Page 40 of Princess of Vengeance

Malcolm’s fingers dig into my hip, and when I glance up at him, the look in his eyes sends a chill down my back. I’ve seen that same possessive gleam before, but it’s deeper and darker and more unsettling now.

No, not just unsettling. It’s fucking terrifying. I can tell by that look that he isn’t going to be content with controlling me—or even owning me.

He wants to break me.

I take a small step back, breaking contact with him as smoothly as I can manage. Not enough to make it obvious that I can barely stand his touch, but enough to put a sliver of space between us. His eyes narrow slightly, and for a second, I think for sure that I’ve fucked up, and now he’s going to call me out in front of everyone.

But he just smiles that empty smile of his and turns back to address the others. Thank fuck. I can’t afford to piss him offwhen his protection is the only thing keeping me alive in the world’s most exclusive dungeon.

Malcolm motions for Elliot to come over, and I tense for what could easily turn into an awkward, possibly violent confrontation. He’s the one whose votum I refused to honor, after all.

He doesn’t seem to want revenge at the moment, though—even Elliot isn’t stupid enough to go up against Malcolm on his home turf—so I get off the hook pretty lightly with just a harsh glare in my direction.

For now.

“You understand the necessity of this,” Malcolm says, his voice barely more than a murmur. If I wasn’t standing a foot away, there’s no way I’d be able to hear this conversation. As it is, I have to strain a little while still doing my best to seem uninterested. “The Syndicate could benefit from her connections and her?—”

“The Syndicate needs people who honor their vows.” Elliot interrupts, and now I can plainly hear the barely contained rage. “She made a complete fucking joke out of me, you, and everything we stand for.”

“And she’ll pay for that transgression.” Malcolm’s eyes glitter with something dark. “In fact, she’s already started to pay. Just in a different way than we originally planned.”

While they continue their hushed argument, Imogen slides up next to me, so quiet and unobtrusively that I don’t even notice her until she’s almost in my ear.

“Well, well,” she breathes in, her lips barely moving. “Looks like you found a way to cheat death after all. By marrying the grim reaper himself.”

“Like I had a fucking choice,” I whisper back, watching Malcolm gesture emphatically at Elliot.

“No, I suppose you didn’t. None of us ever really do when it comes to him.”

There’s a bitter edge in her tone that catches my attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means Malcolm makes the rules, and Malcolm changes them whenever it suits him.” She’s speaking so quietly now that I have to hold my own breath just to hear her. “The rest of us just have to fall in line and pretend we don’t notice how the game is rigged.”

I turn my head slightly, studying her from the corner of my eye. This is the first crack I’ve seen in the Syndicate’s united front. It’s the first hint that maybe not everyone is as devoted to Malcolm’s leadership as they appear.

“Careful now,” she murmurs, apparently noticing my interest. “Those kinds of thoughts are dangerous around here.” She gives me a knowing look. “But I’m sure you’ve already figured that out.”

On the other side of me, Malcolm’s voice rises slightly. “It’s done, Elliot. Unless you’d care to challenge my decision?”

Elliot says something in a lower, more grudgingly respectful tone that I can’t quite catch. Whatever it is seems to satisfy Malcolm though, because his posture relaxes slightly.

I want to ask Imogen more about what she meant—about Malcolm changing rules and the game being rigged. But I can’t risk drawing attention to our whispered conversation. Instead, I ask the question that’s been in the front of my mind since I saw her earlier. “The cat… is it okay?”

She blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“The cat we had to leave in your penthouse. When you went there…” I trail off, not wanting to reveal how much I know about her visits.

“Oh.” Her expression softens, but only a little. “Yes. It seemed cruel to leave it there alone, so I took it home with me.”

Relief floods through me. “Thank you for taking care of her. That means a lot.”

She gives me a stiff nod, and I catch a flicker of something in her eyes. Maybe recognition that I’m not quite the heartless bitch they all thought I was.

“Quinn.” The way Malcolm says my name is like a harsh command.

Imogen’s lips barely move. “Your master calls.” She steps away, but not before adding in a whisper, “Welcome back to hell, sister. I hope it was worth the price of admission.”

I watch her walk away with a million thoughts and questions running through my mind. Could there be more trouble in the ranks than Malcolm realizes? And if there is, how the hell can I use that information to my advantage?

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