Chapter 11
Soren echoes in my mind for every minute that passes, his words slicing open deep vulnerabilities that are best kept hidden. He’s such a dipshit for saying what he said to me, and my crotch is also a right idiot for getting wet.
How does he know I want him so badly? Is he that cocky? Does he see me as someone to easily take advantage of? Anger fumes inside, hating that he has some semblance of control over me.
Revealing my tattoo bought me his curiosity, and I can’t waste it, even if he makes me mad. I simply need to ignore what he does to me and realize there’s always opportunity in chaos, as long as one knows where to look. Opening up to him—on my terms—might be the best way to manipulate him.
I refuse to lose. Father would disown me if I didn’t at least try .
There’s one good option for escape, and I’ll have to use it soon before resorting to stabbing him.
Staring at a half-eaten loaf of bread, I chew the giant piece in my mouth. I already pissed outside and sipped on some hot soup. I sigh, listlessly staring at the worn wooden table.
The woman named Anya stares at me as I eat, the two of us sitting at a dining table with a white cloth on top, pewter plates, and mugs set out for the both of us. Even that angers me. The scene is too nice for a captive.
Fucking my way to freedom was easier before this turned into some kind of power play.
Maybe I don’t have that in me.
Relax, Jane. Don’t let him get to your head. Focus on breaking his resolve.
Finally, Anya speaks. Her gentle voice seems to rest on the edge of brutality. “You had a rough night.”
“Aye,” I dully reply.
“Do you have any idea why they want you?”
“That’s supposed to be your job.”
“I never claimed—”
Heavy footsteps echo on the stairs, my body shivering when I hear Soren's voice. “Ready the horses to leave in an hour.”
I spin around to glare at him, the mercenary all dressed in his armor, clean-shaven. “My bath?” I will fight like hells to get one, especially after what I revealed to him.
“It’s being drawn, princess ,” he chides. “You get until that sundial hits the sixth line, then we leave.”
I scarf down the rest of my food as Anya watches the two of us like she’s indexing this entire encounter. I glance at her before leaving the table, the mercenary woman dressed not much differently from Soren, except wearing less armor.
“Where do I go?” I ask, nearing the devil I'm ready to make a deal with.
He raises a brow, standing at the bottom step. “Are baths really your thing? You’re that easy?”
“I hate bathing in cold rivers.”
Mother always had someone draw hot baths for me. It’s a treat that strikes deeply at my childhood... and it will comfort me.
Plus, I need this smell of smoke off of me.
His shrewd eyes graze over me in judgment, then he looks at Anya. “Get the men ready. I’ll take her upstairs.”
He nods back up, stepping to the side—oh, absolutely not. Why does he have to be the one to escort me? I was enjoying how quiet—even if a bit too observational—Anya was. She’d be easier to escape from too, I bet.
I fidget with a protest in my throat, but I'm also wasting time. Trudging past him, my feet echo softly compared to his, the sound of his armor a haunting reminder of who controls my destiny.
“In the room to your right,” he instructs.
I open the door on its squeaky hinges, briefly remembering the depths of Soren’s barbarism, expecting something awful to happen, but inside is just a small bathing room with a large, wooden tub in the middle, stagnant water steaming. Soren moves to occupy an empty chair in the corner, pulling out a blade and whetstone.
“Yeah, I'm not bathing with you in the room,” I say, motioning for the door.
He doesn't look at me. “If you want a bath, you will.” He points to it with his knife. “You’re too interesting to let anyone else guard you. I don’t trust you. Get in.”
Fuck. He has a point. And I’m wasting time. Attacking him seems to get me nowhere, as if he can predict all my actions. Perhaps I will have to use alternative tactics... but not yet. I’m proving a point that I’ll enjoy my bath, even if this asshole watches.
“Look away, then.”
He huffs in annoyance but does an action that makes me feel uninterpretable things—he actually turns around in the small chair, looking away. He’s a Zenith, Jane. One they send to capture people. He’s a manipulator, and that’s all he’s doing right now. It doesn’t matter if his angry stare makes you melt… You can sort through that mess later.
I strip while locking my eyes on him before sliding my body into the water, shivering from the heat before melting into it, soaking down underneath it all.
I slowly resurface for air, running a hand over my head to smooth out my hair. Soren now watches with a curiosity that he’s getting worse at covering, his eyes haunting my peripheral.
Fine, if he’s going to watch, then he can. I begin washing my hair, keeping my chest submerged. My eyes roll behind closed lids as I scrub my scalp, using extra scented oils to remove the stain of smoke. I clean the rest of me, relaxing with what little heat is left when I feel done.
