by Dark, Raven
“Sorry, General,” Bear called over the engine. “I think these roads haven’t been repaired in a few hundred years.”
I’d have shaken my head if there’d been room to do it. I was the fucking General of the Dark Legion, one of the most powerful clubs in the world. I was a pirate feared far and wide, and here I was stuffed into a wine keg like a damned sneak-thief.
Me and my men were meant to charge in, weapons drawn, fists flying, cutting off heads and laying waste to Damian’s house with fire and a river of blood, dammit.
I was going to kill Hawk for coming up with such a crazy-ass plan. And then, as soon as I had my hands on Setora, I was going to pound her pussy so hard she’d be hoarse from screaming.
More minutes dragged on. I closed my eyes and focused on the prize that waited at the end of this mission. On both prizes, hours of taking my pleasure out of Setora’s ass and sweet revenge against Damien Vale.
At last, what must have been a half hour after we’d set out, the truck squeaked to a stop. There was a grinding sound as Bear put on the brakes outside of what I hoped was the Wall to Hell’s Burning.
Bear’s voice filtered from the front of the truck over the engine. Another voice answered, the guard at the Wall gate, I assumed. Bear said something that sounded like “Be my guest.”
Footsteps. Then the back of the truck was unlocked and the doors opened.
I held my breath, coiling my muscles, ready to spring the moment anything went wrong
We’d expected this; everything that went into the compound was supposed be checked by the J’nai. As long as they didn’t open the kegs, we’d be safe.
At least in theory, that was the beauty of this part of Hawk’s plan. They couldn’t open the kegs until Damien’s men were ready to drink what would have normally been inside, or the drink wouldn’t stay fresh. If I knew Damien, he would be pissed if someone opened them before time. That is, he would have been if these kegs had been filled with liquor and not three biker pirates waiting to kill him and his soldiers.
The guards rifled through the meat and other supplies stowed in crates in front of the kegs.
My muscles went tighter, half expecting Doc or Blade to sneeze from inside their kegs, blowing the whole mission.
They didn’t make a sound.
The guards muttered to each other as they worked.
Fuck, how long did it take them to look over the inside of a twenty-foot truck bed?
The doors closed.
I relaxed as the lock clanged into place.
Guards shouted, and the gates to Hell’s Burning opened with a thunderous rumble.
The truck drove on. The gate thundered shut behind us.
What felt like an hour later but must have been only ten minutes after the first check stop, the truck halted again, outside the gates to Damien’s house, I hoped.
Now the dangerous part began.
Once more, footsteps crunched outside the truck, the lock on the back doors lifted, and the doors opened.
“Damien can’t get enough of his vintage wines,” one of the guards grumbled. “He gets the best to fill his cups and we get that watered-down swill.”
“Do you suppose he’d notice if we sampled one of those kegs?” another guard asked.
The hairs on the back of my neck went up. Shit.
But both guards laughed at the joke. Then the doors closed, and the lock clanked.
Footsteps again, then one of the guards said something up at the front of the truck. Bear responded, the pleasant merchant doing his job for the zone captain, and then the iron gate Pretty Boy had told us about rattled open. The truck lurched forward.
If Pretty Boy and Steel’s report and the blueprints of the house had been right, we’d driven into a loading area where Damien’s men accepted supplies for the house. The truck stopped, Bear pulled the brake, and the engine cut short.
We were in.
We were so close, I could practically smell Setora’s sweet, feminine scent now.
The doors at the front of the truck opened, and Grim and Bear started to get out.
“Hold it, you two. Stay there until we check the back.”
Hawk’s voice, but he’d deepened it. Perfect.
As soon as the back doors opened, there was a pause. Boots scuffled.
“All right,” Hawk said with a convincing harshness, talking to Grim and Bear. “Out. Move slowly. You’ll have to be checked over.”
He was following J’nai procedure, I knew. Fuck, and Setora called me paranoid.
