Page 42 of Revenge

She squeezed her eyes shut. “One year.”

I took a sip of the sweet, chocolatey drink. So much for the headmaster’s agreement that International House would be a summer school. Nadia was a nice woman who had been caught up in a situation not of her own making. But some of the others who had been featured in the Mercia-Net were awful. She was too upset to continue a conversation, so we sat in silence, nursing our drinks until she decided to call her fiancé.

* * *

Just before bedtime, I walked down to Edward’s study and knocked. He appeared at the door, looking drawn. “Emilia?”

“I have something to tell you. Are you alone?”

He stepped aside. “What is it?”

I walked inside and glanced at the crackling fireplace. Jackie told me that Mr. Carbuncle had set up a couple of cameras in Edward’s study so she would see my attempts to cajole him into handing over evidence. I lowered myself into the sofa adjacent to that fateful armchair and patted the seat next to me.

When he sat, I twisted around and took his hands. “I spoke to someone in International House,” I said with a quavering note of worry. His brows furrowed, and he parted his lips, presumably to admonish me, but I spoke over him. “She’s not like the others, but her family sent her here so she wouldn’t testify against a drugs charge.”

“What?” he whispered, face paling.

“I-I think the students might be connected to organized crime. You’ve seen them and how they act on camera. They’re not right.”

His chest heaved up and down in a series of shallow breaths. Then he turned away, blinking rapidly. “I suspected something like that, but if I report the headmaster, the school’s reputation will be in ruins.”

“He told you they were the children of dignitaries,” I said. “Can he show you checks written from legitimate sources like foreign governments?”

“The accountant gave me a file and told me to read through it, but I haven’t yet dared.”

I gasped. “Why not?”

He clenched the edge of his leather seat cushion and squeezed his eyes shut. “I was afraid of what I might find.”

I rubbed my thumb over his hand, giving him what comfort I could offer. It was an awful situation, but I still had a mission. Jackie needed evidence that the money was streaming to the headmaster and that it came from disreputable sources. I needed that file, and I would say anything to convince Edward to hand it over.

“Do you remember that woman who brought me here?” I asked. “Marissa, with the loud voice?”

His brows drew together, but he nodded.

“She’s an accounts clerk who did bank reconciliations for a year. Maybe she can help. She’s working in Rudolph’s London office right now and could use a freelance side-gig. And she’s American, so wouldn’t know who to contact if she found something strange.”

He dipped his head. “I’ll think about it.”

A shock of excitement rocked my insides. If I kept the pressure on, he would give me that file before the end of the month.

Chapter 14

On Monday, an old man filled in for Mr. Frost in Latin classes, explaining that our teacher had a death in his immediate family and had returned home to make funeral arrangements. I couldn’t focus on my Creative Writing assignment, as I itched to speak to Jackie and find out if she had caused Mr. Frost’s disappearance. With Blake already somewhat disgraced, and plans for the exposure of International House and Edward’s involvement in the scam underway, I focused on my next target: Henry.

He sat next to Edward at the desk in front of Blake and me and had taken off his blazer. The cotton of his white shirt clung to every muscle, which bunched and stretched as he moved. I closed my eyes and cast my mind back to the time we had spent together in that filthy room. Lying within his strong embrace had been so comforting. When his beautiful body had engulfed mine and those fingers had teased me until I had splintered beneath his touch, I’d felt so protected and whole and fulfilled, even though we were both in a desperate situation.

My fingers closed around my fountain pen, and my nostrils flared. It had all been a lie.

That lying Henry.

That lying, fucking, scheming, backstabbing Henry, who I would bury alive.

How great would it feel if I exposed his treachery to the world, had him cast out by his parents, ostracized by his peers, broken, crying and pleading for forgiveness. My breaths became shallow, and a tiny smile played on my lips. I’d lay him out on his back, tie him to that filthy mattress and take my pleasure from his defeated, quivering body.

“What are you thinking about?” Blake murmured into my ear. “You look positively turned on.”

“Henry.”