“If you’ll permit me,” I interject. “I’d love to select your drink for you.”
“By all means.” He waves an open hand.
I request a rich, full-bodied wine, one Bess showed me last night. It’s smooth, sensual, and expensive—just right for a man who wants to appear more affluent and cultured than he actually is.
The Captain sips from his glass, pursing his lips slightly. “Godsdamn, that’s good. It has a pleasant, um—mouthfeel.”
“Doesn’t it?” I slide my arm a little nearer to his, so that my lacy sleeve brushes the thick embroidered cuff of his coat. “A good mouthfeel is so important, don’t you think?” I let my lips part, blinking slowly at him. “How do you think my mouth would feel on you, Captain?” My tongue traces my lower lip.
He stares at me, and then he chuckles. Damn him—he’s actually laughing at me. “Yes, you’re new all right. You don’t converse like the other girls here. You get right down to business.”
Fuck, I went too far, too quickly. I’m ruining this—he knows I don’t belong here, that something is wrong, that I’m out of place, that I’ve been planted just to tempt him…
“Can I tell you another secret?” he says, low. “Tonight, I’d rather get right down to business too. I need—” He licks his lips, hesitating.
“You’ve had a long voyage.” My fingers travel across the bartop, sliding over the back of his hand. The dagger sears my thigh, a burning weight. “You need someone to take care of you, help you relax.”
He turns, his body angled toward mine, his brown eyes molten. “No. I need to fuck someone. Hard.”
There’s a barely concealed growl in his voice, and my pussy clenches on a thrill.
No… no, I’m not going to fuck him. I’m going to kill him. Kill. Knife to the throat, the heart, the eye—
I’ve been quiet too long—he’s frowning, sizing me up. “Are you refusing me as a client?”
I take a sip of my diluted wine. Think of Sylvie, of Aisu, of your future…
“Not at all.” I give him a small smile. “I’d be delighted to entertain you, my lord.”
5
I choose one of the first-floor rooms, farthest away from the parlor. The other courtesans don’t like it because sometimes there’s noise from the kitchen, but I figure that’s all right—it’ll help to cover any sounds the pirate might make when he dies. Thankfully outcries are common enough in such a place, and most of the rooms have thick paneling to absorb all but the loudest sounds.
The candelabras in the room are already lit, their tapers magic-infused to create a unique radiance. I have plenty of light for effective stabbing.
My employer said to do his throat first, but I think I might do the heart first, then the neck. If I cut his throat, I’ll be splattered with gore. Yes, heart first is the way to go. Then, after he falls to the floor or the bed, I’ll slit his throat carefully, and then stab his eye.
Oh gods, what if he struggles? What if he fights back? What if he kills me? I must be very quick and decisive—I won’t get a second chance at this.
I lock the bedroom door, taking full advantage of the seconds my back is turned to him. Trying to keep my breathing steady.
I can do this.
I must do this, because if I fail, my employer is going to kill Sylvie and Aisu. My feelings for Sylvie are complicated—a dutiful love soured with a tempest of negative feelings I don’t want to sort out—but Aisu has only ever been kind to me. She’s the one who used to smooth cream onto my bruises and bandage my cuts after Orgul beat me. Once, when I had an especially nasty infection, she paid for a healing tonic out of her own wages. I don’t know how she got the money, but I heard whispers she had to do something especially foul to a client to score the extra coin.
I owe her, and I can’t let her die because I’m scared to end the life of a filthy pirate.
Fabric thumps somewhere behind me as the Captain sloughs off his heavy coat. His presence looms at my back, a dominant heat.
“Are you shy, Fire-Rose?” he says, low. “Perhaps you’re new to this profession as well as this house.”
“Not at all.” I pretend to check the lock one more time, but before I can turn around, he moves in from behind, wrapping one sinewy forearm across my upper chest, almost pressing on my throat but not quite. He pulls me back against him, rocking his hips forward so I can feel the bulge of his erection against my rear.
I suck in a sharp breath, grasping my skirts with one hand and drawing them up to my thigh, nearly revealing the dagger. The gauzy layers of my dress stir, as if the air flow in the room has suddenly changed, and the candlelight takes on a bluish tint. I notice these things vaguely, but I’m more focused on estimating how much force I’ll need to tug the knife free of the straps, and picturing the exact spot on the Captain’s chest where I’ll need to stab him.
The pirate nuzzles into my hair, his mouth near my temple. He inhales slowly, reverently. “You have the most glorious hair of any woman I’ve ever seen, except one.”
Ah, so that’s why he prefers redheads. There’s someone he wants, someone he can’t have.
“I’ll make you forget her,” I murmur. “Close your eyes.”
“All right.” He exhales, his chest lifting and falling against my back.
The moment I feel him relax, I whip the dagger from its bindings and whirl around. His arm across my chest loosens, allowing the movement.
I don’t look at his face. I focus on his chest, and I jam the dagger in, left of center, right between his ribs.
I feel the blade punch into his heart muscle.
Revulsion jolts through me, and I gag as I shove the knife in, all the way to the hilt.
Then I skitter backward, squealing in horror at what I’ve done, cupping both hands over my mouth to stifle the sound.
The Pirate Lord sways a little, his eyes wide. He looks down at the hilt jutting from his chest.
“Very well done,” he says. “Perfect aim. Don’t tell me this is your first time?”
I whimper against my palms. Why isn’t he falling down? Why is he just—standing there?
“Yes, yes, good form on the kill. It doesn’t seem to have worked, though.” He grips the dagger and jerks it out of his own heart with a grunt. “You must not have wanted it badly enough.” His mouth tilts at the corner, a slanted smirk. He holds the dagger out to me, hilt first. The blade is painted with his gleaming blood. “Try again. I’ll wait.”
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
“Oh, I wanted to fuck. But it appears you have other plans, and I’m afraid this, um—penetration—” he grins and touches the bloody spot on his chest— “has killed my desire, for now. Come on, don’t give up so easily. Try again.”
He’s still holding out the knife in his other hand. He waves it slightly, with an encouraging nod.
Dazed, I reach for the weapon and curl my fingers around the hilt.
“That’s it. Good girl. Now where will you try next?” His shirt is already partly unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He pulls the shirt open wider, tilting his chin up, baring his neck. “Perhaps you’d like to slit my throat.”