Page 79 of Princess of Vengeance

His eyes move across my face with an unsettling look that’s almost like… hunger. “You look like her when you sleep.”

He reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from my face, and I flinch before I can stop myself. “Like who?”

“Your mother. You have her features. Her spirit.”

For all the horrible shit he’s done to me, I’ve never wanted him dead more than I do right this instant.

I move back slightly, putting a few more inches between us. My mind is racing, trying to make sense of the way he’s looking at me. “Did you know her?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want the answer.

“Not as well as I would have liked to.” He shrugs, and there’s something in his tone that makes me want to shower for the next ten hours straight. “But I can tell you have a lot of her in you.”

Suddenly, I understand with sickening clarity that Malcolm’s interest in me isn’t just about power or control. It isn’t even about sex. It’s twisted up with whatever fucked up feelings he had for my mother.

I need to get out of this bed. Out of this room. Out of this house.

Time for another acting lesson.

I slide my legs off the edge of the mattress, doing my best to make sure my movements don’t look hurried or panicked. “I should get ready.” I force a sense of calm I don’t feel into my voice. “I’m meeting a friend today for lunch. Someone who can help me rebuild Enigma.”

Malcolm watches me, his expression calculating. “A friend?” The way he says it makes the word sound like it’s something foreign. Hell, it probably is to him.

“An ally,” I try instead, knowing that’s a concept he understands better. “Someone with connections who can help strengthen my position.” I hate myself for what I’m about to add, but I know it’ll play into his ego. “Our position.”

He nods slowly, apparently satisfied with my explanation. “Fine. Just remember where your true alliance lies now.”

I nod back, already heading for the bathroom. “I won’t forget.”

The door is barely closed behind me before I’m leaning over the sink and fighting the urge to vomit. The way he looked at me and talked about my mother? Jesus, what a sick fuck.

I turn the shower on as hot as it will go and step under the scalding water to start scrubbing at my skin until it’s raw.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and out the door, still moving as quickly as I can without looking like I’m running away. Even without turning back to look until I’m safely inside the waiting SUV, I can feel Malcolm watching me from the upstairs window the whole time.

And I can still feel his eyes burning into my back even after we’re miles away from that palatial prison.

A little while later, and I’m walking to the familiar exterior of what looks like an old warehouse but in fact is one of the warmest, coziest homes I’ve ever been lucky enough to visit.

Willow looks surprised when she opens her door and finds me standing here. Her eyebrows rise even higher as she looks over my shoulder and sees that I’m here alone.

“Hey, Quinn. Where are the guys?”

I try to force a smile but a grimace is the best I can muster. “They’re not here. Can we talk inside? Please?”

Her expression immediately shifts from surprise to concern as she steps to the side and waves me in. “Of course. Come in. Are you okay?”

As soon as she closes the door behind us, I feel a little bit of the tension leave my shoulders. I never fully realize how tense and anxious I get around Malcolm until I get a glimpse of what my life used to be like.

My way of living might not have ever met anyone’s definition of normal, but it was mine. It was the life I chose, and nowhere reminds me of that life more than this place—even if there are a few stark differences.

Like her sweet baby babbling in the background. The house smells like coffee and baby powder, and it’s all so normal that it makes my throat tight.

“I’m fine,” I lie to answer her question because… fuck, where do I even begin?

Willow gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe me for a second, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she leads me into the living room where I see her baby smiling up from her crib.

“She just went down for her nap,” Willow says softly, a smile softening her face as she looks at her daughter. “Which means she’ll talk to herself for about ten minutes, and then we’ll have about an hour before all hell breaks loose again.”

She gestures for me to sit on the couch, then disappears into the kitchen, returning a moment later with two mugs of coffee. She hands one to me before sitting down at the other end of the couch and tucking her feet up under her.

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