Page 19 of Scarlet Mark

“My father owned a car like this,” Amara said quietly, her voice thoughtful. “I always thought it was wasted on him.”

“You mean Geoff Rose?” I asked, recalling the records I found about her adoption.

The Rose family had taken her in at the age of seven, providing her with a life that most orphans dreamed about. Which made her choice of profession a bit confusing. She didn’t need money. But maybe she enjoyed playing with the country’s elite? I could understand that on a level. I became a Cavalieri for a similar reason.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Daddy Rose.”

“He’s in Maine, right?”

She shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. He and Clarissa move a lot.”

“Clarissa?” I repeated.

“Yeah. My, uh, mom.”

She calls her adoptive mother by her first name? Interesting.

“Anyway, the nature of their business takes them wherever their client desires,” she continued, her attention on the sights outside. “Whatever the recent trends are, they study them, learn them, cater to them. And they constantly run the auction circuit. So.” She shrugged again. “Their whereabouts are usually unknown.”

“Auction circuit?” I asked, frowning.

“Girls, Killian.” She glanced at me sideways. “Girls like me.”

Amara

Ididn’t know why I admitted that to him. But his assumptions about me being a con artist pissed me off. At least it confirmed he wasn’t one of Malcom’s goons. They were all very well aware of my former fiancé’s proclivities.

And definitely familiar with the auction scene.

I shivered, folding into myself on the seat. “When are we meeting Boris?” I asked, needing to know how many minutes I had left.

“Boris?”

“Malcom’s right-hand man.” I had no doubt that monster would be the one picking me up. And he’d likely welcome me back into the fold using one of his favorite methods as well. My mouth flattened at the thought, my throat already threatening to gag.

That man would choke me to death if Malcom let him.

Maybe this time he would.

A treacherous tear threatened to fall, but I flicked it away before Killian could see. Not that I entirely cared if he knew how I felt. More that I didn’t want to show weakness with him, or anyone.

“Tonight,” he replied, his voice flat. “And Malcom didn’t mention a Boris.”

“He’ll be there.” With a few of his minions. The evening would be fun. Maybe they’d knock me out again so I wouldn’t remember it all.

I’d managed to snag a knife on our walk through the station, but I knew it wouldn’t help me. It’d been a quick thought, a hope underlined in stupidity. Killian had at least one real blade on him, likely more. Maybe even a gun.

And I had a fucking butter knife.

I almost wanted to laugh at how quickly he’d turned my world upside down, but I couldn’t even blame him. This was all Malcom’s fault. My parents’, too.

Fuck, they weren’t even my parents, but it was ingrained in me to think of them that way. A habit formed after years and years of calling themMomandDadin public, using their last name as my own, and pretending to be from their wealthy, sick world.

My real parents, the ones who actually created me, had sold me at the age of seven to be groomed for an auction.

But I’d been deemed special.

Unique.