Attest (Centrifuge Duet Book 2)(3)
I feel her gaze moving over my face, but I can’t bring myself to look at her. My pride is dented and I can feel the waves of victory she’s emanating from across the damn table. She has me where she wants me because the prize she’s dangling is flawless. The price that I’ll pay if I accept it—well, I just know that it’s going to exorbitant.
And, very painful.
“Now, Mr. Barrett, my research has indicated that you are a man of immeasurable moral fibre. A real saint, if you don’t mind me saying.” A manila folder is slapped on the table and then slid in front of me. Seconds later, a cloud of overpowering perfume fills my nostrils. Cool fingers are placed under my chin and I raise my eyes to hers, letting the full force of my rage at her touch show in my expression.
A splinter of satisfaction fills me when her Ice Queen fa?ade cracks in the face of my fury. It would seem that Ms. Blonde Bitch isn’t as omnipotent as she would like me to believe. The smallest smirk curls my lips and I jerk my head away from her hand. She retracts her limb with an air of offence.
“I wouldn’t call myself a saint, per se,” I reply in an even tone. “I might have a strong sense of integrity and a good handle on what’s fair, but my inability to turn the other cheek when I’m wronged has always come between me and sainthood.”
My barely-concealed threat doesn’t have the desired effect. Instead, a giant grin breaks across her perfectly painted face and she sits back down with a little bounce of delight.
“I was hoping that you would feel that way.” A blood-red fingernail is used to flip open the folder that sits between us. A photograph is pulled free and pushed in front of me. “Do you know who this is?”
A cursory glance is all that I need to answer, yet I can’t tear my eyes away once I’ve looked. From the piece of paper in front of me, Dr. Jaxon Ray smiles back at me with his trademark arrogance. The desire to rip his deceitful visage into shreds has me twisting my hands together in my lap. That motherfucker is responsible for everything that’s currently wrong with my life and this crazy bitch knows it.
“You know I do.”
She flicks her hair over her shoulder and smiles wide at me. Her gleeful expression is filled with too many teeth, mercenary motives, and an almost comic worthy level of malice. If she’s trying to win me over to her side, she might want to rein in the crazy train a little.
“What if I told you that I can have you released from here if you promise to dispatch all of the hurdles that stand between me starting a life with Jax?”
My first impulse is to jump in with both feet and agree to whatever it takes to get me out of here, except the curious way that she frames the question sets the hair on the back of my neck on end. The aforementioned crazy train looks like it’s ready to depart the station at full speed.
“How so?”
Disappointment drowns out the borderline insanity on her face. She sniffs and pulls herself all the way back to her side of the table. A haughty look of dismissal is sent in my direction before she takes hold of the folder and starts pulling various pages free. She slaps them down, one by one in front of me, with a short, sharp motion that telegraphs her growing annoyance.
Like I said, woman might wanna tone down the crazy if she wants me on her team.
“See these people?” She jabs a long, red nail jabs against the first page. It’s a picture of an older couple. A very well-to-do couple if the brooch the size of an ostrich egg on the woman’s blouse is any indication. “This is Judge Brian McManus and his wife. He’s the man behind you being sentenced to life in prison. He made sure that you were put away as per Henry Ray’s wishes. Both he and his wife have invested in the development of Centrifuge which also gave them a vested interest in keeping you behind bars. I guess your incarceration is what you would call a win-win for them all.”
She slides a second photograph closer. This couple I know well. I feel the blood drain from my face as I run my eyes over their expensive outfits and haughty expressions. The resemblance I see to Amber hits me in the chest like a fireball; a burning reminder of all that I have lost. “And, here we have your ex in-laws-to-be. Malcolm and Cynthia St. George. Oh, what a tangled web they weave. Content to sacrifice their only daughter for wealth and notoriety. Can you rest knowing that they are being allowed to get away with their treachery?”
With crisp precision, a third picture is presented to me. This one hits hard. A family portrait. The perfect nuclear family. Handsome father, beautiful mother, a toddler-aged son to carry on the family name, and a baby who is the spitting image of Amber.
The picture-perfect life.
A flawless illusion?
Doesn’t matter, it’s still a dagger through my heart.
I extend a trembling hand toward the image. Part of me wants to tear it to shreds in the hope that it will remove the abomination from my reality while a bigger part would like to meld into the portrait and take my rightful place beside Amber.
After the not-so fictional slaying of the man who usurped my position, of course.
“It disturbs me how beautiful I find this.” My tormentor’s voice breaks through my reverie and I snatch my hand back with a rattle of chain that heralds my shame. I’d forgotten that she remained in the room with me—infiltrating my mind with her poison. Attempting to lure me into joining her. “The fruits of his deception should anger me, yet I feel nothing but relief that he has found success in my absence.”