Page 89 of Scarlet Mark
Time to move. Because if I could hear Amara, then the bastards hurting her could hear me.
I set the bar down, preferring my hands as weapons, then stepped into the murky area beyond my cell, closing the door behind me. The space reminded me of an old wine cellar with its yellowish lighting and shadowy walls, but the row of cells certainly depicted a far more gruesome picture.
How many girls are down here?
A thought for another time because someone was approaching.
I stepped into an alcove adjacent to my cell, using the gloominess to my advantage.
“I think he’s awake,” a taunting voice called, footsteps sounding over the slick concrete floor. “Make her scream louder; I want to watch the jackass struggle.”
My lips curled.Oh, there will be a struggle all right.
The dipshit approaching was so focused on my cell door that he didn’t notice me until it was too late. I covered his mouth with one hand, grabbed his hair with the other, and yanked—hard—in opposite directions, snapping his neck.
I had no idea who he was, nor did I care. I let him fall to the floor and followed the sounds of Amara’s growls to the open torture area at the end of the corridor.
The scene before me painted my vision in red.
Amara was strapped facedown to a table, her creamy skin marred with red welts and blood. Everything else I had to ignore, too furious to focus. A man I didn’t recognize stood near her mouth and Malcom was between her spread legs.
I didn’t think.
I reacted.
I took the flogger from Malcom’s hand and slapped his bare chest with it harshly before shoving the handle into his mouth and punching him. He stumbled backward, stunned.
His buddy was faster. He’d pulled up his pants, a gun appearing in his hand, but I caught the jackass before he could lift it. Taking the pistol from him, I unleashed two bullets into his exposed torso in quick succession before turning to fire a shot into Malcom’s abdomen. The flogger fell from his mouth as I sent a second bullet into his—thankfully, still-clothed—groin.
Both men went down in a flash, their expressions ones of confused shock.
I tossed the gun onto the table beside all their instruments, most of which were coated in blood—Amara’s blood.
Fuck…
If I found her broken, I’d torture these bastards until they begged me to end it. I’d shred them. Shove things inside them the coroner wouldn’t be able to remove. Rip them apart with my fucking hands.
Steeling myself for the worst, I focused on her.
And my heart stopped.
She lifted her head to the side and stared up at me with a fierceness that stole my breath, her fury at what they’d been doing a palpable presence.
They’d not shattered her resolve.
No. They’denhancedit.
I unlatched her ankles first, then her waist, followed by her wrists. Her back was bleeding and sticky with unmentionable fluids, her hair matted, her body bruised, but her eyes held the windows to her soul as she rolled off the table onto unsteady feet.
I caught her hips, steadying her as she regained her balance, a curse falling from her bruised lips. “What do you need?” I asked her, knowing this was her time for revenge. Her moment to take out all that pain on two of the assholes who had caused it, and revel in their cries.
“A knife,” she rasped, her throat likely raw from screaming.
I hated that I’d not been here sooner, that I’d allowed them so much time alone with her. But wallowing in the past muddied the future, and I refused to do that. Not when I had my warrior before me, asking for my weapon of choice.
There were several scalpels on the table, and three of my daggers. They must have taken those from my clothes with the anticipation of using them.
Well, they were about to be used all right.
