Page 16 of Vengeful Devotion
“No.”
“Why not? You have to be curious.”
“It’s none of my business.”
I tilt my head to the side, drinking her in. Not only because she’s so damn beautiful but also to catch her in a lie. Or I could if she had shown any sign of a tell. If Gemma was a plant, wouldn’t she want to get as much information as she could? I’m starting to think I may have gotten Gemma all wrong.Fuck. No.There I go making excuses again. If this was anyone else, I’d have killed them by now. But Gemma isn’t just anyone else. No matter how much I wish she was.
“Okay. Well, bring them here. Let me take a look.”
Her footsteps are timid. She scrunches her shoulders, like she’s trying to take up the smallest space possible. I hate how much the sight bothers me.
She only gets as close as she needs to hand me the manilla folder in her hand. Her pink sleeve rides up a little as she stretches her arm out. My nostrils flare when I see a scar just below her wrist. My hand shoots out, grabbing her arm before I can stop myself.
“What happened here?”
I run my fingers over the raised patch of discolored skin. A scar this big and this angry-looking means that the wound she suffered was bad. Really bad. She tries to yank her arm away, to no avail.
“Tell me,” I growl.
“Let me go. You’re hurting me.”
Forcing myself to take a breath, I loosen my grip without removing my hand from her wrist.
“What happened?”
“It’s no big deal,” she says, her pulse spiking. “I was a dumb kid, and I got hurt.”
The muscle below her eye twitches slightly. The first sign of dishonesty I’ve seen on her face. So she does have a tell. Interesting. I stare into her eyes. The blue and green swirling in them reminds me of the wildflower fields I used to play in as a child in Ireland. Her beauty distracts me long enough for her to wiggle free and step away, out of my reach.
“Tell me what really happened.”
“I already did,” she says, stepping backward as I advance.
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s not my problem,” she huffs. Her eyes widen like she’s startled by her own spitfire. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
“It was.”
“I’m sorry.”
She’s out the door before I can say anything else. Running from me like she could ever truly get away. I look down at the folder she dropped. Blank papers are scattered all over the floor. My mother thinks she’s clever, but I have bigger problems on my hands right now.
I’m thinking Gemma isn’t a plant. But something is off with her. She’s running from something or someone. She’s certainly good at it. She’s nowhere to be seen as I walk back to the dining room.
I round the corner to find my mother sitting at the table where I figured she’d be.
“How can I help you, Declan?”
I toss the folder to her. “You can start by explaining to me why your assistant came to my office with a folder full of blank pages.”
She furrows her brows. “What are you talking about?”
“Mother.”
“I just think you two would benefit from spending some time together.”
“Really? Weren’t you just trying to push her on to my driver?”