“Four guards just to watch over a couple of merchants?” Bear’s voice sounded put out, but I picked up on his deliberate cue. Including Hawk, there were four guards in the room for us to deal with if something went wrong.
“Shut up and turn around,” Hawk ordered.
There was a thud on the side of the truck. I assumed the guards were patting Bear and Grim down for weapons. Blade would have moved his weapons somewhere less conspicuous than his boots, somewhere the other guards wouldn’t see them, but where, with Hawk checking them, he could cover for him.
“You can relax, guards. We left our arsenal of weapons at home,” Grim joked.
Fuck, shut up, Grim. All we needed was for those assholes to get suspicious.
“Yeah, you’re real comedians,” another guard snarled with real dislike. “Go. Take down those kegs. No funny business.”
A moment later, I felt my keg being picked up and set down. Then I heard Doc’s and Blade’s kegs being put down near mine.
We’re almost there.
“Good,” the same guard said. “Roll them into the storage room in the south wing.”
I felt the world tilt. The keg rolled forward. My stomach summersaulted, the world spinning sickeningly, the rumble of kegs rolling across stone floors filling my ears.
“I’ll get this third one.” Hawk again. “I’ll watch these two and make sure they don’t do anything stupid.”
And in the process, hide us where we needed to wait for the next phase of the plan.
Another guard muttered his agreement. The third keg rolled along behind mine.
The world continued to spin as if I were on one of those crazy carnival rides, like the ones that used to come to Mount Dire every year until the volcano blew. I hated those things.
It took forever before the rolling stopped. Someone tilted my keg up.
“Wish we could stay for a drink,” Bear said pleasantly, walking back across the room. “The Captain bought a good vintage. Come on, Grim, let’s leave these men to their business.”
According to the plan, Blade and Grim would return to the truck and drive off with none of the J’nai being the wiser, while the rest of us would carry out the remainder of the plan.
Grim gave a pretend chuckle at Bear’s words.
Then I heard Hawk’s voice quietly whisper while he lifted the seal on the keg lid, just enough for me to push the lid off when the time came.
“See you in three hours.”
I’d have given him a signal that I understood him, but there was nothing I could do that wouldn’t draw attention to the other guards who I assumed were still with him.
He broke the seals on the other two kegs under the pretense of checking to make sure they were still properly closed.
Boots scuffled as Hawk moved across the room, then the doors to the storage room squeaked shut.
The lock on the room doors rattled, and I knew Hawk was pretending to lock it.
I let out a long, impatient breath. Three hours we’d have to sit crammed into these wooden cans, until Damien would be having dinner, locked in a room with only the highest members of his J’nai. With any luck, Setora would be in her rooms or somewhere from which my men could easily sneak her out of the compound before we attacked. Three hours, waiting for Hawk’s word, and then I’d have my revenge.
And Setora would be where she belonged, with us.
All we had to do was sit and wait and hope Julian’s men didn’t show up early.
This close to victory, three hours waiting in the Devil’s lair might as well have been three damn days.
Chapter 19
When the Tables Turn
“Captain Vale wants you with him for dinner tonight. It’s time to get you ready.”
My heart sank as soon as Herma delivered the news. Hawk had said they’d be taking me after dinnertime. I didn’t know whether to feign illness and beg to stay in my room, or risk missing Hawk while I was at dinner with Damien and his men. Without knowing their plan in detail, I had no way of knowing what to do.
Standing in the doorway to my rooms, Herma waved for me to come to her, just as she had before. I suppressed a sigh and put down the book I’d been reading.
“Well, come on then, I don’t have all day,” she snapped when I didn’t move fast enough.
Apparently, Herma didn’t know about Damien’s intention to make me his queen or she probably would have been nicer. I thought of telling her, but there was no way to do it without sounding petty or haughty. Or maybe I just didn’t want to say it out loud. Doing so would have made it too real, and I couldn’t even think about it without my blood curdling.
