Angie Arms - Flames series 04 Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: The Strongest Flames
back to when she was a child. Back before he ever laid his vile hands on her. Back before her pain, and all her loss. Never could he go back. She would always have the memory of his hands on her, and she would know Marcus did not stop it.
His blows ended and he took the unconscious man’s lapel in both his hands , intent on strangling him, but he needed the man to suffer. He needed it so bad he felt he could not breathe as he stared down at the Emir’s bloody face.
“We have to go,” Roland’s voice came from the doorway. He sounded as if he was far, far away. He would take the Emir with them , and force him to walk behind their horses, until he fell from exhaustion. But it wouldn’t be before his mouth became so dry with his thirst, his tongue would stick to the roof of his mouth, and his lips would be cracked and bloody. But they wouldn’t stop. Not even when his feet would refuse to move any more. Then he would drag him until all the skin was drug from his bones. If the man still lived, he would cut his bonds and trample him with the horses, until he was nothing but a bloody carcass for the vultures to pick clean.
“Mar cus.” It was Roland again. Marcus did not know how long he crouched there, staring down at the Emir whose eyes were beginning to flutter. He felt Alena’s hand, her gentle touch, as she laid it upon his shoulder. He immediately let the Emir fall back to the floor and covered her hand with his own, the knuckles bloody, and a testament to the anger that seemed no less intense, though he felt exhausted and lost. If he felt that way, how must Alena feel? To have survived the man once, think he was dead, only to be brought before him again. To be hurt by him again. He wanted to pound the man’s head into the floor until his blood flowed, and his skull was crushed.
He lowered his hand to do just that , but instead it went to the knife at his waist. Marcus pulled it from its sheath, and shakily climbed to his feet. He cast a glance to Roland, who still stood in the doorway expectantly. They only killed those in the three rooms surrounding the Emir’s. It would not be long before someone would happen upon the bodies, and they would have an entire army to face.
His eyes fell back to Alena , who had wrapped a blanket about herself. He handed the knife, handle first, to Alena. She stared at it, and then her eyes darted to Roland, as if he had an answer, then back to Marcus.
“Finish it,” he whispered.
He looked at her and saw hope so raw, it tore at his heart.
The man he held pinned to the floor beneath him tried to writhe, but a kick to his side stilled him with a cut off moan.
She shook her head tentatively , and looked back to the man on the floor. She slowly took the knife in her hand. She looked at it, twisting it in her hand. “Finish it so you know it is done.”
A gurgling noise came from the man at Marcus’s feet. “Manal,” it was the name he gave Alena many years ago, and Marcus knew how she detested it.
~ ~ ~
Manal! Manal! Manal! The name kept repeating itself inside her head. No! She was no one’s possession. She would rather die than be here again, at his mercy. She would rather die than feel his hands on her. She would slit her own throat before she would want to feel his hands forcing her legs apart. In the turmoil of her own mind she felt his hands, she felt him entering her. She heard his grunts, his praise, as if she would take pride in it.
Manal! Manal! He was the one that would not let her go. He was the one who always hurt her. It was him. He killed her parents. He tortured the men who rescued her. He was the one.
She looked from the man on the floor to Marcus . Her beautiful Marcus. He travelled so far to come to her rescue again. She did not doubt if Ghalib lived, he would come for her again, and again. But next time Ghalib would
His blows ended and he took the unconscious man’s lapel in both his hands , intent on strangling him, but he needed the man to suffer. He needed it so bad he felt he could not breathe as he stared down at the Emir’s bloody face.
“We have to go,” Roland’s voice came from the doorway. He sounded as if he was far, far away. He would take the Emir with them , and force him to walk behind their horses, until he fell from exhaustion. But it wouldn’t be before his mouth became so dry with his thirst, his tongue would stick to the roof of his mouth, and his lips would be cracked and bloody. But they wouldn’t stop. Not even when his feet would refuse to move any more. Then he would drag him until all the skin was drug from his bones. If the man still lived, he would cut his bonds and trample him with the horses, until he was nothing but a bloody carcass for the vultures to pick clean.
“Mar cus.” It was Roland again. Marcus did not know how long he crouched there, staring down at the Emir whose eyes were beginning to flutter. He felt Alena’s hand, her gentle touch, as she laid it upon his shoulder. He immediately let the Emir fall back to the floor and covered her hand with his own, the knuckles bloody, and a testament to the anger that seemed no less intense, though he felt exhausted and lost. If he felt that way, how must Alena feel? To have survived the man once, think he was dead, only to be brought before him again. To be hurt by him again. He wanted to pound the man’s head into the floor until his blood flowed, and his skull was crushed.
He lowered his hand to do just that , but instead it went to the knife at his waist. Marcus pulled it from its sheath, and shakily climbed to his feet. He cast a glance to Roland, who still stood in the doorway expectantly. They only killed those in the three rooms surrounding the Emir’s. It would not be long before someone would happen upon the bodies, and they would have an entire army to face.
His eyes fell back to Alena , who had wrapped a blanket about herself. He handed the knife, handle first, to Alena. She stared at it, and then her eyes darted to Roland, as if he had an answer, then back to Marcus.
“Finish it,” he whispered.
He looked at her and saw hope so raw, it tore at his heart.
The man he held pinned to the floor beneath him tried to writhe, but a kick to his side stilled him with a cut off moan.
She shook her head tentatively , and looked back to the man on the floor. She slowly took the knife in her hand. She looked at it, twisting it in her hand. “Finish it so you know it is done.”
A gurgling noise came from the man at Marcus’s feet. “Manal,” it was the name he gave Alena many years ago, and Marcus knew how she detested it.
~ ~ ~
Manal! Manal! Manal! The name kept repeating itself inside her head. No! She was no one’s possession. She would rather die than be here again, at his mercy. She would rather die than feel his hands on her. She would slit her own throat before she would want to feel his hands forcing her legs apart. In the turmoil of her own mind she felt his hands, she felt him entering her. She heard his grunts, his praise, as if she would take pride in it.
Manal! Manal! He was the one that would not let her go. He was the one who always hurt her. It was him. He killed her parents. He tortured the men who rescued her. He was the one.
She looked from the man on the floor to Marcus . Her beautiful Marcus. He travelled so far to come to her rescue again. She did not doubt if Ghalib lived, he would come for her again, and again. But next time Ghalib would