Page 78 of Princess of Vengeance

Bullshit. He doesn’t worry. He schemes and controls.

His men have chauffeured me to and from my building, and have reported my every move. He thinks he knows exactly where I’ve been, and for exactly how long.

“I’ve been at Blood and Ink,” I say anyway, reminding myself that I’m supposed to be playing the part of his obedient wife. “I didn’t mean to lose track of time, but the place is coming along so much better than I expected.”

He studies me, but I meet his gaze without flinching. I’m not challenging him, but I’m not cowering either. I have to walk this line perfectly.

“You seem different tonight,” he says flatly, and for a terrible moment I wonder if he can smell my men on me, if the shower somehow wasn’t enough to wash away the evidence of where I’ve been and what I’ve done.

Fuck, I’d love more than anything to see his face if I came clean and admitted it all. That’s for a different time though. I take a deep breath and swallow back all the hate and anger I want to hurl in his direction. Instead, I do the opposite. I apologize.

“I am different,” I say, moving closer to the bed. “I’ve been thinking about what happened earlier between us, and how I reacted.” Saying these words makes me sick, but I push through anyway. “You were right. I’m starting to see the value in this marriage. In… every way.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, and a small smile plays at his lips. “Is that so?”

Have I really surprised him, or is he just playing along?

I nod, schooling my expression into what I hope looks like timid acceptance rather than the disgust I’m feeling.

“I just need a little more time,” I say, doing my best impression of vulnerability. “But I’m ready to start trying to be a real wife to you.”

The revulsion I feel as I pull back the covers and slide into his bed is almost overwhelming. I have to breathe through my mouth to keep from gagging, and it’s a serious exercise in self-control to keep from jumping up and running out of the room.

Everything I’m doing seems to be working though.

Malcolm’s smile widens as he sets his book aside and turns toward me, then pulls me close against his chest. His body is warm against mine, but it feels all wrong—like pressing against a mannequin wearing human skin.

“I knew you would see reason eventually,” he says, and I can hear the smug arrogance in his tone even though I can’t bring myself to look at his face when he’s this close to me. “You’re too smart not to recognize a good arrangement when you see it.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. His arm is heavy across my waist, and his hand is resting possessively on my hip. Thankfully, he isn’t pushing it any further at the moment. I’m pretty sure my little vulnerability act has just bought me a little more time before he expects me to be “ready,” but I know the clock is ticking.

I close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else. I imagine I’m back at the safe house, surrounded by the men who actually love me. I feel Nico’s breath on my neck, Atlas’s strong arms around me, and Killian’s lips against my skin.

Soon, I tell myself as Malcolm’s breathing grows deep and even beside me.Soon this will all be over, and he’ll pay for every second of this torture.

I fall asleep thinking about my men and dreaming about Malcolm’s blood.

I’m backin that alley, my back pressed against brick, surrounded by Bullets members. Their hands are everywhere, tearing at my clothes, pinning me down. I try to fight but there are too many of them. I scream but no sound comes out.

Then the faces change. It’s not the Bullets anymore—it’s Ambrose, with his twisted smile and intelligent, scheming eyes. “You’re mine now,” he whispers. “You’ve always been mine.”

But when I look again, it’s Malcolm looming over me, his cold, dead eyes peering out at me from the darkness. “Everything about you is mine,” he says, using the same words from his office. “Your name. Your body. Your future.”

I try to run, but my legs won’t move. I try to scream again, but his hand clamps over my mouth. Behind him, I see my mother’s face, her eyes sad and haunted as she watches me struggle.

“You can’t escape,” Malcolm tells me as his features start to blur. “No one escapes me.”

I jerk awake with a gasp, and my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Sweat has flattened my hair to my forehead, and my body trembles like I’m coming down from a bad high. It takes me a second to remember where I am, and when I do, the reality is almost as bad as the nightmare.

Malcolm’s house. Malcolm’s bedroom. Malcolm’s bed.

And now that I’m fully awake, I can feel his eyes on me. Without saying anything, I turn my head slowly to look at him. He’s propped up on one elbow beside me, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.

Fuck, he’s creepy. How long has he been watching me?

“You were having a bad dream.” He isn’t asking, and I feel way too exposed like this—in his bed and at his mercy.

I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing. “I’m fine. It was just a dream.”

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