I climbed off the bed and went to her as she held up a dress for me. The dress trailed in a long flowing white skirt with a tight bodice, the garb see-through from top to bottom, with only enough snowy white cloth under it at the top and bottom to hide my lady bits. I might have thought it was gorgeous if I didn’t know Damien only had me wear it to show me off to his guards and please himself.
I took the dress and stripped in front of the room’s vanity. Herma watched me like a hawk as I dressed. Why? Was she afraid I’d hide a weapon in the dress somewhere? I wasn’t allowed access to anything sharp, and even if I had been, there’d have been nowhere to hide it.
Nervousness at the idea of taking supper with Damien ate at me, and I had to work at keeping my expression neutral. He’d never had me take supper with him before. It unsettled me that he’d chosen to do it on the same day my men were coming for me. There was no way he could be aware of their plan. I knew them well enough to know they would have covered their tracks too well. Still…
Of course, he could have another reason for having me there. Commander Tahmi wouldn’t show up for hours yet, but if he’d planned on dropping in early, Damien might have been intending to flaunt his ownership of me again.
In front of Julian’s men.
I shuddered.
“Damien has never had me eat with him before.” I made a point of keeping my tone casual. “Is he planning something special, Mistress?”
“Even if I did know—which I don’t—it’s not your job to worry about that. All you need to worry about is sitting at his table and looking pretty for him.”
“Of course, Mistress.”
So much for feeling the situation out.
As soon as I was dressed, Herma came up behind me and pushed me into the chair in front of the vanity. She combed out my hair without a care for whether she pulled too hard, ignoring my wincing. Then she twisted up the sides in rolls and pinned them up with shining gold combs.
Silent the whole time, she added charcoal to my eyes and purple gloss to my lips.
Maker, I missed my Four. Missed the way their eyes filled with delight and desire no matter what I looked like. I missed the way Cherry dolled me up with such care, chatting away as she worked.
Once I was ready, Herma escorted me to the doors of the slave quarters where two guards took over. The guards walked me to Damien’s large dining hall. I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed that Hawk wasn’t one of my escorts. How long until the Dark Legion showed themselves? How would they make themselves known?
Two more guards opened the doors to the dining hall. Inside, a single long table had been set up beneath an elaborate candelabra that illuminated the room in firelight. Damien sat at the head of the table, while six of his highest J’nai sat at his left and right.
The chair to his immediate right was empty. For me, I realized sadly.
Had I been with the Legion, Sheriff would have been sitting where Damien was, and I’d have taken the seat on his right. In the place I was meant to be.
My escorts followed me across the room toward the table. They kept so close I wondered if they were blocking my way so I wouldn’t bolt.
I stole a covert look around through my lashes. The room had a set of glass doors to either side of the table, both sets closed with two guards flanking each entrance. All of the guards wore visors hiding the top halves of their faces, one of them with a pale beard. All were the wrong sizes to be my Four, and none had the dark facial hair Hawk had worn. Certainly none of the men at the table looked like them; all were men I’d seen before around the compound.
“Ah. Come and sit by me, Little Dove. The cook has prepared a wonderful feast for us.” Damien’s voice cut through my thoughts.
He was being nice again. Somehow, it always unsettled me more when he was cordial than when he was cruel. Kindness from Damien usually meant he was playing some kind of game.
Giving away nothing, I went to the empty seat, chin lifted, willing myself not to be afraid. Not meeting his eyes, as was protocol, but not bowing my head meekly, either.
One of my guard escorts pulled out my chair. As soon as I was seated, he and the guards at the doors left the room through the entrance I’d just come through. The doors thudded shut.
Damien set his hand on mine on the tabletop, startling me. I forced myself not to flinch from his touch.
“You’ve spent too much time cooped up in that room and eating alone,” Damien said.
