Should I be seeing a therapist? Probably.
But who am I going to talk to about all my problems as a crime lord’s daughter set to inherit a crooked kingdom without earning myself a pair of silver bracelets and a wardrobe of orange jumpsuits to match?
“Nothing is wrong.” The lie tastes like ash, and his nostrils flare as if he can smell it. But I’m already plastering on a plastic smile. There’s one more thing I need to do while I’m thinking clearly enough to get it done. “Now that the mystery has been solved, you’re hereby released from our bargain. Keep your pretty mouth shut, and you won’t have to worry about dropping the soap.”
I wave with a forced flourish and open the door.
Brontëlungesacross me to whip it shut. The locks slam down like prison bars.
In the span of a blink, I’m trapped in a car with a man I barely know. A man who, not so long ago, wanted me dead. A man who killed a trained assassin tonight with his bare hands. A man who seems to have no qualms taking lives without batting an eye. He’s so close, I can taste the smoke on his breath and feel his body heat wrapping me in thawing warmth like a hot fire on a cold night.
With lethal calm, he demands, “What are you doing, Poppy?”
I jiggle the handle with a sweaty palm, but it doesn’t budge. “Trying to leave so I can scrub death from my pores and cuddle my cat. Maybe squeeze in a chapter or two of a steamy romance before bed.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He leans back, resting a thick arm roped in dangerous amounts of muscle on the center console. “You’re not even queen yet, and you’re drowning.”
I bristle, going from nervous to disgruntled in a heartbeat. “What?”
Brontë angles his jaw, studying me like he can see through every layer of my skin. “Have you considered not taking your father’s place?”
I rub my aching temple, repeating, “What?”
“You’re working yourself into the ground, and you can’t even see it.” He points to my white-knuckled grip around my phone. “You’re clearly struggling to keep your head above water. At this rate, even ifyou do manage to conquer your little cult problem, you’re going to sink faster than you can swim.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“How would you know?”
“Because you don’t have the faintest inkling of what it’s like to live in someone else’s shadow, nor do you know what it’s like to be a criminal beyond your little Etsy shop of horrors.”
Brontë’s eyes burn with hellfire and brimstone. “First of all, don’t ever condescend me. It’s petty and immature and disrespectful as fuck. Second, don’t sit here and pretend like you know me. You don’t.”
This gives me pause. No, I don’t know him. Only the snippets I’ve been able to glean from breaking into his house and violating his privacy. What other skeletons are in his closet besides his questionable hobbies? Judging by the ghosts haunting his darkening gaze, he may have more specters in his shadow than me.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I mumble, “Sorry.”
As if the entire universe is listening, Brontë asks quietly, “Have you thought about turning your back on it all? Refusing to take the Morgenstern crown and living a relatively normal life?”
“Not an option.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” My retaliation stops there. My gaze drops to my scarred hands.
I never questioned my future. A future that could become someone else’s.
What would the king of Salem say? What would hedoif I told him no? Me, his only child whom he raised to continue his legacy that was his father’s and his father’s father’s and so on? I know what he’d do: he’d never speak to me again.
A single tear carves a traitorous path down my cheek.
Brontë tracks the teardrop all the way down to my chin. It wobbles then slips free and crashes to my lap. He lifts a hand, reaching for me. His fingertips feather my hair, a mere flirt with the strands like he’s testing an invisible line. He touched me earlier, but not like this. He inches closer, his hand seeking my wet cheek. His skin barely brushes mine. It’s such a soft,reverenttouch that I flinch like it’ll sting.
His arm falls, his jaw ticking. “Our deal isn’t done,Petit Diable.”
“You helped to unmask Leviathan, and I lended Emi. We both upheld our ends. Unless I missed something…?”
“You still have a rogue Volkov on your hands, and I still have a thief to find. Our bargain has only just begun.”
