Brutal Vows (Queens & Monsters #4)(7)

She stares at me. Her eyes are an unusual color, a pale greenish-gray, like a mermaid might have.

On a woman without the urge to murder me and bury my dismembered body in a shallow grave, they could be mesmerizing.

“I hate you for saying that.”

“Add it to your list.”

My smirk is the thing that finally breaks her.

“Fine. You want the truth? I’ll give it to you. My niece is a good girl. She deserves so much better than to be sold off to the highest bidder without a damn say in the matter. She deserves so much better than a man who’d marry for money, position, or power. She deserves to be loved, cherished, and respected for everything she is. What she doesn’t deserve is to not have a voice. Or a choice. Or a life of her own!”

“What makes you assume she won’t have a life of her own if we’re married?”

Reyna blinks. Once. Slowly. As if what I’ve just said is the stupidest thing she’s ever heard.

“Or that I wouldn’t respect her?”

She quirks her lips. “Now you’re toying with me, Mr. Quinn.”

“Spider.”

After a beat of confusion, she says, “Pardon?”

“Call me Spider.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because it’s my name.”

She laughs. It’s a lovely sound. It also seems to surprise her, because she stops laughing abruptly, looking as if she has no idea how she allowed something so pleasant to pass her lips.

“Your name is…Spider?”

“Aye.”

“Did your mother hate you?”

“No.”

“But she named you after an insect?”

“It’s a nickname. And spiders aren’t insects.”

She furrows her brows and stares at me.

“Why are you gaping at me like I’ve got a horn growing between my eyes?”

“Because I think I must’ve fallen out of bed this morning and gotten a concussion.”

I chuckle. “That would explain why you’re eatin’ the head off me.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it again.

“Oh, look. The wee viper lost her words. Bet that doesn’t happen but once in a donkey’s years.”

Through gritted teeth, she says, “If you’d speak English instead of idiot, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

“Ooo, the fangs are out.”

Her mermaid eyes glitter with malice. “Stop. Mocking. Me.”

“Or what? You’ll bury that letter opener in my chest?”

Her gaze slices to the blotter on her brother’s desk, then back to me. The way her lips turn up at the corners, I can tell she’s relishing the idea of stabbing me.

“Have a go. I’m in the mood for a good laugh.”

“You wouldn’t be laughing for long. I think this meeting is over.”

“Sorry to break it to you, lass, but you’re not the one in charge here.”

That really gets her goat. A flush of red rises up her neck to merge with the burn in her cheeks. She says stiffly, “We obviously have nothing more to say to one another.”

“Now that’s the silliest thing you’ve said since you walked in.”

“If you don’t stop smirking at me, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

I cock my head and consider her. “It’s men in general, is that it? You hate men.”

Her evil smile would look right at home on Satan himself. “Only a deserving few.”

I know we could go back and forth like this until hell freezes over, so I decide to get to the point.

“I admire your loyalty to your niece, Ms. Caruso, but I want a wife, not a slave. If Liliana and I marry, she can do as she likes, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my business or reflect badly on me.”

She studies me, no doubt trying to decide if I’m lying. Then in a challenging tone, she says, “She could go to college?”

That surprises me. “Does she want to go to college?”

“She was accepted at Wellesley. It’s an all-girls school—”

“I know what it is.”

“—so you wouldn’t have to worry about her being around other boys.”

My gaze drops to her mouth. Her full, lush, scarlet mouth, which seems mainly to be used for hurling insults.

Pity. It would look beautiful stretched around the head of a stiff cock.

I say softly, “I’m not a boy.”

When I lift my gaze to hers again, she looks flustered, but as if she’s trying not to show it.

“What else? Might as well air all the dirty laundry while we’re at it.”

“All right, then. Do you drink?”

“Not to excess, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Do you have a temper?”

“All men have tempers.”

She scoffs. “Don’t I know it. What I mean is are you violent?”

“I’m second-in-command of the Irish Mob. What do you think?”

She swallows, glances away, then meets my gaze again. She moistens her lips. “I…I meant with women.”

And here we have it.

I glance down at her left hand, at the circle of black ink on her ring finger, and finally understand what this inquisition is all about.