Page 42 of Deadly Rival

I spit the words and turn off the light. I’m so far from sleep that the next few hours are going to be torture, but I’m too stubborn to get up and do something else. Instead, I seethe in the dark, running her words through my mind. She’s sorry. Sorry doesn’t bring back the dead.

Ophelia’s chain clanks as she shifts around, and it’s music to my ears. I’ll teach her to be sorry. It doesn’t take long for her to give up on the floor and move onto the pet bed. I smile as I hear her settle in and the little sigh she gives as she realizes how comfy it is. Some of my anger drains away at that noise.

She’s not really Ophelia Calder anymore. This revenge of mine will kill that bitch forever. She’ll just be Ophelia, my compliant, beautiful little pet.

***

She’s still asleep when I wake up. I’m so used to sleeping alone that the soft sound of her breathing shocks me into full awareness as soon as sleep starts to dissipate. I sit up, covers tangled around me, and study her in the dim, early morning light.

Her deep blue hair spills across the pillow, and her lips lost their puffiness overnight, settling into exactly the subtle pout I wanted. She’s kicked the blanket half off in her sleep, and it displays her shackled ankle as perfectly as if I’d posed her for the photo.

Way too good of an opportunity to miss.

I snap a few shots, then scroll through my gallery. Which should I use? An easy choice. The one of her on the pet bed and the one I took yesterday the moment she opened her lips when I shot my load on her face.

Adrenaline sears me as I find the numbers I need and hit send.

There’s a moment, once the message is sent and can’t be called back, that my heart stops. What did I just do? Until that exact moment, this could have ended peacefully. The Council could have overruled Kendrick, forced me to relinquish Ophelia, and cut a deal with the Calders to limit repercussions.

Now, though? It’s over. I’ve burned the crops, and I salt the earth with my next message.

She’s a good girl. I think I’ll keep her.

Then I block Harrison and Randall Calder’s numbers and head to the shower.

I let Ophelia sleep in, pacing the apartment until the intercom buzzes. When my friends pour in, it’s almost surreal. Yesterday was a break from reality, where it felt like only Ophelia and I existed. The sudden press of people in the apartment ratchets up my nerves as reality kicks down the door. I’ve fucked everything up for everyone, and it’s time to face the music.

Quinn barges in first, iPad clutched in one hand as usual. She rarely goes anywhere without Candice, bringing her CI friend along to dinners, parties, and basically anywhere Jacob lets her. I once asked if they’d had a threesome, and Jacob told me, in his dour British way, not to give Quinn any ideas.

“Where is she?” Quinn demands, staring around the living room, then glaring at me. “You’d better not have her locked in a cage.”

“No, only your wonderful man is twisted enough for that. Sorry to disappoint.” I pause, then can’t resist adding for dramatic effect, “I’ve got her chained up, sleeping on a pet bed.”

“What?” Quinn’s shriek could shatter glass. “Let me see.”

“Quinn.” Jacob points a beefy finger at the couch. “Sit. Or you know what’ll happen.”

She does as she’s told but sticks her middle finger up when he turns his back. I stifle a laugh—the nerves are making me jumpy—and he whips his head back to face her. “What was that?”

I wink at Quinn. “Nothing. Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

“You should be fucking nervous. I just spent an hour with Kendrick. He’s worried, mate. Get everything sorted here, and we’ll head to mine. We need a game plan before we go to the meeting.”

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Maybe I don’t need to worry about the meeting. Jacob might crush my throat with his bare hands when I tell him about the texts I sent this morning.

Jacob snaps his fingers in front of my face. “You in there, mate? Hurry the fuck up.”

“Yes. Right. Gabriel, come with me. I’ll introduce you.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait. You owe me for this.”

He squeeze’s Eve’s hand, and she sits next to Quinn. Their excited chatter follows me as we make for the bedroom. I push the door open, half expecting to find Ophelia still asleep, but she’s up, blanket clutched around her.

“Jesus,” Gabriel mutters, “You weren’t kidding.”

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