Page 30 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
Nonchalance and confidence poured from him like smooth liquor.
Fury burned in Quinn’s core as she watched him. One way or another, Emrys was responsible for Jane’s death, either by killing her at his own hand or by refusing to kiss Quinn. Both scenarios were rotten.
Clearing her throat and breaking eye contact, Quinn asked, “Are you here to gloat about Jane’s death?”
He said nothing, but his jaw locked, and a muscle jumped. Then, a stilted silence met her as he took his top hat off and placed it on the counter. His nonchalant demeanor slipped away at the question, and only darkness remained.
But Quinn couldn’t quite make out the nature of that darkness—the tone of it.
She swallowed, frustration hollow in her stomach. Emrys had power. And there was nothing she could do to stop him from whatever he was going to do next. Her only way forward was to gather as much information as she could from the autopsy before he ruined everything. So, she returned her attention to the body.
Quinn dumped the victim's stomach contents into a bag and labeled it. Then, she put the major organs into formalin jars to preserve them before moving on to inspect the intestines.
“You think I murdered Jane . . .” he said slowly, lingering on each word.
“Yes,” she seethed, her eyes trailing to the hem of his pants.
“Why?”
“Why are you here?” she said through her teeth.
“Perhaps I enjoy watching you play with bowels. Perhaps it is the highlight of my day.” His mouth fell into a hard line.
Quinn’s lips pressed together, and it took all of her strength not to throw something at him. “You have very sick hobbies then.”
“Conceivably.”
“Like murder.” Quinn sucked in a sharp breath. “Why are you trying to cover up this murder?”
Emrys glared at her, and the muscle in his jaw ticked. “What I do is no concern of yours.”
Oh, he didn’t like to be questioned. Not with all that power. People simply did what he wanted.
“You don’t deny it?”
He let out a low chuckle. “Deny what? Watching you do a job that my house oversees? Watching you do your job is my job.”
Quinn’s nostrils flared. “That’s rich, considering you barely ever take an interest inmy job. And when you do, you destroy evidence and get me in trouble.”
“Trouble?”
Quinn shook her head. Like he didn’t know. The man radiated bullshit. Of course, he knew. As he said, his house oversaw the entire city. “Never mind, why don’t you go back to beinguninterested in my job? That would be far more enjoyable than your presence.”
He scoffed. “You know, you’re right; I shouldn’t take an interest in you. But then you should drop your obsession with me.”
It hit like a punch to the stomach. Because he was clearly referencing the night before, making her mistakes abundantly clear. She had never been obsessed with him and never would be. It was a foolish, rotten deal, but she couldn’t say any of that out loud.
“I hate you.”
“Right now”—his voice was low—“the feeling is mutual.”
It all hurt and was too much, but damned if she let him get to her. Quinn inhaled sharply and refused to look at him. “You were at the crime scene. Why?”
He dodged the question with one of his own. “Why are you performing an autopsy on your best friend, who happens to be a gang member?”
A trickle of unease crawled up her spine. He knew things he shouldn’t, like that Jane was in a gang. Even Quinn didn’t know that, and Emrys was standing too far away to see the tattoo.
“Why do you refuse to answer any questions?” Her blood bubbled as her frustration rose into her tone.
