“Fuck.” He laughs. “You were a precocious and talented child. Of course you were.”
“How old were you when you took the chicken?”
“Eleven, and desperate. Starving, in fact.” He laughs again, and suddenly I understand him better. Why he jokes and laughs so much. Why he never seems to take anything too seriously. It’s a layer of protection he has built between the world and his feelings. Humor is how he guards his heart.
His way of coping with life isn’t the same as mine, but I can understand it. My heart softens a little toward him, in spite of myself.
A confession leaves my lips. It’s unintended, but it feels as natural as breathing. “When I took the ring, I wasn’t desperate. Not yet. But that’s the day I remember truly hating my mother for the first time, because when she found out I’d stolen the ring, she took it. Not to give it back to the owner, but to pawn it and buy herself hessen seeds.”
“My mother was an addict, too. Died in a hessen smoking den. I never knew my father.”
“My parents are both alive, both assholes. I’m better off without them.” I don’t elaborate further. I don’t explain that my father was imprisoned in a country to the north for selling young women to rich men. Nor do I describe how my mother, alongwith her latest lover, robbed travelers crossing the western mountain ranges, thereby earning her own prison sentence.
“You’ve done well on your own,” Ravager says. “I know what I said before—that you’re incompetent, and all that—but your reputation is quite the opposite. You make a fine criminal.”
He intends it as a compliment, but his words touch a sore spot. “I’m not just your average criminal. I don’t steal from the vulnerable, only from those who can afford it.”
“Ah, so you think you’re better than me.” He chuckles, then coughs, holding his bruised ribs. “Miss Moral Compass. Lady of Principles.”
“Iambetter than you, at a lot of things.”
“That cocky attitude again. You brag about your fighting skills, and yet every time we’ve sparred, you’ve failed to kill me. Either you don’t actuallywantto kill me, or you’re not as good as you claim.”
With a scoff of derision, I get to my feet. Even with the wine softening the pain, my whole body aches, and I almost sit back down, but I’d hate for him to perceive me as weak. “Come on, then. Let’s go again. I’ll finish you off this time.”
Ravager stares at me for a few seconds in sheer disbelief. “Do you have any idea how bad you look right now?”
“Fuck you. You’re the ugliest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen.”
“Now don’t get your panties all twisted. I said you lookbad, not ugly. As in, you’re exhausted and injured.”
“Thanks to you and your cronies.”
“I’m well aware.” His jaw hardens, and his eyes burn with something like anger, but I can tell it’s not directed at me. “Sit down, sweetheart, before you fall down.”
“For your information, I’m not so drunk or hurt that I can’t stand on my own two feet. You should stop trying to control me. I like being the one in charge.”
“How about in the bedroom?” His voice is low, teasing. “Do you like taking charge there? Or do you prefer giving the power to someone else for a while?”
“That’s a suggestive comment. I should kill you for it.” I lower myself slowly back to the floor and lean against the cabinets with a sigh. “You’re lucky I’m tired. To answer your question, I don’t trust men enough for that kind of control.”
“Suppose you could trust someone enough. What then?”
“What then?” I try to imagine what it would be like to quit planning and striving and scheming and thinking, to just let myself exist as a helpless toy for someone powerful and gentle, brutal and kind, someone I could trust with my own pleasure as well as theirs.
“I want that scenario to be possible,” I say softly. Then I meet his eyes. “But it could never be you.”
Maybe it’s a challenge, or a test, or both. Maybe I want to see if those blue, burning eyes will scorch me, inflame me, incinerate my body and bones while I scream. Maybe Ineedto burn, to ignite and explode under his skillful fingers.
But he only smiles. “I guess you’ll never know unless you give me a chance.”
“A chance to be the best fuck of my life, like you said when we first met in the Puzzled Coin?” I scoff. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
“I don’t, actually.”
“Then why say it to me?”
He eases himself onto his back with a sigh that tells me despite the wine, he’s still in pain. “The night we met, I thought you were the prettiest woman I’d ever seen. But it wasn’t only your beauty that I liked—it was the way you moved, the way you watched people. The way you spoke, charming and careful, but with this intensity underneath—goddamn. I wanted it. I wanted everything that you were, just for one night.” Hechuckles. “I got too desperate, too eager. I came on too strong, and you rejected me, as you should. Good thing, too, seeing how this turned out. If we’d fucked that evening, this whole thing might have been worse. Messier. More painful.”
