Larissa Judson and Haskell Palmer novel Chapter 793

"Were you just cursing my name?" Larissa asked, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and a playful smile on her lips.

Fergus’s face went rigid. "No, of course not!" he denied hastily.

Larissa's smile widened. "Fergus, you said you wanted to atone, but your resolve seems to be crumbling already. You're a far cry from my brothers, Leopold and Finley. They held out for quite a while before begging for my forgiveness. You can't even last a single day?"

Fergus couldn't keep up the act any longer. How could this woman so mercilessly strike his face that had charmed countless girls?

But he was trapped in her house. He had no choice but to play along. Taking a deep breath, he forced down his anger and managed a smile despite his swollen features. "If this makes you feel better, Larissa, then I am at your disposal."

He lifted his head, meeting her gaze without flinching, the ingratiating smile still plastered on his face.

Larissa looked at his expression, which was more pathetic than charming, and clicked her tongue. "Oh? At least you know your place. Rest up today. I won't hit you again until tomorrow. I believe in moderation, after all. We have to do this gradually. I can't just break you all at once. Where would be the fun in that?"

"Larissa, I know you're not that cruel," Fergus pleaded, trying to appeal to her better nature.

"Oh, but I am. I sent my own father to prison," Larissa said, watching with satisfaction as the color drained from his face.

"Honestly, Fergus, I've never met anyone so foolish. Injuring yourself just to get close to me, hoping to win my sympathy."

His expression froze again. "Larissa, you've misunderstood. I wasn't trying to get close to you."

"I wonder if Lucius would be able to rest so peacefully if he knew his dear cousin had walked right into the lion's den," Larissa mused before turning to leave. She instructed the guards at the door, "Watch him. If he tries to run, break his legs."

"Yes, miss."

Once they were in her office, Wynn closed the door and spoke with urgency. "Ms. Judson, Tawny is in danger! Can you please help me rescue her?"

Larissa took her seat and said calmly, "Tell me what happened."

Wynn pulled out his phone and showed her Tawny's Twitter feed. "She posted this late last night. I can tell her mental state is deteriorating."

Larissa looked at the screen. The post was a bizarre, chaotic drawing of a person's face, the lines so messy it was impossible to tell who it was supposed to be. But she noticed one detail: a mole near the subject's right eye. It was the same feature Nightveil had noted in her report on the man backing the Lincolns.

"How can you tell she's in danger from this drawing?"

"Tawny has loved to draw since she was a child," Wynn said with certainty. "But her art has always been positive and cheerful. Before we went public, she used to draw cute, cartoonish versions of me. She would never create something so disturbing unless something was terribly wrong. This is a cry for help. She's sending a message to me, because I'm the only one who would understand."