“What if I tell you where it is?”
Slaughter vents a coarse laugh. “There’s gonna be pain either way. You can’t do this shit to a man and expect to get away with it. You’ll tell me what I want to know. After that, you’ll take my cock. Then you’ll bleed, and when I’m done making you bleed, you’ll die.”
He pays out more of the wire, giving himself enough slack to wander farther from me. I’m still trapped, though. If I try to get free, I risk the wires chewing through my neck.
“Ah, I see him! There he is, the lucky bastard,” mutters Slaughter, peering into a sphere. He fumbles with the ornament on top, then yells, “Ravager! You lazy-ass son of a bitch, what are you lying down for? I got her! I’m up in the tower, and I got her!” He laughs with maniacal triumph.
Ravager’s voice sounds ragged and weary. “You got her?”
“Sure did. I’ve leashed her like the bitch she is. Gonna have myself a little fun while I wait for you to get up here.”
“Have some respect, Slaughter.” Am I imagining it, or is there a thread of panic in Ravager’s voice? He keeps talking, quickly, urgently. “That woman is a fellow thief. We need to maintain some decorum where she’s concerned, understand? No violating of her person. It wouldn’t be right with the thief’s code. We can kill her, sure, but no torture or rape. That’s not how I want things to be done.”
While they’re talking, I’m easing a miniature multitool from its snug pocket inside my left sleeve. It includes a tiny pair of wire cutters, which I carefully unfold, trying not to move too quickly and draw Slaughter’s attention. When he glances toward me, I freeze, palming the tool, lying rigidly still as if I’m trying not to cause more damage to my throat.
Slaughter turns back to the sphere. “She deserves what’s coming to her. This is what I do to fools who cross me. I fuck them bloody, first with my cock, then with my knives. I leave every hole blood-wet and gaping. It’s my signature.”
“This crew is different. I told you that when you signed on. And if I’d known that you—” Ravager cuts himself off. “You do any of that to her, and you’ll pay with your own blood.”
“What about just sticking my gob down her throat? I like making them swallow the spew first, and then I cut the neck afterward to see if cum spills out—”
Ravager makes a strangled sound. I think he gagged. “We just kill. We do not rape, not in any form. You’re one sick motherfucker, Slaughter. After this job, you need to find another crew.”
“If you’re right about the take on this one, I won’t need another crew,” Slaughter growls. “If you’re going to be a spoilsport, I’ll just kill her right now, and you can search thisfucking building for the Doras Álainn. One, two, three—and it’s done.”
He yanks the wire, but I’ve already clipped it and eased myself out. When Slaughter’s tug on the wire meets no resistance, he glances over, frowning.
Ravager’s voice booms through the tower room. “What do you mean, done? Slaughter? Did you kill her? What the fuck did you do?”
Slaughter paces through the spheres toward me, murder in his eyes. “You said I should just kill her,boss.” He places rebellious emphasis on the last word.
“Fuck.” Ravager’s voice cracks. There’s true regret in the sound.
Startled, I look toward the sphere with his image. I’m too far away to see his face, but I can tell he’s sitting on the floor. He lifts one fist and slams it against the boards, then leaps up and strides out of my field of vision.
Is he sorry that I supposedly died?
Slaughter’s body crashes into me, knocking me against another pedestal. I punch a bloody spot on his side and when he grunts in pain, I slither from his grasp.
I race through the room, dodging around spheres, trying to get to a spot where I can pick up one of my knives—preferably the big dagger I took from Ravager.
Slaughter is barreling along behind me, knocking spheres from their pedestals as he goes. They don’t smash. They must be made of some incredibly durable material.
The dagger is on the other side of the room, so I have to improvise. I dash to the map table, leap onto its edge, and spring upward from there. My fingers catch one of the slim beams that crisscross the arch of the domed ceiling like a dark, gleaming spider’s web.
I swing hand over hand, flipping to face the oncoming Slaughter, and as he storms toward me, I arc my body back and launch myself into the air. I grab onto another beam, whip myself around, and land neatly on his shoulders, like a child taking a piggy-back ride. Immediately I lock my thighs around his neck, tightening them to cut off his air.
He sits down and throws his body backward, trying to crush or dislodge me, but I only intensify the thigh-lock around his throat.
Slaughter twists the stone on a heavy ring he’s wearing, and a triangular blade about the size of my thumbnail slides out. He jabs the tiny weapon into my thigh muscles viciously, over and over. Screaming, I drive my fingers into his eyes, deep as I can. I gag at the way it feels, but I keep pushing while he shrieks with agony.
When I can’t bear it anymore, I let go and roll away from him, seizing my knife. He’s roaring slurred threats, sobbing curses, still lunging at me despite his wounded eyes.
There’s no pity in my heart for him. I know what he would have done to me. I wait for him to approach, and then, with two quick slashes of my blade, I slice both sides of his throat. His blood jets onto my clothing, and I recoil with a pained cry, gagging again.
He collapses, and I stand there, sweaty and shaking, watching him bleed out. My hair is plastered damply against my neck. I think I might vomit.
I drop my pack and tear off my bloodied outer clothing, leaving only the shirt and pants Lace made for me. They have blood on them too, but not as much.
