazes. “Are there others in attendance selling women?” I wondered, rolling my sleeves while they watched.
“What was it you said?” Hampton glanced sideways as if trying to recall my exact words. “Everything has a price? Right?” He smiled, his gaze falling to the back of Amara’s head. “You have her well trained.”
I gave him a noncommittal shrug in reply, already tired of this exchange. Just needed to finish protecting my clothes, then we could begin.
“Why is she covered? Is she teasing?” Franklin asked, the yearning in his tone making me want to kill him first.
“I thought you wanted to unwrap her?” I replied, done with my sleeves. I slid my hands into the pockets of my pants to palm a pair of throwing blades.
He sauntered forward, his bourbon in his hand. “I want a closer look at our prize. Let’s remove the jacket.”
“Sure. You’re welcome to try.” I didn’t step aside, nor did I bend to do his bidding.
“Try?” he repeated, smirking. “Oh, I’ll more than try.”
Hampton didn’t seem as sure, his stance in the doorway holding a touch of uncertainty. Recognition flared in his features as he studied Amara’s hair. “Where did you acquire her?” he asked, his hand sliding into his pocket.
“Where did we meet, kitten?” I asked, knowing she wouldn’t answer. “Oh, right, Amsterdam.” The knife left my palm with a flick of my wrist, nailing Hampton in the torso before he could finish withdrawing whatever item he desired. Franklin’s proximity to Amara put him close enough for me to punch him in the face with my blade-throwing hand, sending him flying backward.
I stepped around Amara, the knife from my other palm switching to my favored hand.
Hampton scrambled backward into the adjoining room, my dagger in his abdomen a nuisance more than a disabling throw. Oh, it’d kill him if he didn’t seek medical help, but he could still move. As he was doing now.
“What the fuck?” Franklin bellowed.
“You’re not of use to me,” I said, deciding to end him first. “In fact, you’re a fucking irritation.” He tried to sit up and shift away from me, but I was fast and practiced, while his athletic form seemed only used to a morning jog at best.
The razor edge of my throwing blade sliced across his throat with ease, crimson fluid bubbling from the wound as he fought to inhale.
“Drowning in your own blood is too easy a death, but we’re on a time limit.” He clutched his neck, his eyes bulging out of his head, soundless gurgles slipping past his lips.
I ignored him in favor of the bastard fleeing across the floor in the room. He already had a phone in his hand, dialing someone. That must have been the object he had gone for in his pocket. Too bad. I was spoiling for a fight, and it seemed he wouldn’t be the one to give it to me.
“Malcom,” he spit out as I joined him in the seating area. Fortunately, the door leading to the hallway was closed and appeared to be locked. “Amara’s here with a psychopath.”
I continued toward him as he backed up into the couch, his opposite hand against the blade still lodged in his stomach. If he pulled it out, he’d be in even more pain, something he must have known because he didn’t try to remove it.
