Page 62 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“It’s silly. I’m not explaining it well,” she said.
“No, it is an interesting observation.” Supplies packed away in the kit, he sat on his heels and listened to her.
“You know, after the accident, someone joked that Gemma and I were like a before-and-after photograph.” She shook her head at the maudlin memory. “I had just gotten off shift at a dinner and Gemma was eating at the counter. Long story short, she flipped a table.”
“I do not know this idiom.”
“Not an idiom. She literally flipped the table of the two dickweasels who thought they were hilarious.” The joke had been crass and mean-spirited, but Emry ignored it. Emboldened, the guys at the table kept going, asking her if she understood the joke or was she deaf as well as ugly. “Anyway, we got fired from that job because the manager did not appreciate us causing a scene with the dickweasels.”
“Your sister defended your honor, and you were penalized,” he said, full of outrage. “Unacceptable.”
“It’s in the past. Nothing we can do about it now.”
“Tell me the manager’s name, the place this occurred and when. I will locate the weaseldicks and teach them how to behave.”
She melted at the unexpectedly sweet offer for retribution. Reluctantly, she said, “Yeah, that’s a hard no. I’m not sending you off on a revenge rampage because someone hurt my feelings once.”
“You could. I do not mind.”
“You sweet talker, but the answer is still no.”
“It is not about the emotional damage, though that is important,” he said, and damn if that didn’t make her feel a little fluttery inside. “Scars are trauma. They are experience and growth. They are to be admired, not mocked. The only person in this story to be admired is your Gemma.”
Yup. Fluttery. She was all aflutter.
This had to be bad.
Ren
“I have made a discovery,” Ren said. He tossed the necklace onto the low table in front of the sofa.
His mate set down her tablet and picked up the item. The metal shimmered in the light. “I forgot about this,” she said. “We should return it to Pashaal. What happened to the pendant? Did the gem fall out?”
“It was cut glass, not a gem.”
“I doubt that. Pashaal is always going on about how expensive her jewelry is.”
“The pendant concealed this.” He set down the data chip and black glass fragments on the table, then perched on the edge of the sofa.
“A chip? What’s on it?” Emmarae held up the chip to the light, as if that would reveal its secrets.
That did not work. He already tried.
“I do not know. A skill greater than mine is required to bypass security.”
“Encrypted and secret. Shady as fuck. That’s on-brand for Pashaal.” Emmarae returned the chip to the table. “But it could just be photos.”
“Or secret banking transactions.” Exactly the evidence they needed to bring down a corrupt Council member. It was too easy.
Dovak’s words repeated in Ren’s mind. Emmarae knew too much of Pashaal’s organization, and the devious female needed to insure his mate’s silence.
“Why did she give this to you?” he asked.
Emmarae frowned. “She didn’t give it to me. I borrowed it. She wanted me to wear something nice and told me to pick something from the tray.”
“Did that happen often?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m trying to follow. Pashaal likes her things to be pretty or expensive. Preferably both. Wearing a few of her cheaper pieces wasn’t unusual.”
