V.E. Schwab - Vengeful

CONTENTS

ALSO AVAILABLE FROM V. E. SCHWAB
AND TITAN BOOKS

Vicious

Vengeful

This Savage Song

Our Dark Duet

The Dark Vault (November 2018)

A Darker Shade of Magic

A Gathering of Shadows

A Conjuring of Light

TITAN BOOKS

Vengeful

Hardback edition ISBN: 9781785652486

E-book edition ISBN: 9781785652493

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

www.titanbooks.com

First Titan edition: September 2018

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

V.E. Schwab asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Copyright 2018 V.E. Schwab

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

To Mum, and Holly, and Miriam, the most powerful women I know

While seeking revenge, dig two gravesone for yourself.

DOUGLAS HORTON

GENESIS

SIX WEEKS AGO

THE MERIT SUBURBS

THE night Marcella died, she made her husbands favorite dinner.

Not because it was a special occasion, but because it wasntspontaneity, people insisted, was the secret to love. Marcella didnt know if she believed all that, but she was willing to try her hand at a home-cooked meal. Nothing too fancya good steak, edges seared with black pepper, slow-baked sweet potatoes, a bottle of merlot.

But six oclock came and went, and Marcus wasnt home.

Marcella put the food in the oven to keep it warm, then checked her lipstick in the hall mirror. She freed her long black hair from its loose bun, then put it up again, teasing a few strands out before smoothing her A-line dress. People called her a natural beauty, but nature only went so far. The truth was, Marcella spent two hours in the gym six days a week, trimming and toning and stretching every lean muscle on her willowy five-foot-ten frame, and she never left her bedroom without her makeup expertly applied. It wasnt easy, but neither was being married to Marcus Andover Rigginsbetter known as Marc theShark, Tony Hutchs right-hand man.

It wasnt easybut it was worth it.

Her mother liked to say shed gone fishing and somehow bagged a great white. But what her mother didnt understand was that Marcella had baited her hook with her prize in mind. And shed caught exactly what shed wanted.

Her cherry red heels clicked across the wood floor before being swallowed by the silk rug as she finished setting the table and lit each of the twenty-four tapers in the pair of iron candelabras that framed the door.

Marcus hated them, but for once Marcella didnt care. She loved the candelabras, with their long stems and branching limbsthey looked like the kind of thing youd find in a French chateau. They made the home feel luxurious. Made new money feel old.

She checked the timeseven, nowbut resisted the urge to call. The fastest way to kill a flame was to smother it. Besides, if Marcus had business, then business always came first.

Marcella poured herself a glass of wine and leaned back against the counter, imagining his strong hands closing around someones throat. A head forced underwater, a jaw cracking sideways. Once hed come home with blood on his hands and shed fucked him right there on the marble island, the metal shaft of his gun still in its holster, the steel hard against her ribs.

People thought Marcella loved her husband in spite of his work. The truth was, she loved him because of it.

But as seven became eight, and eight neared nine, Marcellas arousal slowly turned to annoyance, and whenthe front door finally swung open, that annoyance hardened to anger.

Sorry, darling.

His voice always shifted when hed been drinking, slowing to a lazy drawl. It was his only tell. He never stumbled or swayed, his hands never shook. No, Marcus Riggins was made of stronger stuffbut he wasnt without his flaws.

Its fine, said Marcella, hating the edge in her own voice. She turned toward the kitchen, but Marcus caught her wrist, pulling her hard enough that she lost her balance. His arms folded around her, and she looked up into his face.

Sure, her husbands waist had widened a little, while hers had narrowed, that beautiful swimmers body bloating a fraction with each passing year, but his summer brown hair hadnt thinned, and his eyes were still the rugged blue of slate or dark water. Marcus had always been good-looking, though she wasnt sure how much of that was his tailored suits or the way he moved through the world, as if expecting it get out of his way. It usually did.

Youre gorgeous, he whispered, and Marcella could feel the press of him, hungry against her hip. But Marcella wasnt in the mood.

She reached up, nails dragging down his stubbled cheek. You hungry, sweetheart?

Always, he growled against her neck.

Good, said Marcella, stepping away and smoothing her skirt. Dinners ready.

* * *

A bead of red wine slid like sweat down the side of the raised glass, tracing its way toward the white tablecloth. Marcella had filled it too full, her hand made clumsy by her worsening mood. Marcus didnt seem to notice the stain. He didnt seem to notice anything.

To my beautiful wife.

Marcus never prayed before meals, but he always made a toast, had since the night they met. It didnt matter if he had an audience of twenty or if they ate alone. Shed found it endearing on their first date, but these days the gesture felt hollow, rehearsed. Designed to charm instead of being genuinely charming. But he never failed to say the words, and perhaps that was a kind of love. Or perhaps Marcus was simply a creature of habit.

Marcella lifted her own glass.

To my elegant husband, she answered automatically.

The rim was halfway to her lips when she noticed the smudge on Marcuss cuff. At first she thought it was only blood, but it was too bright, too pink.

It was lipstick.

Every conversation shed had with the other wives came rushing back.

His eyes start to wander yet?

Keeping his stick wet?

All men are rotten.

Marcus was busy cutting into his steak, and rambling on about insurance, but Marcella had stopped listening. Behind her eyes, her husband traced his thumb across a pair of stained lips, parting them around his knuckle.

Her fingers tightened on the wineglass. Heat was flushingher skin even as a cold weight settled in her stomach. What a fucking clich, she said.

He didnt stop chewing. Excuse me?

Your sleeve.