Chapter 11
Asparking gold and emerald eye changing into two stunning green eyes. There’s shame, fear, and pain in them.
And hopelessness.
The howling wind outside rattling my loose window wakes me early.
Isi is still sound asleep, curled up facing the wall.
I slide out of bed, careful not to wake her, and dress in my usual tunic underneath a bustier, baggy trousers, and sheath at my calf.
I slip my dagger out from the pillow Isi and I shared last night and tuck it in the sheath.
It very clearly is not the best place for it but I haven’t had the coin to buy a different sheath.
Otyx knows I have the dagger now, it was hard to hide after I cut the man’s cock off years ago, but he hasn’t tried to take it from me.
I’m not sure why so I opt to keep it hidden just to be safe.
I tie my boots and tiptoe out of my room. I don’t like leaving her alone, as it seems no one will to protect her but me. But most of the house will be asleep by now, having finished their night of work, and it’s probably the best time to catch Berttom off guard.
I stomp down the halls in search of the rat bastard.
If I could I’d be running down the halls with a pan and a spoon, making as much noise as possible, not giving this damned house a moment’s peace.
It would be the least I could do as retribution for them all standing by and watching while my only friend was brutalized.
I want to hurt every one of them for it.
Make them all feel her pain. They’re all just lucky I have my sights set on the withered piece of shit they so eagerly call master.
He and I are only going to have words if he’s lucky; my dagger will end up in his gut if he’s not.
It all depends on what he has to say for himself.
As I near his office door, I hear his raspy voice through the wood. One of his security artifacts is posted to the left of the door. He’s young, inexperienced, and eager. I decide to take a page out of Isi’s book.
“Morning,” I say to him with a sugary sweet smile.
He gives me one in return. “Morning beautiful.”
I suppress a grimace. “I have a small problem I was hoping someone strong could help me with,” I say with a pout.
It kills me to act this way, but it’s a means to an end.
“I really want to take a nice hot bath, but the water in the bathroom is ice-cold. I want to warm it in the hearth but it’s too heavy for me to carry.
” I reach out and touch the artifact’s arm.
“Would you bring it down for me? Please?” I bite my lower lip and step into him.
“I might even let you join me if you do.”
He swallows hard. “Sure. Alright. I can help.”
I smile brightly. “Why don’t you go and I’ll meet you there.”
He nods eagerly and bolts up the stairs. I try to ignore how dirty I feel. The poor boy is probably going to get the beating of a lifetime, and it will be my fault. I shake my head. I can’t worry about that now.
I slam Berttom’s door open, not bothering to knock. Perched on the chipped and beaten wooden desk is a young woman I don’t recognize. She’s topless and I don’t know her so she must be one of Otyx’s newer acquisitions.
“Get out,” I growl at the woman. She looks back at Otyx, who looks ready to spit fire.
She doesn’t move. I lift my leg, plant my dusty boot on the chair in front of the ostentatiously large desk, and wrench my dagger out of the sheath.
I give her a look that tells her I’m not playing around. “Did I stutter?”
The woman glances from me to Otyx one more time, scrambles off the desk, and scurries from the room as Berttom stands slowly from his chair, malice and the promise of violence darkening his muddy eyes.
In my mind, I see him approach me and grab me around my throat.
I don’t give him the chance. I round the desk as he begins to stand and shove him back into his chair with all the strength I have.
The chair falls backward and he lands with a thud flat on his back.
I leap on him, straddling his gaunt torso, trapping his arms under my knees, and press my dagger into his throat, a drop of blood beading.
“How much did you get?” I seethe through clenched teeth. I don’t need to elaborate. He knows what he’s done.
“Get off me! Guards!” He squirms under me, but I just press my dagger in harder.
I could kill him and not lose one second of sleep.
The only thing stopping me is the thought of putting so many men and women out of work.
I may not like them, but being on the streets of the Rookery is no way to live.
The bad is always better than the worse.
“How. Much,” I growl.
“You’re going to regret this, Red. Guards!” His foul breath tickles my cheek as I lean farther in, putting more pressure on the dagger. The bead of blood has turned into a steady stream.
