“Are you doing all this for show? Being so kind to me. Defending me. Flirting with me.”
“I do enjoy ruffling a few feathers,” Silver answers truthfully. “I told you that earlier.”
Almost imperceptibly, a faint sadness etches itself onto Ria’s face and she dips her head, hiding her eyes.
“But”—Silver hooks a finger under Ria’s chin, forcing her to look up—“nothing I’ve said or done has been a lie.”
At that, all trace of sadness and disappointment in Ria’s expression evaporates.
“Besides”—Silver edges closer, drawing her into an embrace—“no-one’s watching now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The village is woken by a siren.
Loud and obnoxious, the dual-tone refurbished air raid siren emits a screeching and wailing sound identical to the warning shrills civilians would’ve heard during the bombings of the Second World War.
In Gwydir, Silver and Ria wake next to each other, Ria’s arm flung casually over Silver’s waist, their feet touching, playing footsie beneath the sheets.
Groggy, Ria wipes morning gunk from her eyes. “What is that awful racket?”
“Stay here and rest.” Silver rubs her shoulder affectionately. “I’ll check it out.”
Ria writhes on the bed, stretching and relaxing, then smiles up at her from the pillow. “Hurry back.”
As if there’s any doubt that she would.
Silver pulls on her pants, fastens her boots, and sprints to the courtyard. When she gets there, she finds a flurry of activity. Quite a few of the men are gathering by the stables, arming themselves with bows and arrows, waiting for further instruction, and the stable boys are frantically saddling the horses.
Something’s about to kick off.
On the hunt for a familiar face to query—either Honey, Bold, or even Mason—Silver spots Alex coming out from one of the surrounding cottages. His salt-and-pepper hair is ruffled from sleep, his face prickly and unshaven. He looks ruggedly handsome without trying. His tanned, bare chest is firm and muscular, and standing there with his belt unbuckled and the top button of his jeans undone, that perfect, kissable ‘v’ shape of pelvic muscle where his lower abdominals meet his hip flexors is exposed.
Silver’s stomach somersaults, the same way it has since she was fifteen years old and first laid her hormonal teenage eyes on him, but the feeling doesn’t last. Linx steps out into the sunlit courtyard behind him, wearing nothing more than a tank top and undies. Yawning and rubbing her eyes, she almost stumbles into him when he stops abruptly to pull on his t-shirt and buckle himself up.
All of a sudden, the mental imagery of Alex boning another woman causes Silver’s stomach to flip again, but in a different way. She fists her hair and promptly throws up in a nearby trash can—a sight which finally catches Alex’s attention.
“El, are you okay?”
He draws near her and reaches for the nape of her neck, but she recoils from him.
“Don’t touch me.” She wards him off, then spies Bold striding through the courtyard with a live pigeon in his hands. “Hey,” she calls him over. “What’s with the siren?”
“A gang from the Chester militia is raiding Clocaenog Forest, a few miles out.” He holds the pigeon up. “We just heard word from the Wrecsam outpost.”
Silver grimaces at the pigeon. “Are you fucking serious? This is what you use instead of phones?”
The pigeon lifts its tail and poops on the ground, cooing at Silver.
“What’s the purpose of the raid?” Alex prevents them from veering off-topic.
“We got herds of wild horses out there, and this ain’t the first time they’ve tried to rustle us. The wind turbines we use to generate power is all out that way, too, so it could be a malicious attack.”
“Do you want some help?”
Bold nods. “Saddle up.”
Both men start toward the stables, and Silver sets off with them, but …
“Not you.” Alex holds her back.
“Excuse me?” She folds her arms indignantly.
“You’re not coming.”
“Like hell.” She keeps her arms folded, resisting the urge to deck him. “You can’t exclude me from something like this.”
“You’re pregnant and injured. I don’t care which one of those reasons you pick, but either one alone justifies me leaving you behind.”
