“Antagonizing people will only cause more pain,” he said quietly. “You should’ve learned that yesterday.”
Millie shrugged as much as the straps around her body allowed. “You’re going to hurt me anyway, so I might as well have fun with it.”
The man tapped the side of the syringe and pushed the plunger, and a few red drops squirted into the air. It was the same color as rowanberry juice, but it could just be a red-dyed liquid. She wasn’t going to fret, at least not yet.
It was time to try tactic number one. “You seem a bit out of place here, mate. Shouldn’t you be in a barrister’s office? Or perhaps graduate school?”
Those gold-flecked eyes looked her up and down. “Judging by appearances, you should be a footballer’s wife.”
To be a footballer’s wife meant to be beautiful yet shallow and superficial, or so went the stereotype. “Glad to know you think I’m fit. Or should I use the Yank term of ‘hot,’ since I’ve met your sister and know that underneath your posh façade, you’re a red, white, and blue American.”
Her remarks had no effect, not even her comment about the man and Kiarra being siblings. Clearly he didn’t care about Kiarra, so what had caused his flash of regret earlier? If she could pinpoint the weakness, she could extrapolate it.
He lowered the syringe and stopped a few inches above her arm. If she was going to find his weakness, she was going to have to work fast and keep him talking. “Taunts don’t phase you, but I have a feeling that this is the first time you’ve tortured someone for information.” His gaze shifted slightly. Bingo. “You’re doing a shoddy job, so here’s my a
dvice: stop stalling. Do what you need to do, so I can figure a way around it.”
His face was once again a mask of stone. “You’ve made some fairly big assumptions, but just this once, I will follow your advice.” He removed the cloth and revealed a red liquid inside the syringe. “Rowanberry juice. I suggest that you tell me everything you know about Kiarra, or we’ll find out if you’re one of the few who can survive an overdose.”
She was debating what convincing-yet-false information she could provide when Kiarra’s brother turned the syringe in his hand and revealed a small piece of masking tape with words written on it. If anyone was watching from behind the two-way glass, they wouldn’t be able to see it.
She read: Diluted. Pretend it’s real.
Right. So now he was helping her? Un-bloody-likely.
Diluting rowanberry juice was a skill she doubted the man possessed. If done correctly and administered soon after a full dose, a diluted shot would render a Feiru unconscious and slow down their heart rate, making a person appear dead to the untrained eye.
Which meant this man didn’t want her dead, but to appear so. The biggest question was: why? He’d done nothing to stop the interrogation yesterday. Nor ensure Kiarra’s safety. While unlikely, maybe this man was developing a conscience.
The more contradictions she discovered about this man, the more she wanted to find out why they existed. Too bad she’d never get the chance.
Millie met his eyes and said, “I don’t think you have the bollocks to go through with it.”
He shifted the syringe and she saw another piece of tape and read: Your freedom.
After she met his eyes again, the man lowered the syringe against the crook of her elbow, just shy of breaking the skin. “I’ll ask again: what do you know about Kiarra Melini?”
Millie was torn. If she called the man’s bluff, she would probably face Mr. Fist Bastard, who would keep at her until she died. However, if she went along with this man’s ruse, she might still die. A few words scribbled on two pieces of tape weren’t exactly a guarantee. She’d be unconscious and at his mercy.
But if she could evoke another reaction to reveal more about his character, maybe it would be enough for her to believe he would follow through on his suggestions. It was worth a try. “I know that Kiarra was abused inside the AMT, with no one to stand up for her or protect her. Instead, cowards like you just ignore the realities of the AMT for your own benefit, with no qualms about punishing the innocent.”
The needle pricked inside her skin, but Millie kept her eyes on the man’s face as he said, “Everyone has their place. If she broke the rules, then she deserved the consequences.”
Millie raised an eyebrow. “If a twist of fate had made you first-born, I doubt you’d think a prison is where you belong. But then again, if you torture innocents on the outside, I bet you’d be one of the guards abusing the inmates on the inside. Do you get your jollies from hurting those weaker than you?”
He pulled her up by her arm and brought her face close to his. “I do not hurt innocents, only those who deserve it.”
Millie searched his eyes. “And why do I deserve it?”
This time his regret was scant inches from her face. “Enough. I can see now that you won’t talk.”
Millie felt the pressure from the injection. The man’s reactions had given off mixed signals, but she had no choice but to hope the man would help her escape.
As dizziness overcame her, Millie looked into those gold-flecked eyes and murmured, “Keep lying to yourself.”
The man stepped away from her side and the world went black.
Chapter Thirty