Chapter 2
Purchased Prize
ROHEN
Adjusting my breasts in the lace crimson bustier, I swept over my reflection one more time.
Dark fishnets hugged my long legs, highlighting the minimal curves Seirdra had blessed me with.
Scars of my past, etched by the hand of the man I claimed not to know, mapped my skin with no particular pattern.
Each jagged line crisscrossed over the expanse of my thighs before transitioning to my freckle-covered arms.
Each unimaginable trauma I’d tried to run from lay bare before all the women around me, their judgmental eyes giving way to their opinions of my presence and all it entailed—stories of families who were supposed to love me, of beatings the male who purchased me put me through when I refused him.
Adorned with jewels and layers of cosmetics, they maneuvered through the dressing room with a womanly elegance I’d never developed.
Their plump breasts and thick backsides mocked my femininity, reminding me how boyish I looked in a body that supposedly belonged to a twenty-seven-year-old woman.
But even amidst their sneers of judgment, I walked amongst them with the air of confidence I always held—a prideful assassin, capable of killing men with her bare hands and the ability to blend in if needed.
My body was far more refined and equipped than theirs would ever be, and that was my upper hand.
Tossing my copper waves over my shoulder, I pivoted, my heels snapping against the tile with only one intention: butchering the king’s advisor and taking his head to Malrik—the boss I claimed I didn’t know when the soldier attempted to interrogate me.
After multiple failed fosters, the owners of the orphanage sold me to the black market at the age of ten.
I’d accepted then that, as a punishment for a prior existence, the Goddess of Life, Ysalyne, guided me into a reality filled with abuse and neglect.
And, unfortunately for me, after an entire night of torment from a crime lord who was alive at the time, Malrik walked through the doors.
He wasn’t an unknown visitor, and every lawless one who partook in the child trafficking auctions, smuggling routes, and purchasing of prostitutes whispered about his ruthlessness.
They knew him not by experience but by tale.
Any man unlucky enough to cross him never saw the light of day again, and he ensured it remained that way; his nature was so refined that even the most feared bowed to him.
When his eyes had settled on me, I knew I would never experience a day of freedom.
His presence was an asphyxiating blanket, his hands coiling around me with a near-suffocating grip I’d never entirely escape.
The moment the auctioneers completed the purchase, I became his puppet, one he tortured if I didn’t execute his commands flawlessly.
In his eyes, there was no room for error; he was too renowned amongst those who walked along the dark side of life.
He wasn’t just Malrik to them; he was the Overseer of Assassins, a felon who conspired to get his way and killed anyone who stood in his path.
Malrik owned me and was the only man I feared.
Every second his fingertips graced my skin came back to haunt me, bile building in my throat to cleanse my body of his wretchedness.
Forcing myself to swallow and blink away the watery haze that covered my gaze, I allowed each audible footfall to guide me back to the present.
Step by step, I moved closer to the door that led to the lantern-lit lounge beyond, a space full of sin, lust, and desire, reminding myself of why I’d come here and all I had left to do.
My hand met the knob, and I slipped on the mask of innocence, baring the teeth of vengeance beneath it. Inhaling once, my grasp tightened as I pulled the large wooden slab open, the scent of perfume and arousal greeting me.
My mouth watered, not with the essence of corruption that surrounded me, but with the need to kill.
The need to survive.
Leaning over the table, my tongue trailed over my lips.
I passed off another fake laugh to the male across from me, his tamed blonde hair gleaming beneath the orange and yellow hue pulsating through the open floor.
The tawny suit he wore was made of luxurious fabric, soft to the touch, and tailored to perfection.
It was an obvious attempt to display his title and status to the women prowling for the most appealing buyer, likely someone living within the walls of Serevalen, the Capital.
But little did he know I was the furthest thing from interested. Having blocked out his repetitive mentions of how his wife failed to please him in the bedroom, I fixed my attention elsewhere.
Tucked into one of the back booths, the advisor sat with a woman wrapped around each arm, both curvy and fully invested in him and all he had to say.