Silver has nothing legitimate to counter that with—it’s the truth. Nevertheless, she’s still in a bitter mood. For all she knows, Alex spent the night balls deep inside Linx, and now she can see a sleep deprived Luka stumbling out of another cottage looking far too proud of himself.
Like Alex was, he’s shirtless and fastening his pants. Two twenty-something twins with flowing blonde hair and flawless figures stand in the doorway, blowing him kisses and waving him off as he joins the rest of the men by the stables.
“Christ!” Silver throws her hands up. “Is everybody getting some?!”
“Apparently.” Alex is looking over her shoulder.
Ria, her long dark hair loose and wind-whipped, is entering the courtyard wearing a dress. It’s deep blue, calf-length, tight around the hips and thighs, flaring out at the knee. The low-cut front is cinched from belly button to bust with midnight blue silk ribbon, and a tantalizing glimpse of her corset is visible beneath while she finishes lacing it up.
Much to Alex’s annoyance, Silver makes no effort to conceal the fact that she’s looking, and nor does she hesitate to play up the fact that they’ve spent the night together.
“I thought you were going to wait for me in bed?”
Ria blushes immediately. “I got bored.” She loops her arm through Silver’s. “Did you find out what’s going on? I heard some people talking about the militia.”
“It’s not Slade or Luther,” Silver abates her concerns, quick to settle her mind. “It’s some people from Chester who’re after some horses, or some other shit. I wouldn’t really know.” She turns to glower at Alex. “I’ve been forbidden from taking part.”
“You blame me? Look at you.” Alex pulls back her shirt, revealing her oozing arrow wound. “The only place you’re going is the infirmary.”
Silver’s not one to take orders, but she falls silent anyway. In all honesty, if she absolutely wanted to, she could kick up a fuss and force them to include her. She knows it, Alex knows it, and he’s also well aware of why she’s letting it go: because of Ria.
The Russian’s been clinging to her like a tick on a dog, and she hasn’t exactly been pushing the mild-mannered beauty away. It’s been about a year since her relationship with Alice dissolved—following her repatriation to the Sentinel District—and this certainly isn’t the first time he’s seen her head turned by a pretty face.
The truth is, Silver’s always looked at women. For as long as they’ve known one another, her eyes have had a tendency to wander. Sometimes more. Over the years leading up to her banishment, there’d been more than a few drunken indiscretions, none of which bothered him because she was always off her face and never did anything behind his back. More often than not, she was doing it directly in front of him, which had its obvious benefits.
She never loved them, though. He was always secure in that. She’d bring them home, fuck them—often several times—then send them on their way. The only meaningful relationship she’d ever undertaken was with Alice, who, by Silver’s own confession, wasn’t very adept in bed and never once satisfied her adequately. Ergo, she was no threat. When Silver was repatriated, there was no question that her relationship with Alice would be terminated. If there was any shred of love, it wasn’t deep.
Once their life together had regained some semblance of normality, he’d often wondered if she’d be tempted to revert to her old ways, but she hadn’t even hinted at it, and he hadn’t cared enough to ask.
Perhaps she felt their marriage vows precluded it. Perhaps drunken one night stands no longer held any appeal. Whatever the case, she hasn’
t been with a woman since.
Until now.
“Let the men go just this once.” Ria squeezes Silver’s arm. “If there’s an infirmary here, I can take proper care of your shoulder. You won’t be any good to anyone if we have to amputate your arm.”
“Meh,” Silver relents, turning her back on Alex and the others. “It wouldn’t be that bad. I’m ambidextrous.”
“Of course you are.” Ria laughs. “You’re strong, capable, ambidextrous, and considerate to a fault. Do you have any flaws?”
Silver treats that question as rhetorical and leads her to the infirmary.
After being told they’ll have to wait in line to be seen behind a woman in labor, and a woodcutter who needs to have the tip of his finger reattached, Ria offers to do the work herself. Grudgingly, a nurse—who’s too frazzled to argue with her—shuffles them off to a cubicle at the back of the room.
