The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Twenty

 They hadn't seen her yet, so she stayed close to the wall in hopes of remaining unseen. Scales watched with mock boredom as the men brought Booker to him. However, as they drew closer, a smile flickered across his lips. Pushing himself away from the wall he had been leaning on, he approached with slow, wide steps.

"Well, well, how nice of you to find the time to meet with me, Larkin."

Booker couldn't respond due to one of the men's hands being clamped over his mouth, but he glared at Scales with something like humor in his eyes.

"I thought we might have a heart-to-heart. See, I'm a very generous man, so I decided to give you the opportunity to tell me what you know about the man behind the recent corpses before I move on to more persuasive methods," Scales continued.

The man keeping Booker silent removed his hand to allow him to speak. A crooked smile tugged at Booker's lips. "And here I thought you wanted a rematch. After all, some speculate that our last game wasn't as honest as it appeared."

"Are you suggesting I cheated, Larkin?"

"Oh, no. Not you."

Infuriated by Booker's smirk, Scales grabbed him by the shoulders and heaved him against the wall. Trinket tensed as his face hovered inches away from Booker's. "Tell me. About. The corpses," he hissed.

Despite the murderous gleam in Scales' eye, Booker's smirk remained intact. "What do you want with a few mutilated corpses, Scales? Your lot is more than capable of making your own."

"I want to know where they came from."

"Why?"

Scales pulled him forward and threw him against the wall. A grunt escaped Booker before Scales drew his face near again. "I'm the one asking the questions. Where did they come from?"

Booker began to laugh, and the sound terrified Trinket as she thought of how Scales would react to his insubordination. Anger blazed in the thug's eyes, and he slowly moved away from him.

"All right, then. If you don't want to talk, how about we see what we can do about that smug face of yours?"

He reached into his pocket, and the moonlight glinted off of the blade of a knife. Without thinking, Trinket let out a cry and ran towards him. The men who had been holding Booker grabbed her before she could get to Scales. Her first instinct was to reach for her faux perfume, but Scales caught her wrist.

"Her right pocket," he said to his men.

One of them stuffed his hand into her coat and pulled out the bottle. Scales gave a sickening smile as he turned his eyes to her.

"You might want to be more careful about constantly checking the pocket where your valuables are hidden," he said. "A classic mistake picked up by even the greenest of pickpockets."

"Are you comparing yourself to a petty thief, Scales?" Booker asked.

Scales stared at him for a moment, then turned back to Trinket. Another sly smile pulled at his lips as he fixed his gaze on Booker. "Scratch that. I'm not so interested in your face anymore," he said. In one fluid movement, he grabbed hold of Trinket and threw Booker to the other men. "I'm more interested in your strumpet's pretty face."

Booker fought against the men, but they held him tight. Scales pinned Trinket's arms behind her and slowly traced the tip of his knife along her jawline. Though he only pressed down lightly, she could still feel how sharp the blade was. For fear he would slit her throat without even trying, she kept her breaths shallow and tried to control her trembling. Booker's eyes were wide, his face drained of color as he watched the knife come dangerously close to her throat.