With his shirt peeled open to reveal a sculpted chest, one wove her fingers through the thick layer of hair coating it, petting him as if he were worthy of her attention.
The other drug her nails through his perfectly combed dark locks, scratching the back of his head like she would a hound.
That’s all men were—filthy, prick-driven animals.
His near-black eyes bounced between them, admiring their opposing lineages and the organic opposition they created.
The woman to his left had flawless ebony skin and a shaved head, leaving only a thin layer of tight white curls.
Her large breasts pressed against him and bounced with each laugh as she leaned in closer to him.
On his right sat the other, her upturned almond eyes trailing up every inch of his muscular frame.
Leaning forward, she brought herself to her knees, pressing a slew of kisses along his bare neck.
Their laughter erupted at the exact moment a hand rested on top of mine, tearing me from my observation.
Near-bronze irises swept over me, two golden locks falling to frame the tanned and chiseled face of my elected stepstool.
The man I’d snatched up clearly wished for my entertainment, but it wasn’t his fixation I needed to obtain.
“Mind elsewhere?” He asked calmly, tracing over his canines with his tongue.
“My sincerest apologies. I had a rough night with another client, which is not an excuse for me to mindlessly dissociate when such a handsome man is sitting in front of me. You’ve paid for my time, and I want to ensure I satiate your desires.
” I looked up at him beneath hooded lids.
“Is there something specific you’ve been fantasizing about?
” Reaching over, I rested my palm an inch away from his cock.
“Just speak your mind, and I can make all your desires come true.”
Gag me.
He pushed himself back from the high-top table, the legs of the chair he occupied squealing against the wood floorboards below.
He reached for me, his eyes glistening with unspoken impulse.
It was an expression I’d become well-acquainted with: a man willing to take what wasn’t his, no matter what it entailed.
I sank into myself, crawling into the hole I’d carved in my subconscious whenever it came to pleasing another man.
There were far too many times I’d been taken advantage of, intimacy becoming something that terrified me.
The thought made my skin crawl, my heart sink, and my vision blur, but I had a role to play if I wanted to get anywhere near the advisor.
And if it meant sacrificing another piece of myself, I would do so if I could avoid Malrik’s wrath.
My fingertips brushed his, a grin spreading across his lips. “Let’s get a room, shall—”
The scent of dark rum, sea salt, and a hint of sandalwood greeted me as a hand settled on his shoulder, pulsating with an aura that made my hair stand on end.
Bloodied knuckles fell into my line of sight first, hinting at Jaskor’s—the God of Luck and War—distaste for whatever unlucky bastard crossed the man’s path before his arrival.
Following muscled forearms to biceps, my gaze devoured an expansive chest woven with striations of labor.
The linen shirt did very little to hide what was beneath, every lull and peak of strength visible through the lightweight fabric.
Examining my surroundings, I landed on an olive-skinned neck dusted in dark stubble.
A light, jagged line protruded beneath it, a scar that suggested a story of unwavering complexity.
It was a blemish that mirrored the ones littering my flesh, igniting a hopefulness that someone would finally understand the intricacies that were me.
His perfectly manicured beard covered his cheeks and chin, only adding to his ruggedness.
It was a vigor that only belonged to one kind of man, and it immediately snuffed out any belief in the possible commonality we may have had.
He was a pirate.
Allowing me to map every inch of him, the corner of his mouth curled, and smile lines that would’ve drawn in any other woman appeared.
Maroon irises ignited as they met mine, a shadowed shade that would look brown to any onlooker not paying close enough attention.
Snuggly wrapped around his head sat a crimson bandana, and part of me wondered if its color was natural or if the blood of his enemies had served as its dye.
It seemed only to have one purpose: holding back his long, curled raven locks.
He towered over my customer, both in breadth and height, standing easily over six feet.
Craning his head down, he peered around the man who’d wished to have his way with me in a more private setting.
With a breath, his smirk transitioned to something unnerving—a threat and a promise all wrapped in one.
“Hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he crooned, his voice deep, rocky, and hypnotic. “But you won’t be taking her anywhere.”