All the while, I hear the sound of metal sharpening.
Cracking my eyes open, I immediately note that he's watching me. Unwarranted chills of pleasure coil down my spine, and I nearly laugh at how ridiculous that is. Talk to him. Don’t waste having his full attention.
After a few steadying breaths, I’m re-centered.
“Can I stay with you if the Council wants to boil me alive?” I question, circling my finger on the bath’s edge. “I am worth something as a healer, you know.”
He snorts and shakes his head, another swipe . “I don’t know if whatever you hide in your shadows is worth my trouble, no matter how tempting you look.”
I avert my gaze when heat creeps into my cheeks, the foreign sensation as annoying as Soren. Men never make me blush this easily. It fuels my desire to want to make him speechless. Show him he doesn’t hold all the cards, even if he’s convinced he does.
The organ in my chest pounds harder, and my eyes struggle to focus. Melona warned me to stay away from the Council, at all costs. Gears turn inside my skull, one by one, click by click, moving with intention as I consider every option.
Opening up to Soren can only help me escape. Being physically close is required, and I doubt I’ll be able to go near the mercenary unless he thinks he’s got the upper hand.
My lips part, the words like heavy lead on my tongue; I can’t seem to get my mouth to cooperate. Quietly, and with great apprehension, I say, “My father was a Zenith.”
The sharpening stops.
My heart pounds so hard I’m shocked there aren’t ripples in the water, knowing I’m risking everything right now. But Soren’s given me a bath and deems me important enough to keep me within arm’s length. There’s opportunity in his caution with me.
“What happened to him?” He quietly asks. A calming voice. He wants this information, and he wants it terribly.
It’s so hard to imagine what Dad would do right now, given I only knew him from a child’s perspective. It’s all right. You know what to do. Lower Soren’s walls, even if by an inch, then strike with the one move you have. “He’s not around anymore.”
Silence. Contemplation.
The Zenith’s rough, deep voice remains steady as if treating me like an ocean storm that might strike down a ship without warning. “How do you have the tattoo, but no records of you?”
I dare a glance at the killer. “How do you know if there are records of me or not?”
“We are always aware of who is out there, related to a Zenith, former or alive.” His eyes are completely devoid of any emotion. “Of all the Zenith missing, none of them has a daughter. The tattoos are also always listed.”
I honestly don’t know how my father managed to escape that. I barely remember the night I got the tattoo. “I don’t know,” I mumble, chewing on my lip. Do I give him more? Yes. He’ll either tie me up and gag me, or he’ll want to pick me apart—I’d wager the latter if I make it worth his time. “But I didn’t grow up around the Zenith. I lived with my mother, who was a healer. Dad would visit when he could.”
Soren places the whetstone down, his scrutinous gaze scanning the room as he stands. I remain still as he nears me with heavy footsteps and clinking armor, the man kneeling down next to the tub. I stare out the window, gripping the edges of the tub with white knuckles. He points that freshly sharpened knife right at me, my nostrils flaring, but I remain immobile. “I’ll admit, I’m intrigued.” He leans in, my breathing quickening, but I control my expression to the best of my ability. “But you’re unpredictable. I know you want freedom, and I may even be inclined to help. Not unless I know the whole story, though.”
My heart races to an unhealthy degree. I doubt he means that he’ll actually help , but I don’t need a knight in shining armor right now—all that matters is he thinks my walls are down, so I can manipulate him when he least expects it…
“I’m willing to talk if you agree to help,” I concede.
“You must know some damning secrets if you’re this desperate to strike a bargain with me,” he muses.
“You know what, I am desperate,” I reply, trying to look his way without meeting his gaze. I throw out a line to gauge the depths of his negotiations. “It’s unfair, honestly. This whole situation. I’d do a lot to live. Even be your little healer pet, if needed.”
Without warning, he runs his hand through the wet hair on the backside of my head, pulling so he cranes my face toward the dark ceiling. I gasp as he looks right down at me, hovering in my line of sight. He studies me, and I try not to meet those piercing eyes.
“No. I won't take another Zenith's daughter as a pet. That’s not your place.” He tightens his grip, and I instinctively arch my back to lessen the pain, my warm, exposed skin pebbling from the cooler air. “You seem to not like that you’re aroused by me, anyway,” he cheekily adds.
