Page 15 of The Revenge
“I’m not playing. I don’t think Cole killed JP.”
My hands clench into fists by my sides. “If this is some dumb attempt to get me to lower my defenses so you can orchestrate another attack like Declan and Lissa, you’ve got another thing coming. I’m not falling for anything you say.”
“Liss…?” Syn’s glance sweeps over me. “Neither Salaway nor Carmichael were following my orders.”
“Just like someone wasn’t following your orders when my hair was dyed blue. Or when someone broke into my bedroom and covered me in red paint? Because…” Even though all traces of the blood has been washed away, I gesture to my face. “Déjà vu. Or when you had every member of the Eliteliterallyhunt me down? Or when you ordered Declan to try to kill me?”
“I never gave any specific orders—”
“Specific or not, those orders came from you.” I snap, my voice breaking at the end.
Pressing his lips together, Syn glares at me, and although I keep my back straight and my head upright, I brace myself. Only, instead of responding, Syn storms out of the room, leaving me, Royal, and Gemini staring after him in disbelief.
The man is so infuriating that I want to punch something. Unfortunately, the only thing close to me is the window, but the last thing I want to do is shred my hand on top of everything else.
“Marry me,” Gemini says.
“Give me an engagement ring made from the Heart of the Ocean. and it’s a deal,” I tell him.
Gemini cocks his head, frowning at the ceiling. “Didn’t the old lady drop it into the ocean in the end?”
“Mmmm. You should head down there and get it.”
Returning his attention back to me, Gemini leans forward. “I don’t think billionaires have the best track record with submarines and the Titanic at the moment.”
Folding my arms, I stare straight into his eyes and give him a smile. “Exactly.”
“What are you two talking about?” Royal asks.
Gemini shifts his weight to look over his shoulder at Royal. “If we have to explain the joke, it’s not funny.”
“Who said I was joking?” I ask, dryly.
The door opens, and Syn comes back in, only he’s carrying a large mug. He walks across the room and offers it to me. “It’s warm water and honey. For your throat,” he adds when I don’t take it from him.
I don’t unfold my arms. “Is the honey to hide the taste of Rohypnol?”
“Rohypnol is tasteless,” Gemini unhelpfully adds.
“The honey is to help your throat. I can tell all the shouting is irritating it.” Syn purses his lips before glancing at the cup he’s holding. “I’d drink some to prove it’s not been drugged or poisoned, but I don’t want to offend you by contaminating it with my germs.”
There’s a hint of sarcasm to the last part, but strangely, he seems almost sincere about what he says. Which adds a new level of confusion to my aching head. At this point, if he does want me unconscious, I’m sure he’s got a backup plan to make it happen.
“I’ve had more than a bit of your spit in me,” I mutter as I take the cup. Whatever the reason for this out of body experience he must be having to make me a drink, I’m grateful for it when the warmed water passes over my sore throat. “Thank you.”
A strange noise comes from the couch, and I look over to make sure Gemini isn’t choking to death. His eyes are wide andround as they flick between me and Syn, like he’s watching an invisible tennis match.
“I didn’t record it.” He splutters. “This historic moment, and without any evidence, no one will ever believe it happened.” He shakes his head so vigorously that a few strands of hair fall loose from his stumpy ponytail. “I’ll build my own submarine if I have to.”
Ignoring him, Syn raises his arm and points to the armchair closest to me. “Sit.”
The red mark around my throat seems to pulse when I lightly touch it. “I’m not wearing your collar anymore.”
Syn’s jaw twitches, but his gaze drops to my throat. He seems to look at it for longer than necessary before he returns his attention to my face. “Please.”
Gemini’s mouth drops open.
An alarm as loud as a tornado warning is blaring in my mind. The nicer Syn seems to be, the less I want to trust him—and I already don’t trust him—butifI’m leaving this house, I’m not coming back, and I can’t help but keep poking.
