by Jayden Woods
“Maybe we should tie her legs, too?”
“Fine, yes, if it’s really that necessary. But right now I’m a little more worried about her yelling.”
“We’ve already tied a scarf around her mouth, what else can we do? Besides, we’re the sons of the khan. No one’s going to question us no matter how much she—AAAAGH!”
“Richard? Richard what happened?” Picard reluctantly turned away from his own project. “I look away for one second and the next you’re bleeding from the nose?”
“She kicked me! She fucking kicked me!”
“Really, brother, why did I even bring you along? For Friva’s sake, she’s a twenty-year-old girl, and you can’t even get her to sit still.” Picard reached into his tunic for some safra. He felt particularly on edge today and he hadn’t brought enough safra with him to last through the night. His right hand was spasming more than usual, too—probably because of his stress—and for Friva’s sake, if he had just brought a little more safra …
“Oh, I’ll get her to sit still, all right.” As Richard recovered from the kick to his nose, a new mood came over him. He grabbed her legs by the ankles and pushed them down with all his strength. This put him in a position he rather liked, crouched with his head between her knees, his eyes peering into the shadow under her skirt. The young woman trembled as she no doubt felt his breath against her thighs. “How about I teach her a lesson right now?”
Picard’s finally found the pouch of safra against his breast. His hands shook as he pulled the pouch open. The pain in his hand shot up his arm and shoulder, making his entire body jerk. “Fuck!” he cried, watching a few precious pieces of the glittering dust flutter to the ground. He felt so desperate that he nearly bent down and tried to retrieve them from the floor. But this inn was a nasty place; dirt covered the wooden floorboards, beetles scurried amongst the rushes, and Friva only knew what else waited in the shadows of all that dust and straw.
“You said we could rough her up a bit,” said Richard, running one hand up the woman’s leg.
“Tie those ankles first, or you’ll get kicked again. Idiot!” The last part he muttered a little more quietly. Richard did not care to be insulted. But Richard had his mind on other things now, and it was a small blessing from Friva that he bothered listening to Picard at all. Tying her ankles meant that he could use his hands for other things, so he grabbed more rope and got to work.
Picard poured a little safra in his mouth and swished it around slowly. He would have preferred smoking or sniffing it—more savory that way—but this was the surest way to make sure none was wasted. He peered into his pouch and considered eating more. But what if he needed it later? He took a deep breath as he waited for the drug to take effect.
“I’m not so sure you should rape her,” he said after a moment. “It seems a bit distasteful. Don’t you think? Besides, we should give her a wound that’s a little more … obvious.”
The girl tried to yell through the scarf in her mouth.
Richard scowled at his brother, losing some of his good mood. “If I can’t have a little fun, I won’t help you next time.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Picard took a deep breath. He felt the warm current of safra magic running through him. His anxiety fell away and a gentle bliss arose in its place. He remained aware of the pain in his arm, a constant burn in the distance, but he ceased to care about it. As he exhaled a smile settled over his face. “Be patient, brother. The sun will set soon. Help me do what I need to do, and then you may do as you please.”
He turned to face the young woman. Her eyes were big, so very big and full of fear. He remembered the same sensation of fear creeping over him just a few moments ago. In hindsight, it seemed like a sweet feeling, almost like the pain in his arm. Safra made everything sweet.
“Maybe we don’t need to do this,” he mused.
Richard grunted and rolled his eyes. “That fucking safra always makes you lose your nerve. And yet safra’s the reason you do everything in the first place, isn’t it? You’re such a pussy, Picard, eating that shit.”
Picard’s right hand gave a violent twitch.
“You’re just jealous you can’t fuck her yourself, you impotent bastard.” Richard chuckled.
Picard struck the woman across the face with his mechanical hand. Enough metal lay outside the leather that it scratched her skin and left a good mark. As he struck her, he wondered if her pain felt anything like his own, or if pain felt different to everyone. He felt a warm wave of pleasure run through him and considered striking her again. But that didn’t seem necessary, as he had already drawn blood. “That’ll do,” he said. “Now give me the lenses, Richard.”
With his gloved hand, Picard grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. He used his other hand to balance the first lens on his fingertip and push up her eyelid with his thumb.
“Now if I were you,” he said, “I would hold very still.”
