She gave him a playful shove. "It won't hurt. It's just a few questions, and you don't have to answer out loud."
"Then ye canna know if I've answered."
"You don't have to answer. Just think about it." She crossed her arms over her cream-colored jumper. "When I was interviewing criminals for my master's, I came up with a list of questions to figure out what makes them tick."
"Ye want to interrogate me like a criminal?"
She looked annoyed. "Let me finish. I discovered the average criminal doesn't have the patience to answer a long list of questions, especially if there's nothing in it for him. So I pared it down to three questions. Just three."
"Let me guess." He stepped closer. "What's your favorite color?"
She shook her head, smiling. "Green. Like your eyes."
His heart expanded. "I like yer eyes, too."
She blushed. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to distract me."
"I'll have to try harder." He touched her cheek.
She stepped back. "Question number one: what do you want more than anything in the world?"
That was easy. Revenge. "Next question?"
Her eyebrows lifted. "You're already done?"
"Aye. I know what I want."
She cocked her head, studying him. "It must be very important to you."
"It is. How did ye answer the question?"
A hint of a smile played on her lips. "If you're not telling, neither am I."
"Saucy wench," he muttered.
Her smile widened. "Question number two: what scares you more than anything in the world?"
Failure to get revenge. "Done."
"That was fast."
"Aye." He would have revenge on the bastards who had tortured him. They would pay for every blow, every burn, every break of his bones.
"Okay, then," she continued. "The last question refers back to the first one about what you want more than anything. If you succeed, will it make you a better person?"
He stiffened with a quick intake of air. Bloody hell. He turned and stared at the sea. He didn't want to think about this. He knew his plans weren't an eye for an eye. They hadn't killed him, yet he fully intended to kill them. And what's more - he intended to enjoy it.
Would it make him a better person? He closed his eyes briefly. It didn't matter. They deserved to die. They were evil, and the world would be better off without them.
He curled his hands into fists. He needed revenge. It gave him purpose. It had incited him to recover physically. With every step he jogged, every weight he lifted, he envisioned himself getting revenge. Killing Casimir. Killing all the Malcontents who had tortured him, who had watched his pain and humiliation. They all had to die.
Would it make him a better person? With a groan, he relaxed his hands. No.
"Robby?" She touched his arm. "Are you all right?"
He turned to look at her, examine her, memorize every lovely inch of her face. How could she reach so deep inside him? She made him see things he didn't want to see. She made him want to be worthy of her. "Olivia."
"Yes?"