Page 265 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

“Why do you want to know?” she asks sharply, that sympathetic look immediately erased from her features.

“Because I think we might have more in common than either of us realized,” I say carefully. “And because I’m trying to understand how all of this works—the Syndicate, Malcolm, all of it.”

For a moment, I think I’ve pushed too far. Imogen’s face hardens, and she looks away. She’s gripping the arm of her chair like it might fly out from under her, and a tense silence stretches between us for what feels like an eternity before either of us speaks again.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I add quickly. “I understand if it’s too personal.”

Just as I’m about to change the subject, she speaks.

“We had worked with Malcolm a few times before,” she says with an emptiness in her voice that tells me she’s deliberately keeping emotion out of it.

“Smaller jobs. Nothing complicated. But then he came to us with a bigger opportunity—a narcotics deal. Large scale, international. The kind of thing that could double our operation overnight.”

She gets up abruptly and returns to the sideboard to pour herself another drink.

“What kind of narcotics?” I ask, trying to keep her talking.

“Heroin, mostly,” she answers after taking a long sip. “Coming in from South America through a cartel operation Malcolm claimed to have connections with.”

“But you were hesitant?”

“We shouldn’t have taken it. Something felt off from the beginning. Layla was especially skeptical. She thought the profit margins Malcolm was promising were too good to be true.” Her jaw tightens. “She was right.”

“What happened?”

“The deal went sour. The cartel we were meeting with had been tipped off that we were working with local law enforcement, which was bullshit.” Her voice rises slightly. “We never worked with cops. Ever. That would’ve ended our operation.”

“They didn’t believe you?”

“They didn’t care about the truth. They wanted to make an example.” She takes a deep breath, then another. “They took Layla.”

My stomach knots as I anticipate what’s coming next. “Did you try to negotiate?”

“Of course I did,” she snaps. “I offered them money, product, territory—everything I had. But they weren’t interested in negotiating. This was about sending a message.”

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, knowing how inadequate the words are.

“They tortured her for information she didn’t have. Then they killed her.” Imogen’s knuckles are white around her glass. “Malcolm showed up at my door two days later with his condolences and his offer.”

“The blood debt,” I say. “Your membership in exchange for taking out the cartel.”

She nods sharply. “It was the first and only votum I’ve used. With the Syndicate’s resources, taking out the cartel was… efficient.”

“You got your revenge,” I say, not as a question.

“I did.” There’s a cold satisfaction in her voice. “Every last one of them suffered before they died.”

I stroke the cat absently, letting Imogen’s words sink in. Something doesn’t sit right. A possibility forms in my mind. It’s dangerous, but worth exploring.

“Did Malcolm benefit at all from the cartel being taken out?” I ask carefully, watching her face.

Her entire body goes stiff. Her expression tightens, and for a second, I think I’ve miscalculated.

Badly.

When she speaks again, her voice is dangerously quiet. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m just trying to understand the full picture.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. Finally, she shakes her head, but it’s not a denial—it’s disbelief. I can almost see the wheels turning behind her eyes as she puts the pieces together.

“Bullshit. You’re not dumb. Why would you ask something like that?”

“Because from what you’ve told me, and from my own experience, Malcolm seems to create situations where he always comes out on top,” I explain carefully. “Where other people’s tragedy becomes his gain.”

I’ve planted the seed now, and I can see the question taking root in her mind. What if Malcolm knew there was a good chance Layla would be killed? What if he used both sisters, then offered Imogen entry into the Syndicate so he could keep using her and her resources?

And that small seed leads to the inevitable question as she shoots me a wary, suspicious look. “Are you saying he set us up?”

I’ve never had to tread more carefully around a subject in my life. “I’m saying it’s worth considering all the possibilities. Especially when we’re dealing with someone as calculating as Malcolm Mercer.”

She sets her drink down with a sharp crack and begins pacing the length of the room. Princess jumps from my lap, startled by the sudden movement.

“That son of a bitch,” she mutters, more to herself than to me. “If what you’re suggesting is true…”

“Would it change things for you?” I ask. “If you knew for certain?”

She stops pacing and fixes me with a hard stare. “It would change everything.”

I know I’m playing with fire here. If I push too fast, I could blow this whole thing up in my face. But I’m running out of time. Every night I spend in Malcolm’s bed, every time his eyes linger on me, I can feel the clock ticking down.

“Maybe Malcolm shouldn’t have as much power as he does,” I suggest in an almost casual way. Probably too casual, judging by the way her head snaps toward me.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m just thinking out loud,” I say with a shrug. “It’s just… interesting how the Syndicate is structured.”

“How so?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“From what I’ve seen, Malcolm presents it as this equal partnership between powerful players.” I lean back on the couch, trying to appear more relaxed than I feel. “But that’s not really how it works, is it?”

“The Syndicate has rules,” she says, drawing out each word to an almost cautious degree. “We all agreed to them when we joined.”

“Rules that Malcolm created. Rules that Malcolm can apparently change whenever it suits him—like when he decided I didn’t have to die for refusing to perform Elliot’s votum.”

“That was surprising. And unusual.”

“Was it?” I ask. “Or is it just that he usually doesn’t need to be so obvious about bending the rules to get what he wants?”

“What exactly are you getting at?”

“I’m just saying, there are what? Six of you in the Syndicate? Seven, counting me. Malcolm is just one vote, but somehow he controls everything.”

“It’s his organization,” she says, but it sounds like she’s testing the words, not defending him.

“Is it, though?” I lean forward slightly. “Or is it just a way for him to make all of you his pawns? To use your resources, your connections, your skills—while making you think you’re equals?”

“That’s a dangerous line of thinking,” she warns, but there’s something in her eyes that tells me she’s listening—really listening.

“More dangerous than staying under his thumb? More dangerous than waiting for him to sacrifice you the way he might have sacrificed your sister?”

She’s stopped pacing, and her full attention is on me now.

“He enticed all of you with a blood debt and made you think he was doing you a favor when really, he was just collecting powerful assets.” I hold her gaze steadily.

“And now you all follow his rules, perform his votums, handle his dirty work—and for what? What are you actually getting out of this arrangement?”

“Protection,” she says, but the look on her face hints that she’s reciting a line she might not fully believe anymore.

“From who? Each other?” I shake my head. “The only person any of you need protection from is Malcolm himself.”

“It’s not that simple. We’ve built something here. Networks, alliances, territories—all carefully balanced.”

“Balanced by Malcolm,” I point out. “With him at the top. Always.”

“And what’s your alternative?” she asks. “Dismantle the Syndicate? Go back to backstabbing and fighting among ourselves?”

“No,” I say firmly. “What if the Syndicate continued, but without Malcolm calling the shots? What if it truly was an equal partnership, where decisions were made collectively?”

“It sounds nice, but I’m not sure that would work. Everyone has their own agenda.”

“So does Malcolm,” I counter. “The difference is, his agenda has always been the priority. What if your agendas were given equal weight for once?”

I can see Imogen silently weighing my words, considering the implications and risks.

“You’re suggesting we take Malcolm down,” she finally says. “That we free ourselves from his control.”

I take a deep breath. Here it is—the moment of truth. “Yes.”