Chapter 2 #2
I glanced over my shoulder—back towards the place where the little girl was surely waiting, still hoping I’d return with the single coin.
My chest tightened. But I couldn’t go back.
Couldn’t face the tears I knew would redden her eyes and sting her cheeks when I told her I didn’t have another coin to spare.
Best I leave now.
The male thrust something towards me with his other hand—a little glass vial from my basket. I must have missed it when collecting my other things. “This is arnica. For bruising.”
From where he stood, the setting sun caught the edges of his hair—red, like molten copper. Shorter on the sides and back, with tousled waves on top. He was too well put together for these parts of The Grey.
I squinted. How did he know what this was? And what business was it of his anyway?
His velvet voice commanded my gaze once again. “How did you get the bruises on your neck?”
I snatched the bottle a little too forcefully, taking a step back. “Are you the law or just nosy?”
A hint of a smile danced on his lips. “Neither.”
I lifted my chin in defiance. “Well, perhaps I should alert the law and they can arrest you for bothering me.”
His brows arched softly. “And while they are here, they can search you for stolen goods.”
My gaze locked on him.
How dare he accuse me of theft, just because he saw me running. If he had the sense to look twice, he’d see I was chasing the real thief. But I wouldn’t waste my breath explaining—I owed him nothing.
“Do you stalk many women through alleys offering commentary on their wounds and accusing them of theft?” I huffed.
The grin on his face stayed put. “No. Just one.”
I scoffed. “Well don’t. That behaviour could get you in trouble.”
His shoulders lifted and fell effortlessly. “Perhaps.”
Silence stretched between us, but it was him who moved first. He shoved his hands in his black trouser pockets, roaming my figure with his stare. I didn’t flinch. It was odd, he wasn’t acting like most men did around me.
I had nothing further to say, and I was already going to be late getting home, so I spun on my heel and hurried away.
“What’s your name?”
The sound of his voice reached me before I turned the corner. I halted, just for a moment. But before he could say more, I melted into the shadows.
Each hurried step I took towards home filled me with dread. I was already rehearsing in my mind what I would tell Kavish when I arrived, yet part of me was hopeful that he would be busy with one of the other girls and I’d be able to sneak in without him noticing.
A sigh escaped my lips, curling into the air like a delicate cloud. The shawl around my shoulders felt heavier—like a weight holding me down. Sounds from the marketplace melted away as the path led me further away.
It was darker in this part of The Grey. The dimly lit streets were wider, but that didn’t make them feel any safer than the narrow ones in town. Thankfully, I’d walked them a thousand times before. Fear wouldn’t be my companion.
Yet knowing what I would possibly endure once I was home—was.
The Silver Finch glowed in the distance. A beacon for men with pockets full of gold. It didn’t matter if you were the most handsome aristocrat around, or the most frightful. As long as you were willing to pay, Kavish was willing to entertain.
My feet stumbled up the steps, racing to get to my room in time.
With a quick glance around, I noticed most of the girls were already down on the floor in their best gowns.
Breasts of all sizes spilled over lace trimmed bodices, and painted lips of raspberry, dusty rose, and deep crimson—each shade carefully chosen to entice, to distract, to sell the illusion.
They pouted as heads turned towards me. I didn’t bother to offer them a smile, instead making my way to the stairs.
Heavy perfumes meant to seduce and cover other scents of sex and alcohol—marinated the air. The cloying fumes no longer burned. I'd grown more accustomed to them than oxygen these days.
So far, no sign of Kavish . . . Perhaps I would make it to my room unseen.
As I crested the final step, it was the shoes I saw first—black leather, gleaming with the kind of polish that warped your reflection.
My gaze rose, drawn up the clean lines of a navy pinstriped suit that filled the narrow stairwell.
Then higher—umber hair, streaked with grey at the temples, and a neatly trimmed beard framing a face I knew all too well.
Kavish’s brown eyes trailed over me. He wore a mask of disappointment, but the glint in his iris betrayed something crueller—satisfaction. “You’re late.”
I didn’t offer an excuse. Not yet. I climbed the last step, letting him see every line of my body—hips drawn back, eyes soft but not submissive. He needed to believe I was sorry. Not that I was afraid.
“Only by a minute,” I said, smoothing the side of my dress where the chill of the street outside still clung to the fabric. I could feel it rubbing against my puckered nipples, so I thrust my chest out a little more. “It wasn’t intentional.”