So there was nothing unusual happening. Some of the tension left me. Tahmi wasn’t coming to dinner, at least not if Damien didn’t have an ugly surprise in store.
Unsure what to say, I settled for, “Thank you.”
He cocked his head, waiting.
I inwardly flinched. “Master.”
“Better.” He served me up a plate of roasted goose with honey glaze and steamed vegetables. “The sooner you get used to addressing me properly, the better off you’ll be.”
I noticed the slice of goose he put on my plate was barely a sliver, and he’d added not enough vegetables to fill the palm of my hand. I wouldn’t starve by any means, but the implications were not lost on me. I was back to eating only what he wanted, when he wanted, in the tiny, mouse-sized portions meant to keep a perfect figure. It made me acutely aware of how pampered and well taken care of I’d been in the Grotto. The memory of Damien’s killing Crash flooded back on me with a violent intensity.
“Yes, Master.”
As per protocol, I waited for Damien to serve himself, then for his men to do the same. Waited for permission to eat.
Sheriff had only expected me to do that once, while punishing me. Then, it had felt right. Here with Damien it felt…oppressive.
“Don’t look so long in the face,” Damien said, nodding for me to eat when everyone was served and he and his men had started to dig in. “This is your life now. You need to get used to living the way you were meant to live, as the prize of a real man’s house instead of like a pirate’s whore.”
My teeth ground at the insult. A piece of my heart died hearing myself agree with him.
“Of course, Master.”
Dinner seemed to take forever. The goose meat felt tender and moist on my tongue, the vegetables fresh, but they tasted like ashes.
Occasionally, Damien sat back in his chair, and I noticed the hilt of a sword sticking up from a scabbard at his hip. Why was he armed at his dinner table? Perhaps he was paranoid of Tahmi making an early appearance.
I hoped.
While they ate and talked with their captain, the men at the table watched me with an uncomfortable closeness.
“Is there something interesting about my slave, Gromm?” Damien asked the pale-haired lieutenant sitting across from me.
“Nothing, Captain. I was just noticing how well she’s adjusting to life here. It
’s like she never left.”
Damien took a last swig of his wine and set the goblet down. “Yes, her reconditioning is going well. Perhaps one day she will accept that her pirates aren’t coming to save her.”
I took another bite of goose and kept my face neutral, trying not to let the words eat a hole in the hope that kept me going. They’d be here. Before Julian’s men returned. I had to believe that.
Damien looked around at the men. “I’ll have some wine brought in for you, gentlemen. Feel free to indulge yourselves while my queen and I take a stroll.”
After Damien dabbed his mouth with a napkin and pushed back his chair, the doors to the room opened. Two servants rolled in a huge barrel of wine. Something made me look up at them.
The shorter of the two caught my eye as he rolled one end of the barrel across the room to the table, his partner rolling the other end.
My mouth almost dropped, catching the grey eyes of the one servant, the salt-and-pepper hair that disappeared under his white cap.
Doc!
The giant rolling the other end had a splint on two of his fingers. Fingers I had broken.
Steel…
Trembling so much that I was sure everyone around me must have seen it, I took a last sip of my wine and slowly set the goblet down, buying time.
“It’s such a clear night, it’s the perfect time for you to get some air in the garden with me.” Damien stood and held out his hand.
I glanced toward the doors without thinking, in time to see that the bigger servant’s head had lifted. Steel’s blue eyes caught mine.
My heart gave a huge bound.
The ‘servant’s’ gaze slid over to the doors where Damien would have to go to get out to the garden. Then he gave the smallest shake of his head.
I blinked at him to let him know I understood; I couldn’t let Damian take me from the room.
“Master…” I shut out the awareness that Steel heard me call Damien master. “It looks cold out there. May I get a shawl before we go out? One of the guards can take me, I wouldn’t be more than a moment.”
I’d been hoping Hawk was close and might somehow end up being the one to take me. If he did, he might be able to do something to get me out of the mansion without a dangerous fight.
