22. Rap Will Cut You
Chapter 22
Rap Will Cut You
CHARMING
I f Cinder insists on going back to work her shift at the Poison Apple, I still insist on going with her. It’s non-negotiable, especially after what happened last time.
Though I’m not sure why she feels so inclined to gripe about it. She’s not the one who has to shove her foot in a tiny glass torture shoe that doesn’t fit.
Despite the pain, nausea, and dizziness that comes with the teleporting shoes—or whatever magic they are harnessing to transport us—I’m damned happy to be in the Common World. If only to defy my father’s orders to stay in the castle.
Fuck him.
Seriously, right off the throne and into a pit of crocodiles.
Thoughts of rallying a rebellion and playing the engaged prince to my people all fade away in the hustle and bustle of the Poison Apple.
Instead of hunkering down at the booth, I end up at the bar next to the bespectacled bookstore owner again.
“Prosecco and espresso?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at the two dainty drinks in front of her.
Belle’s pink lips curve up even as she keeps her eyes on her open book. “It’s the combo for champions.”
She’s been engrossed between the pages of a book with a cover of a man chest, called Chase Me—a Dragon’s Love Curves novel by someone called Aidy Award.
“I’ll have to try it sometime,” I say, tipping my dirty martini to her.
“So, you must not care that much about Cinder,” she says loftily, while turning a page.
My spine stiffens at her comment. “What makes you say that?”
Not that Belle knows our engagement is a ruse to help me incite a rebellion while Cinder investigates her father’s murder. But I’m instantly irked by her comment.
“She’s not wearing a ring,” Belle points out.
My eyes track across the room to fall on Cinder’s naked ring finger.
Shit. She’s right. I did miss an element to this engagement, not only in this world. It’s also a significant gesture in my own world. For a moment, I wonder why no one has brought this to my attention in Midnight.
Oh right, everything thinks she’s human scum and doesn’t want her as their princess. Not even my own father.
“It’s on my list of things to do,” I say airily before sipping my drink again.
“Mmm, hmm,” Belle hums as if unconvinced or unimpressed. “You better if you want an HEA.”
“A what now?”
She swivels to meet my eye. “An HEA. It stands for Happily Ever After.”
I can’t help but smile. “You really are a romance book lover, aren’t you?”
A pretty blush springs to her cheeks. “Yeah well, I think the HEA is a goal for most love stories, fictional or nonfictional.”
“You are very right about that,” I add, tilting my head in deference so she knows I’m not teasing.
An unsettling pressure pushes at my chest. Not just because I missed a detail that helps the plan, but because now Cinder’s naked finger legitimately bothers me. The need to circle that digit in some kind of binding metal to show that she is taken swells in me.
For the plan, I try to remind myself.
Not because I want to broadcast that she is off limits.
The memory of her normally placid face fighting off any indicator she was coming at the table next to me heats me from the inside out. A considerable feat since I’m always room temperature.
But fae fucks that was hot.
Normally after something salacious like that I’d happily wave goodbye to my partner and head off in pursuit of more depraved activities with others, but I’m hungry. Hungry to get her alone, to explore all her piercings and tattoos. I want to make her scowl, make her smile—like really smile. And I want to annoy the ever-loving shit out of her with the million more nicknames I cook up.
Hell, I could have grabbed any number of willing partners to take to my room and have them suck me off seven ways from Sunday. Instead, I jerked off in the shower, not once but twice, thinking only of those cupid-bows lips, violet eyes, and the smell of vanilla and charred cedar.
Even now, I can barely take my eyes off her perfect pout and flat gaze as she takes drink orders and effortlessly moves back and forth without even the hint of a smile.
Where I must constantly perform, pasting on a smile, schmoozing the masses of Midnight and the Common World, she doesn’t perform for anyone.
Cinder doesn’t do shit she doesn’t want to and that hits me like a hammer to the chest. Is it envy, admiration, respect, or something else?
“You,” a voice calls, “Come with me.”
I turn to find the mohawked owner of Poison Apple crooking a finger at me with sharp, narrowed eyes.
Speaking of people not giving a fuck of what others think. . .
