Page 29 of Broken Queen
“What if your daddy suspects you?” I asked. She paused, turning from the full-length mirror to glance at me.
“If he does, then he’ll know that I’m not going to give up until I get what I want.”
Her lips pulled back in a smile, but with her sharp teeth gleaming, she transformed into a beast. The main terror in a pack of monsters. I had gotten a rise out of her, then. Blood flowed to my groin; I wanted to do it again.
“What about Daddy Bloom? Can we kill him too?” I asked. There was something satisfying about killing a rich old man who probably thought he could squash me like an ant. Given the chance, I’d make it fun for myself. Impale the fucker’s ass until the spear shot straight through his mouth, like a piggy roasting over a fire.
“The Marked Blooms Syndicate was founded by my family. My father isn’t going anywhere,” she said curtly.
“Unless you take his place.”
I stepped closer, putting a hand under her chin, our eyes meeting, those blue depths swallowing me whole. I honestly didn’t care what happened to the board or her potential leadership position, but I liked seeing what happened when she was motivated to stir shit up. A small part of me even considered withholding the throne from her as long as possible, just to see how far she would go.
But I was far more interested in what she would do once she actually sat on that throne.
“We can’t get rid of him until I’m on the board,” Zira said, her eyelids lowered in irritation. “The only way the other members will actually take my position seriously is if my father appoints me as a board member. Otherwise, I’ll just be?—”
She sighed deeply, looking away. I grabbed her, forcing her to lock eyes with me again. “Tell me.”
“A daughter. Nothing more.” She gritted her teeth. “They don’t take women seriously, even if you come from royal blood.”
I studied those blue eyes, rocky and bold, filled with so many conflicting emotions. I wanted to dive in and figure out exactly what moved her when she had been surrounded by violence since the day she was born.
“Do you love your daddy?” I asked.
“No,” she said quickly.
“Why not?”
She impatiently snorted. “Do you always ask personal questions?”
I tilted my chin. “Considering I killed your husband for you, I’d say I should get a pass on a few uncomfortable inquiries.”
She huffed, then let go, letting her arms rest at her sides. “He continually sacrificed my mother at the Masquerades until she finally died, and once she was gone, he raped and sacrificed me until I got married.”
My nostrils flared. Daddy Bloom had raped his daughter for years. Marriage to that pretty vanilla boy must have been a welcome escape. I didn’t have any sympathy for rapists. In fact, now that I knew that both Zira and Gabby had been hurt like that, it only added to my sadistic desires. Now, it was fucking personal, as if Bloom had fucked and killed my sister himself.
“Once you’re on the board, we’ll kill him,” I said, my words punctuated. I could wait, if that’s what she wanted, but the asshole was going to die, one way or another. “But now,” I said, slinking an arm around her, “what’s in it for me, my queen?”
Her eyes paced around the room. I could ask her for anything, and she’d have to deliver. She owed me that.
Finally, her eyes met mine. “What do you want?” she asked.
“I want to know who killed my sister.”
Zira nodded. “Consider it done.”
A calmness settled through me, a subtle buzzing sensation reaching my toes, like the early morning mist hanging above a pond. It was easy with us; both of us knew what to expect. One action for another. Someone like Zira, you could trust to be untrustworthy.
And if that cardstock note was right, then Zira would finally get me some answers about Gabby’s death.
Zira sank back into a practiced expression, as if she both liked and disliked me. I didn’t doubt that my assumptions were far from the truth. Zira was practiced in everything she did. Even when it came to seeing her revenge laid out on a platter before her, she was controlled. And now, only a short while later, she was perfect again. Sure, her hair was messier than before, but the makeup and blood were gone, and in a clean dress, she looked indifferent. She was perfect, and I’ll be honest—perfection irritated me. Her smile most of all. I wanted to ruin her.
“You have the perfect mouth,” I said, my eyes glued to her teeth and lips.
“It’s fake,” she said.
I cocked a brow. “What do you mean?”
