Page 126 of Princess of Vengeance

I stare up at him, confused and angry, as he finally releases my face and steps back.

“Your father did a job for me, that much is true,” he says, beginning to circle me slowly. “A simple elimination of a rival. And he was very good at what he did. Clean and efficient. I admired his work.”

I stay silent as I watch him move around me. How much of this is the truth? Can I trust anything he says? My mind is racing to understand what he’s getting at, to lessen whatever blow that I know is coming.

“That’s how I met your mother,” he continues. “She was so beautiful. So intelligent. Perfect in every way.”

My stomach drops as the pieces start to click into place.

“I wanted her from the moment I saw her,” Malcolm says in a dreamy way that’s somehow more terrifying than his anger. “I tried to be patient. I courted her—gifts, attention, promises of a better life than your father could give her. But she…” His face darkens. “She rejected me. Again and again.”

“She was too smart for you,” I hiss, unable to keep the words in even though I know I’m probably getting myself into even more trouble.

Does it even matter anymore? He can only kill me once, and it can’t get any worse than that.

Malcolm’s hand cracks across my face so fast I don’t even see it coming. The blow snaps my head to the side, and the taste of blood fills my mouth where my teeth cut into my cheek.

“I was patient,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken, as if he hadn’t just hit me. “I gave her time. I thought surely she would see what I could offer her, what we could build together. But eventually, I realized the truth.” His eyes harden. “She was just stringing me along. Playing with me. She was never going to leave Jonah.”

He crouches down so his face is level with mine, and I can feel his hot breath against my skin. “So I made a decision. If I couldn’t have her, no one would.”

“You killed her,” I whisper as the realization settling in the pit of my stomach.

The smile that spreads across his face makes me want to vomit. “And then I made it look like she had been killed in retaliation for the job your father did for me. A tragic consequence of his actions.” He stands again, smoothing his hands down the front of his suit. “And then, because I’m a generous man, I offered Jonah a marker for entrance into the Dark Lotus Syndicate as compensation for his loss.”

My mind is reeling, struggling to process everything he’s just told me. My mother. My fucking mother. This monster in front of me killed her and then had the audacity to offer my father a place in his organization as compensation—like any amount of clout in this fucking city could ever replace the woman he loved.

“You’re lying,” I say, but I have a sickening feeling that he’s not. “My father would have known. He would have figured it out.”

Malcolm only offers a dismissive grunt. “Jonah never figured it out. He was too fucking broken after her death to look too closely at the circumstances, and too devastated to ever use his marker.” He circles me again, closer this time. “But then, imagine my surprise when one day, a woman who looked just like her—but with that ridiculous teal hair—showed up at Noctura.”

The pieces click into place. The way he’s looked at me since the first time we met. The way he seemed to see someone else when he stared at me. It wasn’t just my imagination. He’s so obsessed with my mother that he’s been seeing her in me all along.

There’s no mistaking the darkness that crosses his face as he narrows his eyes at me. “Your mother made a mistake. She chose the wrong man. And she paid for it.” He crouches down in front of me again. “I should never have given you a chance like I gave her. But I wanted to let you atone for her poor judgment. I wanted to give you the opportunity to make the right choice where she failed.”

He reaches out and grabs my chin again, then presses his thumb against my cheekbone, right below my eye, rubbing back and forth as if he’s trying to erase—or highlight—something.

“There.” He flashes a satisfied smirk. “Right there. That’s where her birthmark was. That tiny little mark that made her even more beautiful. Now you look just like her.”

“My mother saw you for the monster you are.” Yeah, I’m taunting him. Even if he slaps me again, it’ll be worth it to let him know exactly how I feel, right to his face. “Nothing you have could measure up to what she was already getting at home. She wouldn’t fuck you when her life depended on it, and neither will I.”

I only have half a second to brace myself before his fist cracks against my cheekbone where his thumb just was. Bright white stars burst behind my eyes as pain explodes through my face. The next blow catches me across the mouth, snapping my head to the side as my mouth fills with the taste of copper.

It happens so fast that I don’t even have time to cry out, and I think the lack of reaction enrages him more than anything else I could have said or done.

“Fucking bitch,” he growls. “Hold her down.” He snaps his fingers in Elliot’s direction as he straightens up and loosens his tie. “I told you my patience would eventually run out. I warned you that I’d take what is rightfully mine at some point.” He leans in a little closer, although I can hardly focus on him through the thrumming pain in my face. “Now I’m going to fuck you in front of your precious men. Let them see what you really are—what you’ve always been. My little whore.”

“You’ll never be half the man they are.” I force my tone to stay as steady as possible even though I’m already trying to beat back the traumatic memories and triggered anxiety from the last time I was this damn powerless.

I swore that would be the last time. I swore I’d never let myself be put in that position again. He might use brute force and strength in numbers to win this round, but I won’t ever submit to him, and I’m going to make him fucking fight for every inch he takes.

I thrash against Elliot’s grip as he forces me down onto my back and pins my arms above my head. I buck and kick, landing a solid hit to his ribs that makes him grunt, but he doesn’t let go.

“Stop fighting,” Malcolm says as he kneels between my legs, pushing them apart with his knees. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

“Get your fucking hands off me,” I snarl, still fighting even though Elliot has an iron grip on my wrists. “I’ll kill you. I swear to god, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Malcolm just laughs and reaches for my shirt. He grabs the fabric and rips, raising goosebumps across my arms as cool air hits my exposed skin.

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