Page 93 of Scarlet Mark

“I don’t think Assad cares.” He gestured to the documents. “It’s already done.”

“Then we need to undo it.” Because I didn’t want any of this. I only desired freedom, not to be the queen of an illegal empire. “I’m not Clarissa.”

“I know.”

“I’m not accepting this.” I pushed off the chair, swaying from the onslaught of sensation. Fuck, I was going to be sick. And I smelled. And I ached. And, oh God, I just wanted a shower and to lie down, and to forget everything.

Forget the way Malcom had touched me.

The feel of his flogger against my back.

The burning that followed when his fucked-up friend poured his glass of scotch over my wounds.

The agony of Malcom roughly toweling off my back afterward to wipe up most of the mess.

The way hetastedafterward when he tried to kiss me.

I shuddered, needing it all to end. To not believe a word of this. To disappear. “I don’t want this,” I said, likely repeating myself. “Killian, I don’t accept it.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out!” I shouted. “I’m not accepting it!”

“Amara—”

“No!” I dug my palms into my eyes, striving for control, trying to remember how to breathe. I’d killed Malcom. But Amir—my father—was still very much alive. And apparently, he expected me to take over the Rose family legacy.

I shook my head, my abdomen clenching tightly.

A low whistle sounded, causing me to freeze. “Do I even want to know?” a male voice drawled.

Frowning, I lowered my hands to find a tall, dark-haired man leaning against the door frame in a black leather jacket. His chiseled features reminded me a bit of Killian, in that both men had an edge to them, in a classically handsome sort of way.

“Nik, way to arrive late to the party,” Killian replied, turning to face him.

“Yeah?” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “The living area back there is littered with bodies. Pretty sure I crashed the party, man.”

“How many?”

He shrugged. “Thirty. Forty. Grenades are messy things. Although, a few tried to make a break for it outside. Gave me a chance to play a little target practice.”

“What about the girls?” I asked, my heart in my throat.They didn’t deserve this. None of them did.

“I found several of them in another room lined up like cattle. Killed their handlers, but left the girls alive.”

I swallowed. “How many g-girls?”

“Uh, nine or ten, why?”

Relief washed over me. Clarissa must have moved them to the auction area, readying them for the bids.

“She’s worried you killed some innocents,” Killian replied when I didn’t.

The other man snorted. “What do you think I am? An amateur? I checked the room before I tossed the grenade in there. It was filled with assholes in masks with placards.” He looked at Killian. “Dude, where the fuck are your clothes?”

“I thought you didn’t want to know?” Killian countered, his brow arching.

“The curiosity is killing me.” His lips twitched. “And you look like hell run over. Nice ornament, by the way.” He nodded at the metal cuff around Killian’s ankle. “What happened? You get distracted? Caught with your pants down—literally?”