Page 282 of Vexatious Queen

I leaned back against the steel table, arms crossed, watching him shake.

“You’re sweating,” I said calmly. “That’s good. It means that your body is still trying to live.”

Sharpe lifted his head, and blood and spit dripped from his chin. His eyes were wild, and he kept looking around like he was seeing sounds. He was tweaking like he’d snorted his body weight in party favors and then decided to spar with his worst nightmare. The rage and defiance were long gone. Now there was just raw animalistic terror.

“I—I don’t know anything,” he rasped.

Echo chuckled softly, adjusting his grip.

“Aye…I’m sure. Next yer gonna say it was the one-armed man on the grassy knoll.”

I cocked my head in confusion. That wasn’t Echo, that was classic Myles cracking jokes at inappropriate times. He shrugged.

“The Mask or The Fugitive, both fit the reference,” he said in explanation, but that still meant nothing to me.

Sharpe screamed again, and I didn’t flinch. Normally, I would let Echo work at his own pace, slowly breaking Sharpe apart. Pain and fear was a language, and everyone was different. But this was about Princess, and I really didn’t have the patience for Sharpe to play the innocence game.

I pushed off the table and stepped closer, stopping just outside the ring of light.

“She was your TA,” I said quietly. “You gained her trust. You smiled at her in the hall. And then out of nowhere, you grabbed a knife and tried to kill her. I have to say, Sharpe, this doesn’t add up. What am I not seeing?”

His breath hitched. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

“No, sorry doesn’t cut it. That wasn’t a misunderstanding,” I continued. “That was a decision.”

He shook his head violently. “I didn’t—I wasn’t supposed to⁠—”

We all glanced at one another, but Liam’s raised eyebrow said it loudest.

Wasn’t supposed to do what?

I stepped closer. “Say that again,” I growled.

Sharpe swallowed. His eyes darted around like he was searching for an exit that didn’t exist.

“I was told to scare her. That’s all. Just scare her. Make her understand. That was all I had to do, so I made up stupid poems and sent them.”

“What exactly did Ren need to understand?”

“That—” His voice cracked. “That her family needed to pay for what they did. She needed to understand.”

There it was. “Okay, and how did you get roped in with the nutjobs?”

He hesitated.

Echo resumed.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll tell you,” he cried out. “I was just supposed to scare her. I…I’m sorry.”

Echo held a cattle prod under his chin.

“Keep talkin’ and start at the beginnin’,” he snarled.

Sharpe broke fast after that. Words spilled out of him in pieces. Money, gambling, and drug troubles due to his failing marriage. Threats to his life. Promises of protection that had never been real. All excuses.

Christov had approached him first. He’d claimed he understood Sharpe’s pain and had given him a package with money. I let him talk. Let him bleed information. It was clear by the end that Sharpe had been used, but I really didn’t give a fuck. He was a teacher, a trusted person within the school, and he could’ve gone to Dean Henry at any time for help. He chose not to.

But I knew the places, the people, and how someone like Christov worked. He did it to Zigzag and others that we had yet to name.