Page 11 of Snake Eyes & Bad Luck

“Despite the fact ya love all those ripped corsets, no ones ever ripped yours, have they?” Everything. Went. Cold. Her eyebrows shot up on her face and her mouth fell off both hinges. Cottonmouth snickered, “Nary a pirate captain, dazzling princess, nor fairytale price has had the pleasure of crawling between them thighs have they, Darlin?”

He nodded down at the hem of the shirt, and she dropped her arms so fast it actually hurt as her breasts fwump’ed back down. She snatched up the fabric and dragged it down against her thighs. His yellow eyes were glued to them as she fought with a spike of adrenaline in her veins. No, there’s no way, there’s no fucking way. So what! She was inexperienced, it wasn’t a crime. “How-how-how-how did you know that? There’s no way you knew that about me by just looking at me—”

“Now, now, I think we had a deal,” he teased, slithering closer. She pushed off the door frame into the bathroom, like her body needed to physically escape him and his accusation. Cottonmouth stalked her down till he had her pinned against the back wall in the bathroom. Palms outside of her shoulders, his face near her ear, his pleased hiss was wicked. “You. Owe. Me. A. Kiss.”

“Why do you even want a kiss?” she erupted, trembling to the bone. It wasn’t the fact she was inexperienced. Avelina wasn’t ‘saving’ herself for anything. Sure, she’d felt licks of desire throughout her life. There were a few individuals she imagined—as she always did—could take care of that itch she wanted to scratch. The problem was the imagination. Her reality never lived up to her fantasies for anything else. Not the daydream of a loving mother who saw her as more than a doll to dress up. Nor the doting father who came home from long journeys full of stories he wanted to share by a fire and long hugs that made her feel safe. Or the tickle of excitement in her belly from a first kiss. None of it met up with what was inside her head—and so she worried that something she could accomplish by herself with what was behind her eyelids, she’d never find someone who could beat it.

No one could make her toes curl, leg pop, and lure a moan out of her throat like they did in all her books. That’s what she wanted. That’s what she was waiting for…someone that made her feel like she was struck by lightning.

“Pay up, Darlin.” Cottonmouth pulled back so that their noses were only an inch apart. His smug mug was the last thing she wanted to kiss. Mouth screwed up, Avelina wanted to pitch a fit. A full temper tantrum—foot stomping, arms flailing, screaming at the top of her lungs that it wasn’t fair. She just wanted to call Tala, to tell her she was alright. He shouldn’t be able to read her like a book. It had been a foolish bet in the first place!

And yet…she let out a breath she’d held for a terribly long time. Fine! He wanted a kiss? A kiss as payment for being an asshole? Fine!

Fine!

Fine!

Avelina grabbed his annoyingly pretty cheeks and dragged his curled lips into hers. Then was immediately struck by lightning.

Chapter Seven:

Cottonmouth

The problem was he said it as a joke. Callum had been kidding when he asked for a kiss because he knew it got under her skin. Then she squirmed. And fuck do I like the squirming. He shouldn’t have kissed her because it was the best thing he’d tasted in years. Scooping up her head by that wild mane of hers, feeling it fall between his fingers, he kissed her hard. His cocks swelled deep in their pocket and his belly twisted up in excitement as her fingernails scraped against his skin. Dragging her away from that wall, he almost hoisted her up and onto his body. Which was a worse idea. If he wrapped those plump thighs around his waist, his cocks would spring out of their pocket, and well, he’d have one of them in her within a moment. That’s how good it was. Like a sharp scratch down his untouched spine, it was a primal, deep in the tissue, oh that’s good, shiver-inducing feeling that made him want to sink his fangs in.

He swallowed her sounds like the glutton he was then pulled back before he could fuck her mouth with his tongue like he wanted.

Callum wanted it. Her. The feeling. All of it; he wanted it all really bad but he denied himself for one key reason—she was his scapegoat. If he wanted out, and by the fucking gods he did, he couldn’t let himself get distracted.

Avelina was a might fine distraction.

He pulled back from her lips, purposely letting her drop to the floor like a heap of dirty laundry. She stared up at him with those big, doll eyes and puffy lips. A might fine, delicious distraction. Callum nodded at the large, rusty trunk in the corner of the washroom. “Clean up; there’s clean clothes in the trunk for you. Don’t take too long, we’ve got shit to do.”

Leaving her in there, he closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. Out from the corner of the living room, Grahm poked his head out. A curious turtle inspecting if the way was clear before he waddled further into the abode with his breakfast in tow. He carried a tinfoil roll filled to the brim with spiced meat, beans, rice, all wrapped up in a thin bread. The garlic was overpowering, but one must cover up the taste when the quality is lesser. And nothing in Gloomsdale was superb, especially not the food.

“Boss.” Grahm lilted his head to the side as Callum met him closer to the bedroom. The breakfast muncher followed him in, audacity and all, into the room while Callum found a clean-ish shirt, his leather belts, and his hat. “How did you know all that stuff ‘bout her?”

“Ya don’t get to be where I am without knowin’ people, Grahm.” Callum plucked a hunk of meat out of Grahm’s breakfast with the tips of his claws. If the befuddled man cared, he didn’t make it known.

“Fair,” Grahm hummed, nodding for a minute before asking again. “But how’d you guess about that last one? Ya can’t look at nobody and know that about ‘em? Can you?”

Callum rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. “That duffle bag you found on the train? The one you brought back here that didn’t have a drop of blood on it?”

“Yeah?” Grahm took a huge bite into his breakfast. Munching and crunching like it wasn’t the most grating thing in the world, but Callum very well couldn’t gut every jackwagon that didn’t chew quietly…he’d have no one to do his bidding.

“That was hers,” Callum answered, crossing his arms.

Grahm swallowed hard, then huffed, “You psychic, boss?”

“No! Ya idiot!” Callum slapped Grahm upside the head. “Think about it? Girl says that our boys boarded the train, started stabbin’ people. She cracks when her daddy gets stabbed, so she rips one of ‘em asunder. Then she walks out into the rest of the train, tearin’ and rippin’ and blastin’ folks till there’s nothin’ left. You said that train was a blood bath. Body parts everywhere. Nothing but this one little spot, likely where her big ass daddy fell and blocked all the blood.”

Grahm stared at him, open mouthed in amazement. Callum stole the rest of his breakfast sandwich. Which wasn’t much, two bites, but it was payment enough. Grahm rolled up his tinfoil with a, “huh”, and shuffled back out into the foyer.

“But how’d ya know about the books?” Grahm lowered his voice, whirling around to face his boss.

Callum stopped by the door, pulling the book he’d left on top of his dresser for later, and showed it. Last night, after Avelina finally fell asleep and the boys returned, he told them the plan. They were going for the vault. A Paladin gold storage on the edge of the Stronghold. It was a risky move, so it would be important to do it in steps. Step one was casing the joint, what they were off to do today. Step two and three revolved getting his crew to take random jobs out from other people’s hands, making a ruckus. They thought it was to help frame one of the other outlaws for the crime. It was really to help cover his tracks when he gave his big reveal.

However, in that time, Grahm made it back and allowed him to drift off the plan into a ‘to be continued’ conversation. That really fired up the crew. They were excited to say the least. Hitting the vault meant major payday! And the perfect cover for the death of Cottonmouth. Though, that was on a need-to-know basis, and none of those fools need to know. Thus, he dug through the things Grahm brought back. Including one duffle, property of Avelina Dalethorn. There wasn’t much other than clothing that lacked excitement or color, a sad little lantern, new boots, and a romance novel. It was bursting at the seams with annotations.