I follow the original badass of the bar to her office where she barks to shut the door behind me. Despite the rich, magical opulence of the bar, her office is minimalist and clean. A sleek laptop sits on the desk and a file cabinet is tucked into a corner. The only signs of personality come from the kitten calendar on the wall. The kitty hanging onto a ledge encourages me to hang in there.
Taking one of the seats across from the desk, I consider the possibility that Rap may literally hang me, judging by the dark thundercloud over her head. She’s human, but I can’t rule out the possibility she’d strike me with lightning from sheer force of will.
And I can’t help but feel like she might be more than human, though I can’t put my finger on why or what.
“Does she know about your connection to the Mice? What you are trying to pull? How you are using her?” Questions shoot out of Rap’s mouth like speeding bullets.
Ping ping ping. Each question hits me dead center in my forehead.
“Uhh. . .”
Rap stands, slamming her hands on the desk with a loud thwang. “Don’t fuck with me, Charming. You may be a pretty playboy prince, but no one messes with my girls. I’ll cut off your little prick before you hurt Cinder.”
I recoil into the tiny office chair as much as I can, even lifting a leg and crossing it over my precious bits protectively as I hold up my hands. “Whoa, whoa, I’m not trying to hurt her.”
She snorts. Unlike Cinder’s little huffs, this is that of a pissed off bull.
“We have a mutually beneficial arrangement here.” Even as I explain, my brain is racing trying to figure out how this human bar owner knows about Mice, much less my involvement. “When we’ve reached our respective goals, the engagement will be dissolved.”
Still bearing over the desk and me, Rap bares her teeth. “I asked if she knows.”
Dropping my arm and legs slightly, I drop all measures of my likeable fa?ade. “No, but I decided she didn’t need to know.”
Rap sucks in a breath as if ready to blowtorch me with the fire in her body, but I cut her off.
“She doesn’t need to know because the less she knows the better.” My voice has turned low and gruff.
“Why is that?” Rap challenges.
Taking a moment to calm myself, I lick my lips and articulate, “If she let it out, if my father ever questioned her, she’d be liable for my actions.”
“And you intend to get your father off the throne,” she says, still giving me the stink eye as she sinks back into her seat.
“That’s the plan.” I nod. “But the plan also involves implicating him in the murder of Cinder’s father. I’m not positive he did it, but I’m pretty fae fucking sure he had something to do with it.”
Rap sighs and rubs her forehead as if I’ve gifted her an elephantine headache. “From what I understand of your father, even if Cinder doesn’t know what you plan, if he even gets a whiff of this, he’ll make her pay.”
Acid coats my tongue and an invisible vise squeezes my spine. “I won’t let him.” It comes out a near snarl. The thought of him hurting her raises a beast in my chest I’ve only recently met. The same monster arose when that guy assaulted Cinder.
It’s a feral protective animal who would chew off its own arm if it meant protecting her.
The reaction continues to surprise and throw me off balance.
The bar owner studies me. Her sharp green eyes seem to search my entire inner being like some kind of scanner. “You should tell her.”
For a heart stopping second, I don’t know what she means. Or rather, I fear what she means.
Tell her how you feel.
But then my senses return as I come back to our conversation. Rap means I should tell Cinder about the part she is playing.
Cinder is still under the assumption I’m rebelling against my role and trying to stick it to my dad.
Having her believe I’m the thoughtless, petty, unconcerned prince everyone thinks I am is better.
Better for her or for you? A voice in my head asks.
Better because if she thinks there is more to me, it might make things more serious. Even more serious than a coup and a murder investigation. Fae lords forbid anyone think I’m serious and capable.
Though that’s exactly what I'm trying to convince the Mice of.
A commotion outside has Rap up and across the room, swinging the door open.
One of the security guards walks past her toward the locker room. Cinder clutches his arm as he escorts her there. Her face is drawn, a sickly shade, as she stumbles. The security guard steadies her, making sure she doesn’t fall over.
I shoot out of my chair and am behind Rap in less than a second. She won’t move out of my way, her body and arms blocking my exit.
“What’s wrong?” I demand.
Rap’s head tilts toward me. “She’ll be fine. She just needs a minute.”
“What’s wrong,” I growl out at her.
Rap stares at me with merciless passivity. Her gaze openly communicates that she doesn’t owe me shit and she doesn’t intend to tell me. “Guess you don’t know everything either.”