Page 23 of Seaborn and the Seven Seas

Russo was out of his chair, his hand fisting in my hair, yanking my head back hard enough to sting. I didn’t cry out. I refused to give him any satisfaction. He forced me down to the floor by his table, and Jina dropped beside me without being touched.

The floor was bare wood, sticky and grained with filth, cold through my clothes. I kept my eyes forward and my hands flat.

“That’s for not producing,” he hissed.

I’ll add it to the list of things I intend to repay you for when I kill you. The words sat at the tip of my tongue. I swallowed them. Not for his sake, but for Jina’s.

The tavern didn’t pause. No one looked over. This was not a place where anyone intervened or cared for female mistreatment. Russo dropped back into his chair and picked up his cup as if he didn’t insult me.

“They need food and water.” Ranis’s voice was steady, though his hands behind his back were not.

Russo said nothing. Didn’t even look at him. Instead, he took a long drink.

Ranis crossed to the bartender without waiting for permission. Jina’s hand found mine on the floor between us. I squeezed once and didn’t let go.

When Ranis handed us bread and a wedge of cheese, Russo shifted in his seat. He drained his cup and set it down hard.

“Tell me why I’m feeding them,” Russo said it to his men at the table. “They are wasting space.” He shoved his seat back, swaying, then his fingers closed around Jina’s arm. “Time to earn your keep.”

Jina’s body went rigid, bread still in her hand, and I knew that look—the look of someone going somewhere else inside themselves just to survive what was coming. Whatever he had planned, Jina might not survive the trauma. I had to get her out of this.

“Wait. Take me instead.” The words came out before I’d thought them through. But I had the dagger inside my secret pocket. Whatever he intended for that room, this might be my only chance to use it on him.

Russo glared at me.

“She’s no use to you.” I kept my voice even. “She’ll shake. She’ll cry, but I won’t.”

Calculation passed across his face. He released Jina. “Keep an eye on that girl.” He nodded at Ranis, then he grabbed my arm. “This one owes me.”

He dragged me up the narrow and steep stairs, the wood groaning under each step. I glanced back once. Jina sat on the tavern floor where Russo had left her, knees drawn to her chest, one hand pressed over her mouth. Her lips moved beneath her fingers, counting.

I stumbled twice, my feet barely keeping up. He didn’t slow. He shoved a door open and into a room with a bed shoved against the wall, a window with a curtain pulled shut. He released me and turned the key in the lock.

“Take off your clothes.”

“No.” The word came out quiet but stern.

“You don’t learn, do you? I take what I want.” Anger shifted behind his eyes, and he backhanded me across the face hard enough to turn my head.

The sting spread across my cheek, down my jaw where he’d already hit me once before.

He grabbed my arm and threw me onto the bed.

The mattress gave beneath me. Before I could roll off, he was on top, his weight pinning my hips, one hand in my hair. Up close he smelled of sour grain, soaked into his skin and his breath. My stomach turned.

I pushed against his chest. He didn’t move. His hand found my waist, sliding upward, then stopped when he pressed his fingers against my ribs, frowning.

“What’s that? What are you hiding? Are those my pearls?”

His hands moved harder now, feeling the shape of my breasts and the pearls through the fabric, while I twisted to get him off me.

Play smarter.

I went still.

The fight drained out of my body, or appeared to. I let my hands fall from his chest. Let my breathing slow. Let him read it as surrender, because men like him expected it.

“Let me show you.” My tone softer and playful. “But first, my pants.”