My lips curl back. “You will not touch me. You will not touch her. You will not let another man hurt any of your workers again. If you so much as blink in the wrong direction, I will cut your throat and laugh as you bleed out. I don’t need you, Berttom.
But you most certainly need me.” I’m the best thief he has.
He knows it, I know it. The whole damn bordello knows it.
Damn to the abysm any debt I owe him. If he’s dead, the debt disappears.
His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but I see it.
He knows it’s true. I press my dagger further into his throat.
“Do I make myself clear?” He swallows around the point of my dagger, his too-large Adam’s apple scraping against it, and nods once.
“Good.” I jump off him and storm for the door, brushing past the poor, confused security guard on my way out.
Otyx will find a way to punish me for this, regardless of my warning.
My palms begin to sweat and my stomach twists in fear.
I should grab Isi, and we should go. Now. Whether she likes it or not.
An image flashes in my mind. I’m locked in my room, only this doesn’t feel like a memory.
My bedroom looks as it does right now, rattling window, vase of lavender, the sketch of Isi and me.
But I haven’t been locked in my bedroom for years.
My body is sweaty, and there’s so much pain.
I’ve certainly been whipped and beaten. Something in my gut is telling me this has yet to happen.
I make my way back up to my room, back to Isi.
There’s a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that there’s something wrong with me.
How do I keep seeing things before they happen?
I was always able to anticipate people, predict their actions, but this is different.
This is more than anticipation. This is physical and tangible.
I feel it happening as if it really is, but I’m somehow simultaneously there and here. How?
What is happening to me? I run my hand through my hair. I must be losing my mind.
I open my door to find Isirae sitting on the edge of my bed waiting for me. My face must betray how I feel because concern instantly creases her brow.
She stands. “What’s wrong?” she asks, reaching her hand to me. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of worry that’s descended on me. I love Isirae. I trust her implicitly. But an intuitive voice in the back of my head is screaming at me to keep this to myself. And my intuition is never wrong.
“Nothing.” I smile at her, coming to look over her bruises. They are dark and her eye is still a little swollen, but she’ll be fine in a few days. “How are you feeling?”
“It looks worse than it feels.” She looks up at me with a sad smile. “I tried to fight him off you know. I tried to fight the way you and Feron taught me. He was just so big.” It almost sounds like she’s afraid I’ll be disappointed in her. My heart splinters a little.
“I know,” I tell her, smoothing her hair. “You were so brave. I’m so proud of you.”
“How did you manage to beat him?” she asks with what appears to be awe mixed with just a hint of fear behind her eyes, in her tone. Fear of what, I can’t tell.
I shrug, knowing I won’t tell her the whole truth. “He was drunk and slow. I used it to my advantage.” I have no idea if he was drunk but she nods, seemingly believing my lie.
She looks up at me with her big, dark eyes and smiles, this one without a trace of sadness. “Let’s go out.” She holds up her finger. “And by ‘go out’ I do not mean training at Feron’s.”
My heart swells as I laugh. She was just beaten, and gods only know what else, and she still wants to sneak out. I don’t think she realizes just how tough she really is. “Are you sure? You look like a raccoon,” I tease, brushing my fingers under her bruised eye.
“Better a raccoon than a princess, Princess,” she teases back.
I groan and nudge her arm playfully. “I’ll never understand why Draya calls me that. She’s more Bottom’s princess than I am!”
Isi shrugs. “Maybe she wants you to be her princess.” She wiggles her brows.
I make a gagging noise, but her tinkling laughter is infectious.
“Alright, Grimthony. Get cleaned up and let’s ditch this shithole! Otyx is probably about ready to hang me anyway after last night.” She doesn’t need to know about this morning.
She hesitates. “Maybe we shouldn’t then. Maybe you should go pick pockets and try to make amends.”
I shake my head. “No. Nope. Not going to happen. It won’t matter how much I steal Isi, he’s still going to punish me. I might as well get one last day of freedom.”
An idea forms. If I frame it as a night out, maybe I can convince her to stay out. To never come back.