Page 5 of Secrets of the Six

He leans forward, rooting his elbows to his knees. "How do you figure? My blade has drawn blood. What if my hand slips? Or we hit a bump in the road?"

"Due to your obsession with my neck, you've forgotten one very important thing."

"Which is?"

The sound of my pistol cocking draws his gaze to my hip where I have a clear shot at him. "Care to beg?"

He chuckles, the sound deep enough to raise the hair on my arms. Yet he merely lowers his weapon with a practiced flourish. "Though I might find your spunk amusing, your new employer will not. I suggest you heed my warning and behave. She will not hesitate to throw you back into prison for a swift execution."

"And what, pray tell, am I being employed to do?"

"Again" – he resituates in his seat, sheathing his rapier – "it is not my task to enlighten you. I am merely here to escort you."

"Well, Salvador," — I decock my gun and rest it in my lap, though I keep it pointed at him just in case— "Let it be known that this is your only warning. Raise your blade to me again and I'll carve out your eyes and ram them down your throat."

He laughs. A bold, boisterous, sultry laugh that catches me off-guard. "I like you."

I cross one leg over the other and say, "The feeling is far from mutual."

"My money is on you," he says after a brief silence.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

But before he can answer any more of my questions, the buggy comes to a sudden halt. I fly from my seat, the world spinning before I land hard against solid muscle. A yelp leaves me as I glance up from where my body is spread across my escort's lap.

His molten brown eyes dance in wicked delight. "On your knees before me already? I thought for sure it would take a few weeks before you – "

I shove the barrel of my pistol against his groin, silencing him, and slither up toward his ear. He sucks in a breath when I straddle him and whisper, "I'm more likely to stab you than screw you."

He hums in the back of his throat. "We'll see about that, Vibora." Viper.

The carriage door swings open, and lights from a villa porch pour inside. If the driver is taken aback by the sight of how indecently close Salvador and I are, he gives no sign of it. I climb to my feet when Salvador grabs my arm.

"Apologies, Vibora."

A black hood is thrown over my head and I'm enveloped in darkness.

Just because my sight has been taken, doesn't mean my other senses can't decipher where I am.

As Salvador escorts me, holding my bicep firmly, I hear the water lapping nearby but fail to detect the cacophony of noise that the Market, Financial or Night districts are known for. The combination of sweet, spicy and hints of citrus scents draw my attention to the red carnations in the area. With a ship's horn blaring in the distance, it solidifies there's only one place I can be: the Garden District. It's where some of the wealthiest and most powerful Dons and Doñas dwell and it also happens to be the only place I wouldn't dare try to burglarize.

Dragged along a gravel pathway, I silently count my steps until my boots thud against hardwood floors. Assuming I'm inside the villa, I'm pulled up a flight of stairs and shoved sharply to the left once we hit the platform. The bang of a heavy door closes behind me and I'm led deeper inside the room. Only when Salvador grabs both of my shoulders do I stop, grinding my teeth as he pushes me down onto a cushioned chair.

My elbow smacks against the wooden armrest, wrenching a string of hissed curses from my lips.

"Well, that is not ladylike at all."

An older woman's raspy voice stretches toward me as the hood is finally peeled over my head. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust before my sights settle on a well-dressed Doña sitting on a velvet couch across from me. Unlike Salvador, she does not wear a mask. Her mature beauty and great wealth aren't to be missed. Strings of pearls wrap around her weathered neck to the point I think she might face plant before me from the weight. Diamond bracelets sparkle around her dainty wrists and the gold heirloom broach pinned to her scarlet red blouse boasts her impressive lineage and longstanding name in Orlencia.

House Otero is one of the oldest founding families in the city, and though they no longer have a seat in the High Council, their opinion still carries weight amongst the common people and forces the Dons in the Soberano's government to think twice before crossing them. Otero Shipping also holds a monopoly on import and export business. If trade is to be done, merchandise is to be sent across the sea, or Orlencians are planning a trip, all of them have to do business with Otero Shipping. There have been rumors for generations that members of House Otero never hold grudges long because they ensure those who have wronged them are never seen or heard from again.

The sudden tilt of the matriarch's jaw draws my focus up to her pristine white hair, which is tugged into a feminine bun atop her head. Slowly, my gaze drags down to meet her cunning, cat-like hazel eyes. A world of mysteries hides behind that stoic gaze and if I’m not careful, I might become one of those secrets.

Her ringed fingers stretch across the gold lynx hand-cast pommel of her black cane and with one smash of her walking stick against the dark wooden floors, my heart leaps straight to my throat.

"Cursing is not ladylike," she repeats with a sharpness in her pursed lips.

"I never claimed to be a lady, Doña Otero."