Content with that, Ria orders Silver to sit on the bed while she busies herself finding the supplies she needs to properly clean the wound and re-bandage it.
Watching her lay all such items out on a medical tray, Silver makes an observation.
“You really know what you’re doing.”
“I’m a nurse.” Ria snaps on some gloves, then reconsiders that statement. “Well, I was a nurse.”
“What happened?”
“Life.” Ria strips off the old dressing, finding it heavy with Silver’s blood. “You definitely need stitches. It’s not sealing at all.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong.” Silver looks down at her gooey shoulder, feeling betrayed by her body’s inability to fix itself. “I normally heal better than this.”
“With or without the virus?” Ria douses the wound with an antiseptic solution.
Silver hadn’t taken that into consideration. “Is that all it is?” She grits her teeth.
“Your body’s adjusting to healing itself without the extra help.” Ria inspects the level of internal damage. “Feeling pain like us mere mortals again must be fun, too. Do you want me to get you something for it?”
Silver shakes her head. “I can’t let you do that. For a number of different reasons.”
“I’ll find something that’s safe for the baby.”
“Would it be non-narcotic, too?”
Ria understands perfectly. “Best not, then.”
“You wanted to know about my flaws.” Silver looks apologetic.
“I want to know everything about you.” Ria preps a suture needle. “How long have you been clean?”
Silver laughs weakly. “I feel oddly compelled to lie.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m afraid the truth might change the way you’ve been looking at me.”
Since actions speak louder than words, and she can see how much Silver needs to be reassured, Ria takes a quick look around the cubicle. She makes sure no-one’s spying on them through the curtain, then leans forward and presses a relatively chaste but lingering kiss against Silver’s lips.
When it breaks, Silver’s beaming. “What was that for?”
“Because I fancy you. You’re married, you’re pregnant, and I’m certain that any involvement with you is destined to be very complicated, but I’m absolutely mad for you. I’m not sure there’s much that could change the way I look at you … or the way I’m starting to feel about you.” She clears her throat and changes the subject. “So how long?”
“Eight days. Today makes nine.”
Ria makes the first stitch, curious about the apparent discrepancy. “How pregnant are you?”
“About eleven weeks.” Silver doesn’t wait for a follow-up question. “In my rather dismal defense, I didn’t know. I thought it was impossible for me to have a child.”
Ria recollects the enormous scar on Silver’s stomach. “Because of this?” She touches the back of her hand to it.
Silver nods. “My contact with the virus had some unexpected regenerative effects.”
“That must please your husband.” Ria keeps stitching.
“I think he’d be more pleased if he didn’t doubt that it were his.”
Ria puts two and two together. “He suspects your traveling companion?”
More nodding. “He’s always been jealous of Luka.”
“Have you given him any reason to be?” Ria finishes the last stitch, applies more antiseptic solution, then bandages her up.
“We’ve had our moments.”
“Do you love him?”
Silver’s not sure if she’s talking about Alex or Luka, but her answer’s the same regardless: “I love them both.”
“But you’re not satisfied with either?”
Silver doesn’t get a moment to answer.
Another siren sounds and she leaps off the bed, determined not to be left out of the action twice in a row. She gathers up her shirt, rushes to the courtyard with Ria on her heels, and accosts Honey near the main gates.
“What is it this time?”
Honey flashes Ria a contemptuous glance. “Your boyfriend left us a little present.”
She directs their attention to the gates as the on-duty perimeter guard drags a corpse through. Wrapped up in muslin cloth, all that can be discerned from the body is that it’s male and badly beaten. A pair of black leather boots are visible at the bottom, a mop of dark hair sticks out at the top, and blood is seeping through the thin white sheet.
The perimeter guard drops the corpse at the rear of a horse drawn dray: a simple, sideless cart meant for carrying light loads of hay or dung between farms, or to and from the village.