“Intentional or not,” he said, stepping into my path. “You know what happens now.” Cold fingers reached out and tucked a fallen strand of hair behind my ear.
I did. Of course I did.
Girls who were late were punished. Girls who begged were beaten worse. But girls who offered—who made the punishment feel like something they chose—sometimes got away with less. So I stepped closer, a sour tang coating my tongue as I bit the inside of my cheek.
“I could make it up to you,” I said, keeping my voice light, coaxing. “Properly.”
Kavish dropped his hand, his voice as smooth as silk. “What happens if I do that and one of the girls finds out? Then she thinks she can be late, and the next one follows, and then the next—before I know it, chaos erupts. And you know how I loathe chaos.”
One of the girls glanced at me as she passed us on the stairs. I caught her eye but there was no offer of sympathy—no ounce of compassion. She just averted her eyes and hurried down to the floor.
“I can still be your example.” I turned back to him, carefully shifting my weight to one leg, letting the silk of my dress stretch taut across my hip. “Maybe just in a different way. You seemed to enjoy it last time.”
He didn’t stop me as I reached up to smooth the collar of his jacket. My fingers brushed his neck, just enough contact to make his pulse answer mine. A small triumph, though it made my stomach knot.
Kavish’s gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower. “Mmm. I might be convinced,” he said, voice like rot spreading through a garden. “A lesser punishment, perhaps. But even though you’re above the others, you’ll still be punished like the rest, Sapphire.”
I laughed—light, effortless, like perfume trailing behind a lie. “Of course.”
But inside, I was swallowing the bile rising in my throat.
There was no pleasure in this. No thrill. Not even in the victory.
Touching him felt like pressing my palm to something spoiled—meaty and cold beneath a polished surface. I hated the way his eyes filled with lust when I played soft. Hated the heat in his voice when I bent.
Kavish took my hand, closing the distance between us. “Then show me.”
Whiskey wafted from his breath. My body tensed, but I kept my chin lifted towards him. It was the only drink he ever touched—said it was the only liquor that didn’t taste like straight fuel.
Without another word, he turned and began down the hall, keeping my hand captive in his.
I followed, silent, clutching my basket tighter in the crook of my other arm—though I no longer knew why.
The coal pencil inside, purchased with the last of my coins, was useless now.
I wouldn’t be seeing a mirror for days, much less a client.
No coin meant that dream of salt air and sea foam skies withered just a little more.
Like everything else I’d dared to hope for.
Kavish’s room was the largest in the Silver Finch.
Draped in velvet, soaked in sin. And it reeked—of sweat, of cologne, of sex too hopeless to be worth the coin.
No one stepped foot past that door without an invite—and even then, it wasn’t a blessing.
I knew those walls too well. They didn’t get softer with time. Just colder.
The door clicked shut behind us. I focused on keeping my breathing steady the moment the lock shifted into place. The quicker I behaved, the quicker this would be over with.
Kavish walked past me and sat in his leather lounge. I flinched when I heard the clinking sound of his belt. “Put your basket down.”
I didn’t move. Not yet.
“Are you sure you want to start with that?” I asked lightly, keeping my tone suggestive, not challenging. “I thought we’d seek pleasure before pain.”
Kavish let out a low, humourless laugh. “That’s the problem with you girls. You think.”
I kept my expression neutral, though something sharp curled behind my ribs. Of course we thought. We had to—every minute, every breath, every step calculated for survival. But men like Kavish didn’t want survival.
“I won't ask again.”
I did as he asked, bending to place the basket by the door.
When I straightened, he patted his thigh. “Come here.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a summons.
And I obeyed.
I crossed the room slowly, barefoot on the plush carpet, and came to stand between his knees. He waited, watching. I was always expected to make the next move.
With steady fingers, I reached behind me and loosened the ties of my dress. The silk slipped down over my shoulders, then lower, pooling at my feet. I stepped out without ceremony, without shame. Shame was a luxury. One I couldn’t afford.
He let his eyes drag over me, as if every inch already belonged to him.
I laid myself across his lap with a practiced grace. My forearms rested against the armrest. My back arched just enough to make it easy for him.
His hand came to rest on the curve of my ass. Heavy. Familiar.
I went somewhere else.
The seaside.