Chapter 2 #2
That must be the source of at least some of the scent coming off him. I stifle a wince as I step back, finding my way blocked by the toilet door.
Dammit.
A surge of irritation floods through me. “There’s a strong chance it’s a paperweight, worth a couple of crowns at best.”
“Why are you trying to trick me?”
I bite my tongue, shaking my head. I don’t have time to deal with idiots like him. Even from this very brief interaction, I can tell he’s self-important with an inflated sense of how much things associated with him must be worth.
“Why are you trying to trick me?” he repeats the words as he takes yet another step closer. Then his nasty chest rubs against mine, and I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, catching the scent of drink on his breath.
“You might want to think twice about what you’re doing here,” he hisses.
“Handling stolen goods is a crime, in case you’re unaware.
You might want to avoid attracting the wrong kind of attention.
” His face is horribly close to mine, and he stares into my eyes for an endless moment as my heart pounds and bile rises in my throat.
He then steps to one side as someone staggers out of the toilet behind me. His mouth morphs into a cruel grin as he stares at something across the room.
“How much?” He grips my wrist tighter, and I try and fail to yank it away.
“Get. Off. Me,” I snarl back.
“How much are you going to offer me so I don’t bring the authorities back with me later tonight? One sweep and your entire little business here will collapse.”
It’s honestly the last thing I want to do, to give him a single penny. But he’s right that he could cause a whole lot of trouble if he alerts the authorities. Not just for me, either.
There’s a reason this pub is bustling with people, and it’s not because of the ambience. I’m not the only person doing some dodgy dealings tonight and I won’t be popular if I cause problems by attracting attention.
Most of the time, the business going on here is too small a fish for the authorities to bother frying, so they just toss us back into the ocean.
But if there have been attacks in these waters, there are bound to be more patrols in the area, and an actual tip-off might be impossible for them to turn a blind eye.
“Fifty crowns,” I reply.
That’s most of what I’ve earned this week, but it’ll be worth it for him not to run his mouth as soon as he leaves here.
He lets out a barked laugh, shaking his head and keeping his bruising grip on my wrist. “No. Let’s try this again with a less insulting offer this time.”
Then he tugs on my wrist. Hard.
The action takes me by surprise and has me stumbling through the toilet door. Where there are fewer witnesses.
Oily dread coats my insides.
Damn.
Damn. Damn. Damn. I should have played this differently. I should have seen the desperate, slightly manic gleam in this man’s eyes and just paid him off.
The fishy guy grabs a fistful of my hair and tugs until he’s wrapping it around my throat. His other arm is wrapped around my upper arms, pinning them in place and meaning I can’t scratch his eyes out.
My eyes widen as he tightens his hold and drags me backward. I’m torn between showing him my true strength and keeping up the pretence that I’m a harmless human woman.
It’s a shame I don’t have my seal’s teeth right now.
Noush wouldn’t hesitate to tear his throat clean out.
“Now,” he pants in my ear. “Tell me how much you’re going to offer me.”
I might not have sharp teeth, but what I do have is my sturdy boots. Stomping on his foot, I dig my heel in and crunch his toes into the hard floor beneath our feet. He jerks back with a yell, pulling the hair around my neck tighter until I’m gasping for breath.
I aim a jab at his gut with my elbow, and he grunts but doesn’t let go. Black spots are starting to flicker at the edge of my vision as I struggle to take in oxygen.
Something solid crashes into us both behind, sending us both sprawling. I land heavily on my shoulder and palm, feeling the burn as I slice my skin on a broken bit of floor tile.
I can just make out two figures grappling on the floor of the toilet. There’s a pained yell and the sound of panted breaths and thuds of flesh on flesh.
Somehow, I know exactly who it is.
Mag.
He’s used to breaking up bar fights, and it shows. He drags the guy off me as though he’s light as a puppy and not a grown man.
“I’ll deal with this,” he grunts. “You head home now, Reva.”
I feel like a coward as I scuttle back home. But I’m bruised and aching and seriously pissed off with myself.
Our house is dead quiet as I limp inside. I slump onto a chair at the kitchen table, with my head in my hands.
I don’t know how long I stay like that, but I must slip into a post-adrenaline haze as the next thing I know, I’m jumping wildly as someone bangs on the door.
It’s Mag, looking disheveled with a tear in his shirt, but otherwise none the worse for wear.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine. A little shaken and feeling pretty stupid, but otherwise fine.” I swallow hard, hiding my shaking hands behind my back. “What happened to the guy?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone,” I repeat, considering the many possibilities that live in one word. “In what way is he gone?”
“He disappeared. Let’s hope he falls off the cliff in the dark.”
Something tells me I might not get that lucky.