Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,36

out an arm.

“To the left,” I instruct, whispering the command against her ear.

Her fingers dance across the wood, searching, seeking, before finally making contact with the slip of paper. Instead of picking it up, she pins it to the table with her forefinger and drags it close. I hear her teeth grinding, the uneven pitch of her breathing that she can’t mask, just before she bites off, “I have no idea what I’m holding.”

Your destruction.

“I’ll summarize.” With one hand still clasped around her throat, I fold my other around hers. Broad fingers slipping between slender. Calloused flesh meeting soft wounds. My hand spans twice the size of hers, and her pulse leaps beneath my touch. “It’s a bank wire transfer to Ian Coney for fifty-thousand pounds. Dated to a month ago.”

She inhales sharply.

I lift my gaze to find Guy watching us, unblinking. He mouths something that looks suspiciously like, “What the hell are you doing?” but I don’t answer.

We all have a method to our madness.

Saxon with his rough brutality.

Guy with his mind games.

And me, somewhere in the middle, a seamless blend of the two that strikes at the vulnerable underbelly of my opponent and destroys any chance of escape. Humans aren’t unlike the coding that I manipulate and bend to my will. We’re conditioned to fear the unknown, to shirk away from danger. And when the fear does take hold, it’s too late to pretend that we haven’t already entered the realm of the inevitable.

I know that better than anyone.

Listening for the telltale hitch in Rowena’s breath, I revel in the way her body strains closer, her cheek running against the grain of my stubble, her fingers flexing against the table. She’s desperate for something she won’t dare admit out loud, the dents and holes in her armor knitting closed to keep me out.

No mercy.

“Coney would have been fully aware of everything until those last few seconds,” I say, drawing a tiny circle over her racing pulse. “Every kick of his feet as he tried to work himself free; every breath he took that got him nowhere. He was dying, and he knew it, and it makes me wonder . . . in those moments, just before darkness fell, what would a man like Ian Coney think of?”

I’d thought of vengeance.

As my body lay prone on that dirty street, unable to move, there’d been no thought of lost love or last regrets or hope that I might see my brothers one final time.

I’d been rage.

Seven months has changed nothing.

“Damien, I—”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” I tell her softly. “Who was Ian Coney to you?”

Finally, at this, she jerks wildly in my grip. “Nothing, okay? He was nothing to me.”

Another lie.

I shouldn’t be surprised. And, hell, maybe I’m even a little . . . relieved. Because if she’ll lie about this, then I don’t need to feel any remorse for what I do next. With one last stroke of my fingers over her quivering throat, I step away, taking the paper with me. “Your father had him killed.”

“What?”

I stop beside Guy, making sure to look him in the eye when I mouth, “Play along.” To Rowena, I pretend to clear my throat. A pitiful offer of condolences for the goddess of deceit herself. “The wire transfer,” I say, noting the way she turns in her chair to follow my voice. “Fifty-thousand pounds to have Ian Coney murdered.”

“But the news . . . the news said that—”

“My brother was cleared as a suspect, if that’s what you mean.” I pause, letting that sink in. Then, “You seem awfully worked up. I thought Ian Coney was nothing to you?”

Her lips press firmly shut.

And I smile, slowly.

Oh, Rowena. I have you.

Cornered.

Squirming.

Ruined.

Folding the slip of paper crisply in half, I hand it to Guy, who immediately takes it.

Rowena pushes to her feet, stumbling a little. “I’m tired of interrogations, Godw—Damien.” Her naturally husky voice carries a touch of unease. “Every part of me is hurting and I’m ready to go home. Your brother said I could leave.”

Still scanning Carrigan’s email, Guy shifts his weight beside me. “I did promise her.”

I tuck my fingers into the front pockets of my trousers. “I think interrogations are over, anyway.”

Clearly unconvinced, Rowena’s brows lift. “You’re going to let me go . . . just like that?”

Not a chance.

But I know when I’ve pushed an interrogation as far as it’ll go without resorting to violence. Snug in her home, with her guard down and her hackles