Page 62 of Princess of Vengeance

I feel like I’ve just been punched in the face. I go completely still while my heart seizes in my chest.

My mother died because of Malcolm.

Maybe indirectly, but it was because of a job he hired my father to do. A domino he pushed over that eventually led to my mother being killed, to my father building Enigma, to me standing in this office and married to a man I despise.

I stare at him in stunned silence, trying to process the enormity of what he’s just revealed. I think of Imogen, of the bitterness that edged her voice when she spoke of Malcolm. Of her sister’s death being the reason she joined the Syndicate. Now I understand that bitterness, because I feel it too.

“You’re a monster.” It’s the most honest thing I can say to him, but I know it won’t make a difference. Calling him out won’t change the trajectory my life is on, and it sure as hell won’t change the past.

“I’m not a monster.” His tone is almost gentle, and that makes it even more unnerving. “If I were a monster, I wouldn’t have been so patient with my new wife.” He steps around the desk, moving toward me with deliberate calm. “If I were a monster, I wouldn’t have allowed you to sleep in a separate room, in another bed, keeping from me what’s rightfully mine.”

The possessive claim in his voice makes my stomach churn. I’ve been tiptoeing around this moment since our “wedding,” knowing it was coming but hoping to delay it as long as possible.

“Nothing about me is yours,” I say, but we both know the truth.

In this world, according to its rules, I am his. On paper. In name. In the eyes of the Syndicate.

“Everythingabout you is mine.” His voice drops to a dangerous growl that makes my muscles tense. “Your name. Your body. Your future.”

I think of Nico, of that stolen moment in the bar bathroom. Of his hands on my skin and his mouth on mine. Of belonging to someone by choice instead of coercion.

Malcolm stalks toward me as he speaks, and my pulse kicks up. I move backward, maintaining my distance until my back hits the bookshelf.

He closes the gap between us in two long strides. Before I can slip away, his hand shoots out and grips my jaw hard enough to leave a bruise. I try to pull free, but he holds me in place so easily it’s terrifying.

“You think you’re still the one in control here?” he asks. “That you’re the one making choices?”

His mouth crashes down on mine, brutal and possessive. There’s no passion in it, only dominance—a reminder of his power and authority. His other hand slides up my side, groping roughly at my breast through my shirt.

I taste copper as his teeth cut into my lip. My body floods with adrenaline as every nerve screams at me to fight.

Trapped against the bookshelf with Malcolm’s weight pressing into me, I do the only thing I can think of—I slam my fist into his jaw as hard as I can.

The impact sends a jolt of pain up my arm, but the satisfaction of seeing his head snap to the side is worth it. He stumbles back a step, probably more from surprise than injury, and touches his split lip where a small bead of blood is welling up.

“You fucking bitch,” he hisses, but he doesn’t come any closer.

I straighten up, rubbing my throbbing knuckles. “Don’t touch me again.”

He dabs at his lip with his thumb, then examines the blood with an almost clinical detachment. “You’ve got fight in you. I like that.” His voice is calm and controlled again, as if I didn’t just punch him in the face. “It’ll make it all the more satisfying when you finally surrender.”

“That’s never going to happen. Ever.”

“Be careful.” He straightens his suit jacket, already mostly recovered from his momentary loss of control. “I want you willing. I want you to come to my bed of your own accord. But my patience has limits. And when it runs out…”

He leaves the threat hanging, unfinished but crystal clear.

“You don’t scare me,” I lie, because the truth is he terrifies me. Not just because of what he could do to me, but because of what he’s already done to my family, and the web he’s woven that I can’t seem to escape.

“Perhaps not yet,” he agrees with a thin smile. “But you will learn to respect my authority, one way or another.”

“I’m leaving.” I push past him, needing to be anywhere but alone with him in this room. My skin is crawling where he touched me, and I can still taste blood on my lips.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice follows me to the door.

I turn back with my hand on the doorknob. “Out. Don’t worry—I’m sure your goons will keep you informed of every goddamn move I make.”

I don’t wait for his response. Instead, I slam the door behind me and do my best to tamp down the adrenaline that’s still flowing through my veins.

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