That’s my fucking girl.
But she’s asking me to sacrifice her for the escort service.
Duval shouts an order over my protest, and I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches. But the brute by Scarlet just chuckles. My muscles coil as he circles her like a predator, savoring this, the sick fuck.
“Come on, sweetheart,” the mercenary taunts, leaning in close, his hand brushing over her cheek like he’s trying to be tender.
Scarlet jerks her head away, disgust flaring in her eyes.
“No need to be shy. It’ll hurt less if you play nice.”
I thunder, and the chair rattles beneath me as I lunge forward. “Touch her again, and I’ll fucking kill you!”
The man laughs, low and ugly. “Touch her again? Sure thing.” His fist flies into her stomach, hard enough to make her whole body jerk.
She doubles over as far as the ropes allow, the chair scraping against the floor.
“Stop it!” My voice rips from my throat, harsh and cracked, but it falls into the stale air like a plea instead of the threat I want it to be.
“Give me the escort service and I will stop,” Duval offers.
I growl at the man as Scarlet screams her protest.
“Again,” Duval orders, gesturing with two fingers like this is nothing more than another one of his political handshakes.
The mercenary obliges, landing a backhand across Scarlet’s cheek. Her head snaps to the side. Blood sprays from her mouth as her lips split open, and my chest tightens like a steel vise. My muscles scream against the ropes, but they don’t fucking budge.
Scarlet lifts her head slowly, gaze unwavering. Even now, there’s no fear in her. It gives me a unique, brutal glimpse into what she went through during her childhood...during the experiments.
She spits a wad of blood onto the floor at the guy’s feet. “That all you’ve got?” she drawls.
His grin falters, and for a fleeting second, I see something close to doubt in his eyes. He doesn’t understand her. Doesn’t know her. But I do.
“Big talk for someone tied up,” he snaps, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back to expose her throat.
Duval’s voice filters through, asking for the goddamn escort service again, but I’m too focused on her. On the blood. On her unwavering expression that hides vulnerability.
“Don’t you fucking dare—” I struggle harder. The ropes bite into my wrists, and the chair groans beneath my weight.
The brute laughs, dragging her face close to his. “We’ll see how tough you are after this.” His free hand curls into a fist, which he drives into her ribs.
Scarlet grits her teeth but doesn’t make a sound.
The silence makes it worse.
“Keep going,” Duval says, and I swear I see amusement flicker in his cold, dead eyes. “Break her.”
That’s when the blade appears in the brute’s hand, glinting under the dim chandelier light. He slides it across her collarbone as Scarlet stares him down, unflinching. The bastard presses harder. Blood wells and drips, the menacing crimson spreading across her wheat-colored shirt. My stomach twists, cold and tight.
I can’t fucking move.
The panic rises like bile, unfamiliar and clawing at my throat. My body shakes from the rage building inside me—an inferno, relentless and suffocating. She’s mine. This isn’t supposed to happen to her.
Scarlet locks eyes with me as the blade presses deeper. Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. Just stares. And in that moment, something inside me snaps.
It’s not a calculated shift. That raging creature inside me that I’ve been protecting the world against rips through the mask. Primal. Uncontrollable.
Ropes dig into my ankles as I strain, my breath a low, guttural growl. The chair groans, wood splintering. With one last surge of strength, I lean forward, then slam back, shattering the chair beneath me.
