“—and you see, with this particular job, I get paid per head. So, my foul-mouthed bitch, I’m offering you the chance to avoid retribution for the soldiers you took from me. And for this,” he says, gesturing to his wounded hand.
My attention drifts to his whip, back to his eyes. “You think I’m scared of your little toy, Rekk?”
“You should be.” He boasts a lopsided grin that’s all sharp canines and the promise of pain. “The iron tip bites.”
“I’ve seen bigger. But hey, if whipping a female makes you feel like a strong boy, then don’t let me stomp your dreams. Don’t worry, I can handle it. I’ve got enough balls for the both of us.”
This time when he laughs, it lacks any real substance.
He flicks his hand.
The whip slithers through the air at lightning speed, and breath bursts from my lungs as a lash of pain snaps at my hip, shredding through my skinsuit and slitting skin.
I squeeze my lips shut, chewing the urge to fill the space with a scream, body trembling. My flesh ignites with anticipation—preparing for the next strike that’ll undoubtedly land.
“Your lips are tight now,” he says, drawing another puff of his stick. “But if they weren’t so loose while you were speaking to the musician at the Hungry Hollow, you wouldn’t be in this predicament and your friend wouldn’t be dead.”
My heart skips a beat—another—his words settling amongst my insides like the tips of flesh-shredding arrowheads …
Levvi.
He’s talking about Levvi.
Which means—
“In turn, she handed you a runed note I used to track down your living quarters.”
The room spins, my whirring mind unraveling so fast all the threads that usually hold me together get knotted and bunched until they’re a tangled nest of knots.
My details. In case you want to perform together again …
Her lips had molded into a sad smile the moment she’d said those words, like they tasted bad.
Creators …
I didn’t have to show her the orb—I would’ve gotten away without it. But I was in a rush. Distracted. So fucking desperate to complete the mission I’d fought for.
I’d been blind. Stupid.
Selfish.
And now Essi’s dead.
I groan, the fresh information a savage slice to the raw, exposed ache in my chest that hasn’t yet had a chance to scab over.
“Imagine my disappointment when I activated the tracking rune and realized the note didn’t lead me to The Flourish,” Rekk says, pointing the smoke stick at me and tapping off the ash. “Meaning you’re just a grunt. The one they use to do the dirty work. You see, what I need is somebody with close-knit ties to the Elding or, at the very least, knows the location of The Flourish. Can you help me out with that?”
Sereme.
I dip my chin, looking at him from beneath my brows, thoughts tumbling over a bristled terrain.
Much as I hate the bitch, I could never hand her over to this sadistic prick. Not only would it endanger Ruse, but if this monster got hold of the vial that hangs around her neck, so many others I respect would fall victim to The Crown.
Not an option.
Ever.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” He puffs his stick to a nub, then drops it, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot. “We both know that once I hand you over to The Crown, the Guild of Nobles will make you an example, which will not end well for you—my pretty, feral mutt. However, in this room,” he says, caressing the handle of his whip, “you have a unique opportunity to avoid that fate, should you decide to, I don’t know …” he tips his head from side to side, “loosen those lips again. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“Yes,” I bite out from between clenched teeth. “And I heartily decline.”
Frowning, he crouches so I’m peering down my nose at him, garnishing me with a look of confusion. “I don’t think you understand. I’m giving you a chance to live, you daft cunt.”
“You’re mistaken. I know the sick, twisted game you’re playing. I simply refuse to partake. So you can flick your little toy at me and shred my skin, but the only thing I’ll spill is blood.”
My words echo through the space, bouncing off the walls.
I draw my mouth full of saliva and spit.
It slaps upon his eye, and I get the glory of watching his upper lip wobble, a frown shadowing his face.
He reaches up to wipe away the bloody slur. “So be it,” he sneers, shoving up.