A sardonic chuckle rolls out of me, stuck in this uncomfortable position. “I tried to reject your kind,” I say, finally meeting his pale gaze. I lick my lips, my chest rising and falling before I softly confess, “I can't do it. I’m born with blood as bad as yours, and it makes me angry .”
Let’s see what that makes him do.
He doesn't change his calculated expression, as if every word I utter sends his mind down a labyrinth of choices. “Is that why you get into fights? You got aggression like a small dog that needs ran?”
His words defile my veins with a familiar anger and I try to hit him, but he grabs my wet wrist as if I told him I was about to do it. I glare at him. “Will you stop predicting my moves? Just let me hit you. Once .”
His laugh reveals an unnaturally alluring smile for a killer. Staring up at him while he holds me like this, my body exposed... oh, I will burn these thoughts one day.
“Tell me his name, and I'll keep the Council away from you, little Jane.”
Scoffing, I reply, “I’d be thrilled to believe you, but you can understand why I don’t .”
“Perhaps, but I also see value in preserving you. “I doubt the Council want to do more than kill you for the sake of posterity, which means they won’t fight me if I make it difficult for them.”
The hand gripping my wrist releases, sliding his fingers between my breasts, hovering his touch on the tattoo while still holding onto my hair. I hate the way his touch feels on my skin, my nipples hardening from the cold.
It better be from the cold.
He muses, “My guess is the Council has seen you’re alive somehow and are not happy you have this mark. You broke a rule, and they love to kill their rule breakers.”
“You don’t have to touch it a second time, I know which mark you mean.”
He grins, moving only his eyes to look at me. “You just offered to be my pet. That will require me touching you.”
“Desperation does weird things to people.”
He slides that hand up to my neck, my body flinching as muscle memory wants to fight being gripped there again. Instead, my hands clasp the side of the tub, showing him some form of submission that will no doubt speak to the brute; I’m torn between acting as the Jane who gets into fights and being the Jane that can successfully manipulate.
My body remains tense, even if his grip isn’t the same as yesterday. No, it’s to steady me as he lowers his lips to my ear, completely securing my head. His hot breath does everything for me, which simultaneously destroys me.
Soren laughs as if he can read my mind and releases me, standing. “That’s not desperation, love. It’s called arousal.”
“Oh, fuck off ,” I grind out.
“When you want to tell me who daddy is,” he says, sitting back down across from me. “I’ll agree to keep the hounds off of you. But you can only take my offer before we meet them.”
Well, if I thought he was confusing before, I'm not sure what he is now. He’s so clearly trying to goad me into talking without any real reassurances. “Sure, I’ll just believe you like I’m an idiot. At least strike a real deal with me.”
He leans back in his seat like it's a throne. “Listen, my life’s purpose is my priority, long before I owe anything to the world as a Zenith. We’re a collection of liars, killers, and thieves. Honor only matters to those that share our blood or oaths. Everyone else is expendable, including the Council.” He rests his arms on each edge of the seat, spreading his legs. “Makes sense why they didn't say anything to me in the first place. Your daddy being a Zenith could prove useful to me, in one way or another. But I can’t tell how useful you are until his name is given.”
I stare at the bath water, soaking in how I'm naked and bargaining for my life with a dangerous man. I frown. “Yes, but what ? Do what with me? You’re just going to spare me then let me go on my way?”
“Don't know yet. But how about this—I won’t kill you,” he offers.
His voice seems sincere, I’ll give him that. I incline my head in his direction, raising my brows and nearly shaking my head. “You can promise me whatever you want, even a pretty pearl crown, but it’s only as good as empty air to me. Meanwhile, I give you all of my secrets? That’s a little convenient.”
He leans forward, the leather crinkling. “What other options do you have? I kept my word on your bath and food.”
Sinking my fists into the water, staring at my protruding knees, I think about that. There’s not an inch of him that I trust, but surely this offer has to be worth something? Even if it only buys me an extra day free of the Council’s grasp, or an extra layer of his patience... “And what would we possibly make the deal on?”
“Your desperate hope that I keep my word.”
My lips betray me as they quiver upward before I press them together in a hard line, refusing to laugh.
I weigh my options: maintain silence on dad’s identity, or participate in a negotiation. If I know Soren’s kind at all, he’ll gag me until I speak. So, logic would reason that remaining mute is a waste of my time.
Lifting my head to stare at the blue sky through the window, I can’t lose a single day to being stingy. The further from Skull’s Row that I am when I try to escape, the better. “All right. I’ll tell you. My last name is Ritter. You got it right when you said Charles Ritter.”
