Scarla Read Online Free PDF Page B

his skull. He dropped and she blitzed him with huge overhead blows, swinging and swinging, bludgeoning his head to a pulp. She threw the mangled brass aside. Everything dripped red, including her.
    Incredible,
gasped the intercom voyeur, as Robert crawled for the door. She spotted him and slid onto him like an anaconda, wrapping her good arm around his neck and tucking his head into the crook of her elbow, making sure it was cinched deep so he couldn’t bite. She scissored his leg, arched her back, squeezed. He bucked and writhed, unconscious in seconds. They were both too bloody for a grip solid enough to break his neck. She remembered the switchblade in her boot. She stood and the room spun like a top.
Blood loss. Call Face. Where’s the cell? Purse. Where’s the purse? Shit.
She wondered about the driver, about the voice on the intercom. There were at least two others in the house. Would they come through the door any second, guns or knives—
or teeth
—blazing?
    She staggered to her boots, grabbed one. No knife. She reached for the other, got the switchblade.
Click.
She went back for Robert, tripping over her purse that was beside the sofa.
Call Face.
She dug in, found her cell, scattering bills, dropping the knife. No matter that she’d just slaughtered four men with her bare hands, her eye was off the ball. Not only that, the ball was rolling down that serpentine driveway outside, maybe never to be seen again. She eyed her silk-wrapped wrist, saw blood dripping free. She flipped the phone open and scrolled to Face’s name. A shadow in the doorway startled her. Three drivers, all identical to the one who’d picked her up, all wearing the exact same expression of fear and apprehension.
Triplets?
Didn’t matter. She rushed the one in the middle. They all recoiled at once, losing their footing in the foyer and falling flat on their backs, arms up.
    “No, please!” they all mouthed, sounding strangely like one voice. “I’ll help you!”
    She slammed to a stop, mainly because she’d run into the door jamb. She teetered, unsteady.
“Hospital,”
she rasped.
    The intercom came alive.
Marla, the man you’re attacking is a board-certified physician. You’ve met Doctor Von Stern. You’ll receive medical attention, but you must trust us.
A pause.
Will you allow him to treat you?
She saw her blood spreading across the foyer and realized she couldn’t feel her arm. The Von Sterns got to their feet, looking concerned. The middle one caught her when she fell.
    Blackout.
    * * * *
    Facil dropped over the wall and started up the driveway on foot. The grounds were quiet, and though he saw the cameras in the trees the moment he climbed onto the property, all was calm. He figured he’d be surrounded by armed security soon, but walked freely to the front door as he pondered the scenario.
    Maybe it was an open party. Maybe everyone had their eyes on Scarla and not the security cameras. Maybe they were all dead.
He flipped the snap on his shoulder holster, kept walking. The AGPS displayed an aerial view of the house. Target found. He reached the Lexus, still parked in front, and before he could press the bell, the door opened.
    Von Stern stared skittishly, jacket off, sleeves rolled-up, sweat dotting his brow. “Marla’s alright,” he gushed.
Marla?
    Facil stuck his gun in the doctor’s face.
“On the floor.”
Von Stern flinched, lowering. Facil kicked him across the marble, then saw Scarla’s puddle of blood and the gore-drenched den just beyond it, its fire still flickering. He pressed his gun to Von Stern’s temple.
“Where is she?”
he growled.
    “She’s safe, she’s—I’ll take you,” the doctor stammered. “I’ll take you right to her.”
    Facil hauled him up, spun him around, held him by the collar.
    “You’re her pimp?”
    Facil ignored the question.
“Move.”
    Von Stern moved through the foyer, to a spiral staircase that wound down to a basement level. Facil saw a light switch to their left,