Page 88 of Scarlet Mark

I rolled to my back, searching my surroundings.

Cement walls. Dirty floor. A well-used bed. And bars.

No guard, or any cameras. Just a standard, unkempt cell.

This type of shit didn’t happen to me often, mostly because I fought my way out of problems. But this time had been different. It was either take the hit, or fight and risk Amara being harmed in the crossfire. There’d been no real choice. I sacrificed myself for her, something I had originally warned her I would never do.

Alas, here I was. In a dungeon cell. With my ankle shackled to the wall.

Shit.

Taviv, or one of the other assholes, had stripped me, leaving me bare down to my boxers. They’d even taken my damn socks. No wonder I was freezing.

If Nikolai found me like this, he’d laugh his ass off.

As he would hopefully be here soon, I had best start moving.

Beginning with the metal clasped around my ankle.

I studied the contraption, somewhat disappointed in the old material. One would think the Roses could invest in higher-quality dungeon instruments. However, I supposed it probably worked on their standard female prisoner.

But not me.

The thick ring anchoring the chain into the concrete floor looked pretty sturdy, and it was wide enough to thread the rusty metal through it.

Yeah, that’ll work.

I sent the roughly five-foot-long chain through the loop, creating a pile on the other side, and stopped when the metal hoop on the ground met the shackle around my ankle. Then I stood.

Rolling my shoulders, I loosened my arms and bent to lift the twisted mess of metal. If I heaved it all at the right angle, with enough strength, that ring secured into the cement ground would aid me in snapping the steel circle right off my ankle cuff.

Just a regular deadlift.

Nothing exciting.

Right.

I exhaled slowly, focusing on the task, the metal heavy against my forearms. My thighs began to protest from my squatting position, encouraging me to move. I powered upward, the rusted chains digging into my skin.

And snapping right where I desired at the bottom.

Thank fuck.

My arms protested as I slowly and carefully returned the chains to the ground. The rusty loops had painted my skin an orangish shade that I didn’t care for.

Seriously, who owned a dungeon with such archaic bullshit? Arthur would be positively appalled with these accommodations. His underground lair put this place to shame.

Shaking my head, I went to examine the door, again dismayed at the antiquated manufacturing. They’d locked me in here with an old-fashioned latch and padlock. It was as if they wanted me to escape.

Glancing around, I found what I needed in the gross, decrepit bed. The old frame made it easy to twist off one of the legs, providing me with a lead pipe. I weighed it in my hands, testing—

A bloodcurdling scream had my head whipping to the left.Thatwas definitely Amara. And I would be killing whoever forced her to make that fucking sound.

This pipe would have to do.

I slid it through the bars of the door—an outdated style they probably kept down here to enable the sick fucks to spy on whatever women they usually kept in the room. Creepy as hell.

A sharp curse from Amara whistled through the air, fueling my adrenaline as I threaded the makeshift crowbar through the metal prongs of the padlock. Anchoring it the way I needed, I used it as a lever to pop the steel apart, the lock falling with a loud clatter against the concrete floor.