The dray’s driver and assistant swiftly heave the body up and onto the cart with little care or concern. In doing so, the muslin cloth becomes unraveled, revealing the face of the battered man beneath.
Ria gasps, the color draining from her face, her lower lip trembling slightly.
“You recognize him?” Silver infers.
Ria nods, feeling her skin prick with goose bumps. “He’s one of Luther’s closest men. He knew me.” Disgusted and ashamed by the memories his presence evokes, she dips her head and turns away. “Intimately,” she adds quietly.
“I’m sure many of the Arch Rogue’s henchmen do.” Honey clicks her tongue, disapproving.
“That’s not how it was.” Ria tries to preserve some of her dignity. “Luther liked to keep me for himself, but he wasn’t always around. When he was away on business, his men would sometimes … take advantage of his absence.”
Her stomach churns at the thought of it. More often than she cares to remember, Luther’s men—this one in particular—would summon her for their own gratification. It became so frequent that one look from him was all it would take. He’d come for her, and she’d know what was expected without the need for him to demand it.
She’d lead him to the bedroom, lie down on the bed, and let him take her however he wanted. She wouldn’t even look at him. She’d turn her head and close her eyes, powerless to stop him from forcing her legs apart and climbing on top of her. Then, she’d hear the release of his belt buckle, his zipper, and he’d jerk out his cock. He usually couldn’t be bothered to undress her—which she was thankful for. He’d just bunch up her dress and ram his already weeping dick inside her as fast as he could.
Fortunately, it was always over quickly. The anticipation of fucking her brought him to the brink of climax before reaching the bedroom, though that was due mostly to the enjoyment he got out of taking something from Luther, rather than the physical pleasure of the sex itself. The longest he ever lasted was fifteen quick, firm thrusts, and he always used a condom, lest he should be caught dipping in the honey pot.
Her cunt stinging with the memory of his ugly prick stabbing into her over and over again, Ria melts into Silver’s arms for comfort.
“He was one of the men who helped me escape,” she mumbles into Silver’s shirt. “Is that why he’s dead?”
“I should say so,” Honey answers her curtly, then locks eyes with Silver. “I need to speak w
ith you privately.” She calls over one of her most trusted Deltas. “Escort the Russian to Silver’s room and guard the door,” she instructs him. “I see the handcuffs were ineffective.”
“Will you be all right?” Silver hesitates to let Ria go.
Ria nods, not far from tears.
Dying to console her more deeply, Silver caresses her cheek and presses a kiss against the side of her head. “I’ll be with you soon.”
Honey’s Delta grabs Ria’s arm and hauls her away, handling her much too roughly for Silver’s liking.
“Hey!” she yells at him. “Hands off.”
She keeps her eyes on his back until they turn out of sight, and Honey leads her off to a private office in the village community hall. The walls are filled with maps, and papers stuck to cork boards. The maps mark the locations of raids on their land, noting dates and precisely what was looted. The papers are important communications from the outposts, and some from the Mercian militia, recording details of various trades and agreements.
“Our dead rapist came with a message.” Honey sits at a small, cluttered desk and fishes a sealed envelope out from one of the drawers. “In order to prevent total anarchy, I think it’s probably best if we keep the details between us.” She passes it to Silver.
Addressed to ‘Honey Bear’, it’s smeared with blood where it was stapled to the dead man’s chest. Inside, there’s a handwritten note penned by the Arch Rogue himself:
It’s been brought to my attention that you have in your possession something belonging to me. Regarding this, you should know that anyone who attempts to thwart the retrieval of my lost property shall be guilty of conspiring to commit theft, and will be duly punished. For details on what this entails, please refer to the man who gave you this note.
Sincerely, Luther Hale.
“So you can see”—Honey perches on the edge of her desk—“Luther wants his favorite tail back.”
“Not gonna happen.” Silver tears the note in two and trashes it.
“Like it or not, you stole from him, and he wants his property returned.”
“She’s not property. She’s a human being, and she’s under my protection.”
Lex Talionis Page 21
