Page 114 of Princess of Vengeance

“How about we take this outside?” he suggests, although it’s clearly not a suggestion. “I have some questions for you. And your friends over there.”

Shit. He’s spotted my men too. This guy doesn’t miss a fucking thing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeat, glancing around as if looking for help. “Let go of me, or I’ll scream.”

His lips curve into what might be a smile on anyone else, but on him, it just looks predatory.

“No, you won’t,” he says quietly. “Because you don’t want to draw attention any more than I do.”

His eyes bore into mine, and my stomach clenches as the full reality of the situation hits me. This man doesn’t miss anything. I’ve done sleight of hand in dangerous—even life-threatening—situations before. Like with Harlan and the Young Killers when I covered for Nico shooting one of their members.

But Ronan Kane is nothing like Harlan. He’s sharp and dangerous, and I’ve just made a serious mistake in underestimating him.

“You’re good,” he says. “Very good, actually. I doubt most people would’ve caught you before it was too late. But then, I’m not most people.”

I don’t respond. The best I can do is keep my mouth shut and maintain eye contact while my brain scrambles for a way out of this mess.

With his free hand, he slides his glass across the bar toward me. “If you didn’t dose it, you should have no problem drinking it. Right?”

Fuck. He’s calling my bluff.

“I’m not drinking from your glass.” I try to sound disgusted rather than panicked. “I don’t know where your mouth has been.”

“Fair enough.” He nods toward the bartender. “Two fresh glasses.”

The bartender sets down two clean glasses, and Ronan releases my jacket long enough to pour half his whiskey into one glass and offer it to me. “There. Problem solved.”

My mind races through all the possible ways I could handle this, and none of them are good. With my men’s help, I could probably take this guy out the old-fashioned way, but not without a fight. And Ronan Kane doesn’t look like the type to go down easy.

I can see Nico from the corner of my eye, his body language screaming that he’s ready to move, to create a distraction, anything to get me out of this.

I try to buy myself time. “You’re being ridiculous. I don’t want your whiskey.”

“You’ve created this problem for yourself. It’s going to become a bigger problem if you don’t take a drink.”

I let his threat linger for a moment before I shake my head. “I’m not drinking it. I can’t.”

“And I assume you have a damn good reason as to why you can’t?”

I don’t have a good reason, but I do have the truth. And since he’s clearly not buying any of my bullshit, the truth might be all I have left.

“Because I drugged it.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” He actually snorts out a laugh before narrowing his eyes and giving me a hard, long look. “Who do you work for? Who the fuck sent you here?”

“Nobody. I?—”

“Was it Harrington?” he interrupts before I can say anything else. “Del Rio? Who?”

I hesitate, weighing my options. There’s no believable lie I can tell that would explain why I’d drug a stranger’s drink. And even if I tried, I’m pretty sure Ronan Kane would see through my bullshit anyway.

“I was trying to keep you from meeting Malcolm Mercer tonight,” I say finally, keeping my voice low. “I don’t want you to make it to that meeting.”

His eyes narrow immediately. “Why the fuck not?”

I swallow hard, glancing around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. I can’t tell him everything—he’s worked with Malcolm before—but from what Malcolm said, it sounded like they didn’t get along very well. Maybe he’ll understand my hatred of the man.

“Because Malcolm Mercer is a sociopath who manipulates everyone around him for his own gain,” I say, trying and failing to keep my feelings out of my voice. “He forced me to marry him. He’s threatened the people I care about.”

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