“Maybe we can use this to our advantage,” a woman says, the same woman from last night, I think.
“How would having the wife of a powerful lord as our prisoner work to our advantage?”
“Because it forces their hand,” she answers. “The Brotherhood,as far as we know, has completely denied our existence to their followers up until this point. Havingher, plus what we were able to download from their servers last night, may force them toacknowledge us as a threat, therefore breaking the facade that they’re unchallenged in their fucked-up views.”
“Why would they do that?” a new voice questions.
“Because we have something they want,” the woman says.
“Blackmail? You really think that would work?”
“It might.” She sounds doubtful.
“Or we could offer her as an exchange,” someone suggests.
“An exchange for what?”
“Other women? Women who actually want to be here?”
“No.” Maverick’s voice offers no room for argument, and it shocks me. I would’ve thought, of all people, he would be most eager to be rid of me.
“Mav, be serious. It’s obvious she doesn’t want anything to do with us.”
“She doesn’t knowwhatshe wants. She’s a victim of the Brotherhood, just like the rest of them.” Again, his tone is severe.
“She’s awife. All she wants is to have her husband’s babies and remain blissfully oblivious to the suffering of others.”
Rude, I think. I suppose the proper thing to do would be to let them know I’m awake and can hear them, but I can’t seem to make myself speak up.
“Read her fucking file, Bec,” Maverick growls.
My file? What file?
Someone sighs. “There’s obviously a lot to discuss. Maybe we should meet with the other council members before we decide anything.”
“Fine,” Maverick agrees, though he sounds like a grizzly bear agreeing to share a freshly caught fish.
Footsteps recede, and I decide it’s probably safe to open my eyes and see where I am. By the looks of the tan canvas stretched overhead, I’m in some kind of tent. I crane my neck to look around, noting the cozy flannel blanket on top of me and the folding table used as a makeshift desk that’s littered with papers. The bed I’m in smells distinctly masculine, like some kind of woodsy citrus soap, and though it smells nothing like Gabriel’s signature spicy cologne, it’s not entirely unpleasant.
“You’re awake.”
I jump so much I practically leave the bed, noticing the man—Maverick—in the corner for the first time.
Hand pressed against my pounding heart, I scowl at him. “You frightened me.”
“And you threw up all over my favorite pair of boots.” He leans back in the chair he’s sitting in, crossing one ankle over the other. “So we’ll call it even.”
My cheeks flame, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of an apology. “Perhaps if you hadn’t kidnapped me, I wouldn’t have fallen ill.”
The smirk that seems to be an integral part of his personality makes its way onto his lips.
“Do you always talk like you’re from the eighteen hundreds?”
“Do you always hold other men’s wives captive against their will to use as leverage?” I counter, crossing my arms.
“Only when the wives are insufferable little shrews.” He sounds bored, like he’s got a million other things to do.
I give him a sarcastic smile. “Your wife’s a lucky woman, having a man who’s so kind and chivalrous for a husband.”
