Page 14 of Consume Me

Ice trickled down my neck. It couldn’t be coincidence that he would bring that up. Not now that we knew that there was so much more to that day than a failed attack. It took effort to keep my voice measured. Almost as much effort as it did to stop myself from grabbing him and pounding the information out of him. “Yes. We believe there might be a group plotting against the crown.”

“When isn’t there?” he snorted.

I slammed my fist on the side table, barely aware of the jolt it sent bursting through my nerves. “This isn’t a joke.”

Silence fell over us for a moment as we regarded each other. On one side, I sat: the very symbol of this nation’s law and order. Across from me, DeAngelo stared back at me like a mirror: the opposite of me—chaotic and self-serving. And between: a man who belonged to neither of us, who acted in his own interest according to a moral compass I didn’t always understand. We were a spectrum of morality that twisted back on itself like a Mobius strip. I was as capable of selfish action as DeAngelo. I would do anything and hurt anyone to get Clara back. I could only hope the same was true for him—that he was capable of benevolence.

“Who did they hurt?” Marcus asked shrewdly. He still hadn’t take a drink. It was a clutch, a prop to hide some nervous tick or behaviour. Like me, he has no interesting in dulling his faculties in mixed company.

“An advisor,” I said quickly, exchanging looks with Smith. He hadn’t clarified why he was involving London’s reigning mob boss, but telling him that Clara was missing had the potential for disastrous consequences.

DeAngelo abandoned his drink on the table and leaned forward to rest his palms on his knees. “Lying to me will only get you half the information you need.”

“You don’t need to know more than that,” Smith said firmly, stepping into the role of my counsel once more.

“Fine.” The older man settled back, looking nonplussed by this refusal. “Be that as it may, it won’t help me determine who finally acted.”

His words landed on my chest and I felt a hollow pang. There were always groups plotting against the government. This was something more. This was personal. I felt it deep in my bones. This wasn’t terrorism of anyone but me. A series of events had been set in motion that served to punish my family, but I couldn’t understand why.

“You’ve shaken things up a bit since taking the throne. Now, I wholly approve,” DeAngelo added.

“Is my approval rating affected by the lack of charges brought against you?” I asked flatly. I’d questioned once what my father would have done with the information we had about his involvement. It was telling that the murder of a king rated lower than the other crimes he’d committed. I didn’t know if that said more about where the royal family stood or more about his sins.

“Others aren’t quite as thrilled,” DeAngelo continued, “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out the Council of Ghosts was involved.”

“They aren’t,” I said curtly. There was no reason for them to act—not in this fashion. If the Kingmakers, the secret council of MPs that deposed monarchs according to their whims, wanted to take action, it would have been against me. Not Clara.

“If you’re that sure, you must have met them.” When I didn’t respond, he shrugged. “There are other groups—domestic terrorists, foreign terrorists. I still can’t help but wonder why you’ve come to me.”

He knew something. It was why he kept returning to that fact. He knew what we didn’t, and he wouldn’t be happy until we admitted.

“Did you have something to do with it?” Smith asked bluntly.

DeAngelo barked a laugh, shaking his head, as though he’d just heard a good joke. “You’re going to hurt my feelings. I harbour no ill will against the Crown. Why would a powerful man concern himself with an impotent dog?”

That’s what he thought of me. Of us. Our inaction was a sign of weakness. “The monarchy has been more than willing to overlook your involvement in the King’s assassination. Perhaps that decision should be reversed.”

“Will MI-5 allow it?” he asked coldly.

“They’ll do as I instruct,” I countered.

“Are you sure? Don’t you do as they instruct? The king might be an impotent cur, but he’s well-trained.”

I was on my feet before the last insult left his mouth. “You’ll find I’m not like my father. I don’t send other men to do my dirty work.”

“And that’s why you’re here.” DeAngelo shrank a little in his chair. “Sit down before my guards come in and misinterpret the situation.”

“I’ve been shot before,” I reminded him in a low voice. “I’m betting I could crush your windpipe before they hit me more than twice.”

DeAngelo blinked, then a catlike smile carved across his face. “You aren’t like your father. That’s good. You’re going to need some piss and vinegar in you if you plan to keep upending the country. Now sit down and let’s discuss this trouble. I don’t deal with men who aren’t willing to fight their own battles.

He’d been testing me, and I’d passed. A quick glance at Smith confirmed that he’d known this all along. I wondered if either of them knew how close I’d come to acting on my threat.

“You’ll help us,” Smith said as though nothing had happened.

“For a price. Everything comes with a price,” he said, “especially information.”

My mind immediately went to money. I had money. It turned my stomach to consider paying the man that had been integral in my father’s death—the man whose actions had brought me here.