Scarla Read Online Free PDF Page A

Witnesses say you were pretty sharp. I’m looking forward to that security footage.”
    Facil looked away. “Enjoy.”
    “You saved lives here tonight, LeTour. You just come out for some late night coffee?”
    “Like I said, Dom, it’s not really late night, my time. But yeah, I just came out for some coffee.”
    Turkovich nodded. “Wanna come down to the station and give your report?”
    Facil glanced inside, caught the flatscreen. The shark was gnawing on a victim. “Can we take care of it tomorrow?”
    “How come?”
    Facil hesitated. “I need to touch base with an informant before morning. It’s important.”
    Turkovich looked at him hard. “Two o’clock?”
    Facil shrugged. “That’s fine.”
    Turkovich nodded. “See you at two.” He went back to the door. “That deserves a refill.” The waitress was slumped on a stool, waiting to go home. She inadvertently made eye contact with Turkovich and he shook his cup. She went for the pot. He eyed Facil before ducking back inside. “Good girl. Hope she doesn’t quit.”
    Facil thought of Scarla.
    * * * *
    Her eyes focused on the dancing flames in the fireplace as one of the guys had at her, grunting and groaning, squeezing her hips hard. The others joked and chortled, milling about the room, pouring refills, stroking themselves, grabbing her. Clive smacked her in the head and the guy inside her took exception.
    “Hey, do that shit on your own turn, Clive.”
    “
Fuck
you, Renault,” Clive sneered. “When’s the last time you had a piece of ass you didn’t pay for?”
    Suddenly, Renault was up in Clive’s face. “Watch your mouth, fat boy,” he spit, “or I’ll stuff it for ya.”
    His erection bumped Clive’s leg, and Clive recoiled as though he’d been shot. He looked around, outraged.“
Did you see that?!
He just touched me with his
dick!
You’re a goddamn
faggot
, Renault!”
    Laughter. Renault joined in. “Turn around, I’ll stick it up your ass, porky.”
    Clive charged him, fists flying. They crashed through the coffee table, grappling naked on the floor. Robert stepped in, hooking Clive’s arms, pulling him off. “Hey, hey,
hey!
Look what you’re doing!” Everyone jumped in to break it up. Scarla just watched. “Look at that table. Who’s paying for it?” asked Robert.
    Clive threw up his arms, blood dripping from a cut on his hip. “I’ll pay for it, I don’t give a fuck! The faggot couldn’t afford it anyway.”
    Robert eyed the blood, scowled. “You’re bleeding, go clean up.” Clive stormed off. Robert looked around. “There’s blood all over the rug, Renault.”
    A man’s disembodied voice came over the intercom. Scarla didn’t recognize it.
    Gentlemen, please don’t damage the property. The furnishings are very valuable to me and I don’t wish to replace a thing. Thank you. Continue when you’re ready.
    It made her feel like she was back in the white room, sent a chill up her spine. She shook it off. They all looked like reprimanded children. She swept her hair back, oddly thrilled at the prospect of resuming, and addressed them. “You heard the man. Who’s next?”
    * * * *
    Facil sat at one of downtown’s busiest intersections, waiting for the green light. No messages. That wouldn’t do. He accessed the Assisted Global Positioning System on his phone, and a city map sprang to life onscreen. Scarla didn’t know about the VeriChip they’d secretly implanted in her arm when she was “vaccinated” before her tour of duty. An encapsulated microchip the size of a grain of rice delivered to her upper arm via syringe, enabling them to track her by satellite anywhere in the world. If the signal ever went dead, worst-case scenario was someone took an extra-crunchy bite while enjoying her for dinner. A red blip blinked halfway up Overlook Drive. The light turned and Facil hit the gas, u-turning forcefully into oncoming traffic.
    * * * *
    She worked her way around the sofa, sitting in each guy’s lap and