Soren’s anchored silence has my teeth nearly clattering from adrenaline. “The Scorpion was your daddy?”
“Yes,” I mutter.
“He never had children,” he says as if still trying to understand.
“That you know of,” I counter, glancing at him through my peripheral.
“Yeah, they definitely will want to kill you,” he replies, watching me with eyes I'm not sure how to read. Soren adds, “We record everything . Every bastard. And even if you escaped Skull’s Row, Ritter still marked you. They’re going to pick you apart like starving beasts eating a fresh kill, wanting to know who betrayed them to allow you permission to receive our mark.”
Okay… now what? How do I take advantage of this?
“You’re also hiding something,” Soren adds, rubbing his chin. “Best to speak up on it.”
“Quit pretending you can read minds,” I quip, glaring at him.
His gaze burns into mine. “You’re not the only one in the room with magic in their veins.”
“What?”
“I’m an empath, of sorts. A very astute one that sometimes can read more than emotions. I can feel people. It’s why I’m good at killing. I can move through pure darkness and always find my target and feel their moves. I can feel your motives. They’re foggy because of how lost you are, but I can tell when you’re being honest. You’ve never felt so pure and true until you confessed your daddy is one of us.”
Fucking great. Of course . I’m almost not even angry, as nothing seems impossible right now.
I roll my eyes and ask, “What if my true purpose is that I am just here to seduce you, hmm?”
“Then hurry the fuck up because you're slow at it.”
My laugh spills out before I have the ability to reign it back in. I don't like the genuine banter. I can't be chummy with him, especially when something curious crosses his gaze. “Why do they want me?” I ask quietly, trying to pretend that never happened. “Have they really not told you?”
“No. They know not to trust me to that degree... and I’m guessing they learned who you are. Or at least that your mark exists.”
“How did they learn, though?” I ask, uncertain as to why he’s speaking so openly, but it’s also not like I’ll waste this.
“All it takes is one bath in the river, and someone seeing you.”
“I always bathed with my chest covered.”
“You're also a little thing getting into frequent bar fights. That’s a Skull's Row move, love. So of course, we send men out to investigate.”
Perhaps.
Either way, they clearly found out, one way or another. “What are you going to do with me now? Seriously. Just be honest, if you can be such a thing.”
He seems to consider many things while his thumb rubs over his bottom lip. His eyes are slightly gentle as he says, “I won’t kill you. That’s all I can promise.”
The lukewarm water is starting to feel cold, and I’m losing interest in it, but I keep pushing for any crumbs. “By keeping me, you’d be keeping a rather illicit secret.”
“Love, I was a warlord before a Zenith. There are no illicit manners, just handshakes that we all know have a limit to our promises.”
Okay… so I’m definitely dying in Skull’s Row. Even if he keeps me alive to fuck me for a week, he just admitted that his selfish desires will triumph over any agreement. Escaping is more paramount than ever—I shut that off, in case he can feel it. To distract myself even further, I place my hand over my neck, sending healing energy into it to soothe the deep ache. “So, you can hear what others are thinking? Or just feel it?”
He indulges quickly, and I'm still not sure why. “I can wade through the bullshit more than others.” He stands, grabbing a towel and standing above the bath, holding it out. “It’s how I know you want me, but don’t like it,” he says with a slow grin and places the towel on the edge. “Get out. We’re leaving. I can also tell you’re mad it’s no longer warm.”
“Turn around,” I say with a defeated sigh. How in the fuck did I end up with an empath ? This will get old fast.
He actually turns his back to me again. The first time felt like he wanted me stripped and bare to reveal any vulnerability, but to do it again … is it an offering of peace? To show he means his words? I eye that man, breathing heavily. One quick, unsuspecting strike—
He laughs. “That fast? You’re already thinking about killing me?”
Why in the fucking hells does that turn me on even more? “It’s a habit. Get used to it.”
What a complicated situation; he’s right. I’m massively attracted to him, and that makes me a bad person, especially being his captive that he wants to use for his own gain. Fucking him as a pet could have been easy—it’s a transaction. He gives me safety, and I pleasure and heal him.
But apparently, I can’t get over the thought of enjoying the process. Is it only men from Skull’s Row that make me happy? The murderous villains that they are?
I get out, water dripping down my body and onto the floor as I quickly wrap myself in the dry towel.
“You know, you send the most hypocritical signals, Jane,” he says, his grating voice doing things to me.
I use the towel around me to dab at my hair, frantically holding it to my body when he turns around.
