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“I pretended like I had a business proposition for him.”
“I bet you did,” I say and then turn, slipping the blade back in its place.
She lets out a small growl behind me at my insinuation, and I know I have her right where I want her. Angry. More likely to continue sharing information.
“What’s your proposition?” I turn back around.
This entire time, Geo has been standing silently at the door, guarding it. I don’t expect anyone to come poking around down here. Most of our men avoid it if they can. If they haven’t been in here themselves, they’ve heard the screams inflicted by my father.
“I don’t have one.”
“I can’t decide if you are brave or stupid.” I shake my head. “Probably a little of both. You weaseled your way into a private audience with Bertrand Soltorre—who has killed for less, mind you. Then, without any plan whatsoever, you stuck a knife in his neck.”
“I had a plan,” she says and then presses her lips together, as if regretting saying what she did.
“So, no proposition, but you did have a plan? Interesting.”
She struggles against the bindings on her wrists and legs but to no avail. They are double-reinforced, and no one has ever been able to get out of them. Myself included.
I shake away the memory of my younger body bound in them.
“Care to share?” I lean closer to her, and she jerks back, as if afraid I’ll strike her. I don’t move. I’m using her fear to my advantage.
“No,” she says, and I have to grin at her audacity.
“No one sent you. Did you do this all yourself?”
“Yes.”
“I’m impressed.” I decide she’s had enough for now, so I carefully wrap up the tool kit. I would be an idiot to leave it where she might be able to get to it.
I lean down, and without being gentle, I rip the hem of her dress.
“What the fuck?” she asks, clenching her legs together.
“Just checking for any more knives,” I say, smirking even though I know Geo checked her out already before strapping her in.
“Pig.” Wryn sneers.
“I’ve been called worse. Have a good night,” I tell her, stepping toward the door.
“Wait, you are leaving me here?” Her voice takes on a tinge of desperation, and I stop with my hand on the doorknob.
“Did you think I would put you up in a spare room? This isn’t a bed-and-breakfast, and you aren’t a guest.”
I watch as her face registers that she will be strapped to that chair all night, then a look of steely determination flits over her face.
“Those who are broken aren’t afraid to crack open and bleed,” she says, throwing me off.
We stare at each other for a beat or two before I break eye contact. Otherwise, she will suck me into her web, trapping me, and I won’t be able to think or breathe.
Broken.
She thinks she’s broken?
I doubt she knows the meaning of the word. But she’s wrong. Those who are broken are terrified of leaking through their cracks, so they keep them shut tight, buried under so much glue and tape that they resemble a whole person.
Geo steps out in front of me, checking the hallway, and then I follow, letting the door slam shut behind me. The noise echoes off the stone walls, and I suppress a shudder. It’s not from the cold, but rather from the knowledge that this girl could break me further if I let her. She’s already torn apart the carefully crafted family that Bertrand formed.
