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She meant it.
“Maybe your father allowed that to happen, too,” said Moreau. “Perhaps he’s decided to rid himself of all three of you.”
My head hurt. I couldn’t seem to clear it. To figure this out.
I grabbed my blood-wine and took another gulp. Fortunately, it stayed down.
“So let me get this straight. I stake my father, and in return, SI will call off the contract on me and my brothers.”
“Correct.”
“What proof do I have that Slayers, Inc. has anything to do with this? And even if you give me proof, since when do you speak for them?”
Reaper stepped forward. “If I may?”
The enforcer inclined his head.
She turned toward me. “I can assure you, SI is in agreement with this. It’s more efficient.”
“Efficient?”
“For you to approach Karoly directly. He’ll let you get close to him. He trusts you.”
“I see.” I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that they wanted me to stake my own father. Because it was “efficient.”
“And you know this how?” I asked Reaper.
“Because I’m the slayer assigned to you. Only Enforcer Moreau knows that, by the way.”
My fingers constricted on the wine glass. It was what I suspected, but somehow I’d hoped I was wrong. Because a slayer working with the Tremblays and Moreau? That was fucked up.
“I can’t give you any hard evidence that I’m a slayer,” she added. “We carry no ID or identifying marks because they can be used against us. But if you require proof—”
She stepped forward, drew back an arm. The switchblade was somehow in her hand, its long silver blade extended. Moreau straightened from his languid slouch because the switchblade was aimed at him.
Reaper lunged at him, blade out. Moreau coolly raised his arms to defend himself, but she did a Matrix-like flip over his head and landed behind the couch facing us.
I stared at her. Shocked, and yet not.
Right from the start she’d seemed different from the other members of the lair, more professional and less invested in making me hurt.
I’d figured it was because she was a dhampir, and dhampirs stuck together. And because she liked me.
My mouth twisted. Gods, I’d had it wrong.
To Reaper, I was a job, and apparently it hadn’t been in her interest to torture me.
I was a damn fool for thinking she’d help me escape. She was the slayer assigned to stake me. The enemy. She’d told me herself I was one of the monsters.
“Convinced?” She retracted the switchblade and came out from behind the couch.
I set the wine glass down before I broke it. “Yeah,” I said, like she hadn’t done the equivalent of smacking me over the head with a two-by-four.
I turned back to Moreau. “And you’re bargaining with me because Slayers, Inc. wants it.” My tone said, Yeah, right. I’d noticed he hadn’t denied Victorine Tremblay was involved in this somehow.
“Are we bargaining? It seems to me I hold all the cards. But I agreed to it because Karoly hasn’t acted as planned. Either he suspects something—or you’re not as important to him as we believed. Maybe he even wants you dead.”
I flinched; I couldn’t help it. Just a little, but the bastard was watching me with avid eyes, like I was a fly and he was one of those boys who get their kicks ripping the wings off defenseless creatures.
