“I thought you said she left the Carrington Group,” she murmured as she fingered the point of his pressed collar. The corner of her mouth curved in a sickled smile. “You’ve got a little something—” Red. All I saw was red. Red like the empty bottle of merlot between them. Red like the scarlet lipstick on his collar. Red like the crimson bite mark on his neck. Red like the flames of rage that consumed me like a wildfire. Red like the flags I should have seen. Red like the blood I was out for.
