Page 85 of Princess of Vengeance

I’ve planted the seed now, and I can see the question taking root in her mind. What if Malcolm knew there was a good chanceLayla would be killed? What if he used both sisters, then offered Imogen entry into the Syndicate so he could keep using her and her resources?

And that small seed leads to the inevitable question as she shoots me a wary, suspicious look. “Are you saying he set us up?”

I’ve never had to tread more carefully around a subject in my life. “I’m saying it’s worth considering all the possibilities. Especially when we’re dealing with someone as calculating as Malcolm Mercer.”

She sets her drink down with a sharp crack and begins pacing the length of the room. Princess jumps from my lap, startled by the sudden movement.

“That son of a bitch,” she mutters, more to herself than to me. “If what you’re suggesting is true…”

“Would it change things for you?” I ask. “If you knew for certain?”

She stops pacing and fixes me with a hard stare. “It would change everything.”

I know I’m playing with fire here. If I push too fast, I could blow this whole thing up in my face. But I’m running out of time. Every night I spend in Malcolm’s bed, every time his eyes linger on me, I can feel the clock ticking down.

“Maybe Malcolm shouldn’t have as much power as he does,” I suggest in an almost casual way. Probably too casual, judging by the way her head snaps toward me.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m just thinking out loud,” I say with a shrug. “It’s just… interesting how the Syndicate is structured.”

“How so?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“From what I’ve seen, Malcolm presents it as this equal partnership between powerful players.” I lean back on the couch, trying to appear more relaxed than I feel. “But that’s not really how it works, is it?”

“The Syndicate has rules,” she says, drawing out each word to an almost cautious degree. “We all agreed to them when we joined.”

“Rules that Malcolm created. Rules that Malcolm can apparently change whenever it suits him—like when he decided I didn’t have to die for refusing to perform Elliot’s votum.”

“That was surprising. And unusual.”

“Was it?” I ask. “Or is it just that he usually doesn’t need to be so obvious about bending the rules to get what he wants?”

“What exactly are you getting at?”

“I’m just saying, there are what? Six of you in the Syndicate? Seven, counting me. Malcolm is just one vote, but somehow he controls everything.”

“It’s his organization,” she says, but it sounds like she’s testing the words, not defending him.

“Is it, though?” I lean forward slightly. “Or is it just a way for him to make all of you his pawns? To use your resources, your connections, your skills—while making you think you’re equals?”

“That’s a dangerous line of thinking,” she warns, but there’s something in her eyes that tells me she’s listening—really listening.

“More dangerous than staying under his thumb? More dangerous than waiting for him to sacrifice you the way he might have sacrificed your sister?”

She’s stopped pacing, and her full attention is on me now.

“He enticed all of you with a blood debt and made you think he was doing you a favor when really, he was just collecting powerful assets.” I hold her gaze steadily. “And now you all follow his rules, perform his votums, handle his dirty work—and for what? What are you actually getting out of this arrangement?”

“Protection,” she says, but the look on her face hints that she’s reciting a line she might not fully believe anymore.

“From who? Each other?” I shake my head. “The only person any of you need protection from is Malcolm himself.”

“It’s not that simple. We’ve built something here. Networks, alliances, territories—all carefully balanced.”

“Balanced by Malcolm,” I point out. “With him at the top. Always.”

“And what’s your alternative?” she asks. “Dismantle the Syndicate? Go back to backstabbing and fighting among ourselves?”

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