Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3)(112)

I like having money and being able to buy pretty clothes, she ’pathed him. Pay me and you won’t have to spend energy trying to keep me caged. I’ll appear as scheduled for regular sessions.

Renault stared around the warehouse before leaning down to calmly right the chair. “If you’re attempting to get to the door, don’t bother. I twisted the lock with Tk. I’ll have to untwist it to let you out.”

Memory had no intention of just believing him. She’d see for herself.

“As for paying you . . .” Taking a seat on the chair, he propped one ankle over his other knee, a CEO at rest. “How about your new allegiance to the wolves and the Empathic Collective?”

Sascha, Jaya, the stipend provided so Memory could live a free life, the open embrace of her divergent abilities . . . Renault couldn’t hope to understand the bonds she had with her fellow Es and she could use that to her advantage. Where was the Collective when you had me in the cage? She considered what to say next, what he’d buy. I won’t betray the wolves, since they let me out of the cage, but you don’t do business with them anyway, so there’s no conflict.

Another pause, just as she reached a spot with a sightline to the door. Not only was the lock twisted, but so was the security bar across the doorway. No one but another telekinetic would be getting through that door. She wished she had her phone, some way to warn Alexei, but Renault had smashed it to pieces after first tying her to the chair.

Not about to give up, Memory searched the walls of the warehouse for another exit.

All she could see from her current position were the high windows and the huge roller door used for deliveries. That door wasn’t an option—the access scanpad was just visible to her, and she knew it had to be secured against unauthorized use.

“An intriguing proposal,” Renault said aloud, and she knew he wanted to push her into a mistake. A single spoken word and he’d know her general location in the warehouse. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” he added.

Memory tried to think like a smart monster. Because under the influence of drugs or not, Renault was smart. But Amara was smarter. Never could Memory have predicted that she’d one day tell herself to think like Amara, but that might just be the ticket here. Amara would no doubt be highly amused when Memory shared that fact with her post-transfer.

You are the only person I know whose motives are crystal clear to me, she said. We have a relationship. Others in the world want to use me, but there is a risk they’ll overuse and break me. You know how to control the draw.

“Yes,” Renault murmured, the sound barely reaching her. “That much is undeniable. You are helpless against a transfer.”

Not anymore, you pathetic psychopathic coward.

Can I ask you something? He appeared rational at this second, and it might be the only chance she had to get this information for Alexei’s pack. How did you know about the bunker? she said, directing her next words at his ego. It’s so secret.

“I bet your wolf friends are going crazy trying to find the answer,” he said, conceit in his laughter. “My father was a teleporter who worked with a bunch of scientists. He got paid to create that bunker, and once he was done, he took me there to show me what he’d made. He had some ridiculous notion that I would follow in his footsteps—as if I would waste my energy on manual labor. But I filed away the visual references just in case.”

Memory dared another question. Oh, so other people do know about the bunker? It’s not just our place? The words made her want to throw up, but they got results.

“Everyone else who knew is dead. Probably killed by the wolves.” Renault’s tone said he didn’t care. “I eliminated my father when I began to indulge in my hobby. Couldn’t have him deciding to teleport into what he considered his best work, could I? Not when it was my special secret place.”

A crackle of sound that sent a chill down Memory’s spine.

“Your mother had such thick ebony hair,” he said in a honeyed tone. “It’s one of my favorite souvenirs.”

Memory bit back her scream and stayed silent. The monster would pay for her mother’s death and the deaths of all the others.

“You don’t want to see? I’ve kept it nice all these years for you.”

Keeping a tight grip on her rage, Memory forced herself to say, It means nothing to me. Do you want to make a deal or not?

“It is a nice surprise to see you’ve absorbed my business acumen.”

I have no problem with allowing you to use my abilities, Memory said. But I want an apartment and pretty clothes and the freedom to go out in the world in between.

“How much?” The words were clipped, cool, businesslike.

Memory had no idea what to ask for, so she went for ten times her stipend from the Collective.

Renault snorted. “You have a high opinion of yourself.” He offered a far lower number, and they got down to negotiating.

Memory went along with it while intensifying her search for a weapon. That’s too low, she said at one point. Designer clothes cost money.

“This is my final counteroffer.” Renault named a figure and a schedule of expected visits.

Memory took her time forming an answer. I’ll take that if you organize an apartment for me, she said, forcing a hint of fear in her voice, though she wanted to—as Alexei had suggested—kick him in the nuts. A small place. I don’t like wide-open spaces. That would please Renault. Even when Silent, he’d fed on the pain and fear of others.