Page 119 of Princess of Vengeance

“I think it’s time I taught my wife a lesson about respect,” he says so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “About loyalty. About the consequences of betrayal.”

He crouches down in front of me and grabs my face with one hand, digging his fingers into my cheeks. I try to jerk away, but the guard behind me is holding me firmly in place, making it impossible to move an inch.

“I tried to be nice,” he says, leaning in until his face is inches from mine. “I gave you time. I gave you space. I even gave you the resources to rebuild your pathetic little business.” His fingers tighten until I can feel my teeth cutting into the inside of my cheeks. “And this is how you repay my kindness? By plotting to kill me with my own people?”

The rage in his eyes is terrifying—not because it’s wild or uncontrolled, but because it’s so focused and precise. This isn’t a man who lashes out blindly. This is a man who calculates every ounce of pain he inflicts, then savors it like a fine fucking wine.

“You think you know what pain is?” he continues. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. But you’re going to find out.”

I’ve been in dangerous situations before, and faced death more times than I can count. But something about the clinical detachment in Malcolm’s eyes tells me this is different. This isn’t just about killing me. This is about breaking me first.

I think of Nico, Atlas, and Killian—my men, my husbands, the loves of my life—kneeling nearby, forced to watch but unable to help me. I think of the vows we made to each other, and I’m going to hold on to that perfect memory until the very end.

Whatever Malcolm does to me, I won’t break. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“I didn’t want to believe it when Elliot came to me,” he says, finally releasing my face and standing up. “When he told me my own wife and Imogen were stirring up a rebellion among the people I’ve treated so well over the years.” He sighs and straightens his cuffs, and it’s so fucking mundane it seems obscene in the middle of so much blood and violence. “I thought perhaps he was mistaken. Or jealous.”

I feel a rush of rage as I look over at Elliot. “I know why you were offered a spot in the Syndicate.” I pause a moment to spit in his direction, both from pure disgust and to clear some of the blood in my mouth. “The same way we all were. Malcolm took someone from you—someone you loved—and then offered you power as compensation for your loss.”

Elliot’s smile only falters slightly, but it’s enough to tell me I’ve struck a nerve.

“Your mother,” I continue, watching his eyes narrow. “He might as well have killed her himself, and then he offered you a seat at his table. How could you just let that go? How could you side with the man who destroyed your family?”

“Careful, Quinn,” Malcolm warns, but I ignore him, focusing all my hatred on Elliot.

“Or maybe you never really loved her at all,” I say. “Maybe you’re just like him—incapable of actual human feeling. Just another fucking monster wearing a man’s skin.”

Elliot’s face flushes with anger, and his composure cracks for the first time. Good. Let him feel something, even if it’s just impotent rage.

“You think you know me?” he snarls, stepping closer. “You think you understand anything about what I’ve been through? What I’ve had to do?”

“I understand enough,” I reply, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I understand that you’re a coward who chose to lickthe boots of the man who ruined your life instead of fighting back.”

The guard behind me tightens his grip, probably expecting Elliot to strike me. But Elliot just laughs, and it’s a hollow, bitter sound that sets my teeth on edge.

“You’re pathetic,” he says, shaking his head. “So righteous. So sure of yourself. And look where it’s gotten you. You’re right about one thing though. Malcolm did offer me a place in the Syndicate after my mother died. But you’re wrong about everything else.”

He steps over Imogen’s body without even glancing down, and comes to stand next to Malcolm like a faithful dog returning to its master.

“I knew from the beginning that you were weak,” he continues. “All of you.” He looks over at Cassandra, Rafael, and Owen before returning to me. “So concerned with avenging your loved ones, as if the dead care what happens after they’re gone.”

“Your own mother.” I shake my head as a fresh wave of disgust threatens to overtake me. “How can you?—”

“I don’t give a shit that my mother died. Sacrifices have to be made on the way to greatness. She was a stepping stone. Nothing more.”

The coldness in his tone is surprising, even after everything else that’s just gone down. This isn’t callousness—this is something deeper. It’s a complete lack of empathy that makes Malcolm’s calculated cruelty seem almost sane by comparison.

“You’re a fucking monster,” I manage to say through gritted teeth.

Elliot smirks. “Maybe. But I’m a monster who will still be breathing tomorrow. Can you say the same?”

I spit at him again now that he’s closer, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction when a bloody glob lands on his expensive shoes. “Go to hell.”

His face contorts with rage, and he moves like he’s going to hit me, but Malcolm catches his arm before his fist can connect.

“Not yet,” Malcolm says. “We have plans for her. For all of them.”

Elliot steps back, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s still going to make me pay for what I’ve just said and done.

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