Page 84 of Princess of Vengeance

For a moment, I think I’ve pushed too far. Imogen’s face hardens, and she looks away. She’s gripping the arm of her chair like it might fly out from under her, and a tense silence stretches between us for what feels like an eternity before either of us speaks again.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I add quickly. “I understand if it’s too personal.”

Just as I’m about to change the subject, she speaks.

“We had worked with Malcolm a few times before,” she says with an emptiness in her voice that tells me she’s deliberately keeping emotion out of it. “Smaller jobs. Nothing complicated.But then he came to us with a bigger opportunity—a narcotics deal. Large scale, international. The kind of thing that could double our operation overnight.”

She gets up abruptly and returns to the sideboard to pour herself another drink.

“What kind of narcotics?” I ask, trying to keep her talking.

“Heroin, mostly,” she answers after taking a long sip. “Coming in from South America through a cartel operation Malcolm claimed to have connections with.”

“But you were hesitant?”

“We shouldn’t have taken it. Something felt off from the beginning. Layla was especially skeptical. She thought the profit margins Malcolm was promising were too good to be true.” Her jaw tightens. “She was right.”

“What happened?”

“The deal went sour. The cartel we were meeting with had been tipped off that we were working with local law enforcement, which was bullshit.” Her voice rises slightly. “We never worked with cops. Ever. That would’ve ended our operation.”

“They didn’t believe you?”

“They didn’t care about the truth. They wanted to make an example.” She takes a deep breath, then another. “They took Layla.”

My stomach knots as I anticipate what’s coming next. “Did you try to negotiate?”

“Of course I did,” she snaps. “I offered them money, product, territory—everything I had. But they weren’t interested in negotiating. This was about sending a message.”

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, knowing how inadequate the words are.

“They tortured her for information she didn’t have. Then they killed her.” Imogen’s knuckles are white around her glass.“Malcolm showed up at my door two days later with his condolences and his offer.”

“The blood debt,” I say. “Your membership in exchange for taking out the cartel.”

She nods sharply. “It was the first and only votum I’ve used. With the Syndicate’s resources, taking out the cartel was… efficient.”

“You got your revenge,” I say, not as a question.

“I did.” There’s a cold satisfaction in her voice. “Every last one of them suffered before they died.”

I stroke the cat absently, letting Imogen’s words sink in. Something doesn’t sit right. A possibility forms in my mind. It’s dangerous, but worth exploring.

“Did Malcolm benefit at all from the cartel being taken out?” I ask carefully, watching her face.

Her entire body goes stiff. Her expression tightens, and for a second, I think I’ve miscalculated.

Badly.

When she speaks again, her voice is dangerously quiet. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m just trying to understand the full picture.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. Finally, she shakes her head, but it’s not a denial—it’s disbelief. I can almost see the wheels turning behind her eyes as she puts the pieces together.

“Bullshit. You’re not dumb. Why would you ask something like that?”

“Because from what you’ve told me, and from my own experience, Malcolm seems to create situations where he always comes out on top,” I explain carefully. “Where other people’s tragedy becomes his gain.”

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