“I told you to keep your eyes to yourself,” I bite, glaring at him, nearly tripping on the tub as I back up.
“Where's the flirtation?” he asks like I'm his entertainment.
“Close your eyes and I'll show you,” I mock.
Avidity glints within the ice of his gaze. “Go on, then.”
What the hells is happening? He raises a brow as if challenging me. He’s fucking with you, Jane. Another tactic. My heart pounds in my neck, and I’m so far at the edge of chaos that I’m willing to give anything a shot. Embrace being attracted to him. Use it . Cautiously, and not believing he’ll actually do it, I say, “You have to close your eyes, like I said.”
He actually complies.
An impending death has a funny way of making people behave against their nature. Or is this my true nature, and I just want to believe I'm better than this?
Like a wolf that refuses to shed her sheep’s clothing, I’m still called to the primal howls of the kill in the distance.
I near him, my wet feet on the cool floor. I can look at him now and observe all the details. His hair has the faintest wave, although currently pulled back in a loose bundle. Perhaps it’s not even black, but the darkest shade of mahogany. I can see the minute twitches in his face, no doubt feeling me out. I’m within arm’s reach, inside the lion’s den, but I don’t care.
Everything I knew about my life, about who I wanted to be, no longer matters. Skull’s Row calls me back, and I can’t remember the last time I wanted to jump a man’s bones this badly.
That’s why I always resorted to punching people to get this frustration out of my system.
There, that’s familiar—I start to think about assaulting him. Knocking him out and running for it, leaving him with a misshapen nose to remember me by, even if it would be a shame to ruin his face. I raise my hand in thought, just to look at it, but it’s enough for him. Pale eyes flash open, his armored arm swiftly striking out to grab my wrist, glaring at me.
My towel drops to the floor.
His eyes fall to my damp body. I breathe heavier, lost in that same headspace that I occupy when at the taverns. Reckless thoughts burn away good decisions, just wanting to understand my heart. Everything shifts in his rapacious expression as he looks me over.
“Oh, that was a poor decision, love.”
Warm and jittery sensations flood my navel, contrasting the air that chills my skin. He can probably ravish me, and no doubt knows a woman's body like a wet dream. He slides his gaze up at me. I’m pulled in every direction, stuck in the stagnant middle. His other hand touches my outer thigh, an electric need filling my body.
He looks me over and then stares right at my pussy. “You have a fucking lovely body. And I mean that.”
Not a single word forms in my brain. I want him so badly that I can only swallow the lump in my throat. I want the world I’m owed, to taste the adoration of men that would have killed to be with the Scorpion’s daughter.
The hand on my thigh slides around to my hip and ass, my knees weakening. Who cares if Soren’s my captor? It’s not like I plan to stay. Don’t I deserve to enjoy something like this? Use him like he’s using me?
Then he leans in and hovers his warm breath right over my navel. Soren has the gall to give it a slow, languid, hungry lick. I'm immediately slick for him, and I internally panic. “Why the fuck did you do that...” I moan, wanting his tongue everywhere now.
Some remaining sense of my dignity tries to back up, but his grip is iron, and that confusingly turns me on more. He smiles against my skin, then slowly rises to stand, all the while grazing his nose against my flesh—over my tattoo—his hand swiftly grabbing the nape of my neck, partially fisting my hair. The other cups my chin as his thumb pulls my bottom lip down.
He looks at me like it's taking every ounce of his control to not mount me.
“I’m going to have to fuck a whore now,” he rasps, looking into my eyes. “But that sweet pussy of yours will be on my mind for a while, Jane. Curves like these don't appear every day.”
My head spins in desire. “Fuck you,” I mumble, his thumb still on my lip. I want to kick him, but I don't. Because I also want to see where this goes, inspired by the part of me that stares at danger and simply walks head first; the part of me that belongs in Skull’s Row.
“I know you want to,” he says with a wicked grin and pulls away.
I groan in displeasure. I want him back here, touching me. Licking me. What the fuck?
He snorts. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”
“I don't want to go to Skull’s Row,” I say, turning to face him in my nudity, speaking to the authority I know he carries. Maybe my curves can tempt him to come back, so I can try to slap him again. Maybe the trick is to not think about it and just do it.
That's how I will use my one good escape plan when the time comes to it. I will slide it in with ease...
His eyes are all over my body, a desire in his gaze that almost scares me. “You have to go—that’s non-negotiable—but after seeing your lithe frame, I’m certainly not letting them kill you any time soon.”