The King(187)
“Rugby? Or baseball?”
“A dance club. A place where people drink and … listen to music.” Jesus Christ. “And do other things.”
“Yes…?”
He dropped his hands. She had sat up and her pink nipples were right on the edge of the water, the warm surface licking at them once again—not that she seemed to notice.
“Would you mind getting out and putting a robe on?” he asked.
“I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Fucking abso on that one. “I know. It’s just hard to concentrate.”
“Maybe I want you to struggle.”
Okay, right, virgins were not supposed to be so tantalizing. Then again, she wasn’t one anymore—he’d taken care of that.
Fuck. “Mission accomplished,” he muttered.
“You were telling me about your work?”
He focused his eyes on the floor. It was simple white tile, old and well-scrubbed, the kind of thing that managed to look fresh even with its lateral cracks and occasional chips.
“Trez?” From the corner of his vision, he watched as she extended her foot and turned the hot water on for a refresh. “You were saying?”
Just do it.
Great, life had been reduced to a Nike ad.
“I traffic women. Do you understand what that means?”
She frowned. “You take them out into the street?”
“I sell them. Their bodies. To men, usually.”
Cue the silence.
He met her in the eye. “I get paid for that. I sell them. Do you understand?”
After a moment, her beautiful hands receded from the sides of the tub and crossed over her breasts.
Exactly, he thought.
“And that’s not the worst of it.”
There was a very long pause. And then she said, “I do believe I should like to get dressed.”
He got to his feet and headed for the door. “Yeah, I thought so.”
Out in the snow-covered field, Layla wheeled around. She was about to scream when she recognized the male who had stepped out from behind the great tree. It was the soldier, the one who’d been injured and brought to the Brotherhood’s training center. The one who had failed to correct her when she’d assumed he was affiliated with the Brothers.
The one who had brought her here to help Xcor that night so long ago.
“I’m sorry,” he said, bowing low, his eyes still on her. “That is hardly a proper greeting.”
She was about to curtsy when she recalled that he did not deserve the respect. He, like Xcor, was on the other side of things.
“You are looking exceptionally well this cold evening,” he murmured.
His accent was not at all like Xcor’s, each word pronounced perfectly, the voice well modulated instead of gruff. But she was not fooled. He’d used her as a tool once.
There was no doubt he would again.
“So what conversation were you having with him?” he asked, that stare narrowing.
Layla pulled her heavy robes more closely around her body. “I should think if you wish to know, you may inquire of him yourself. If you will excuse me, I shall take my leave of you—”
The hand that locked on her arm bit into her flesh, and his handsome face darkened to the point of menace. “No, I do not think so. I want you to tell me what you were discussing with him.”
Angling her chin up, she met the soldier in the eye. “He wanted to know if it was real.”
Those brows came down, his grip loosening some. “I beg your pardon?”
“The divorce proclamation. He wanted to know if Wrath has indeed given up his queen—and I assured him it was true.”
The soldier dropped his hold. “Assuming you can be trusted.”
“Whether I can or cannot be doesn’t change the truth. You’ll find out elsewhere, I’m sure.”
Probably not, actually, given the lack of contact the household had with the rest of the race. But mayhap this male would not know that.
“So it was an arranged mating the King cared naught for.”
“On the contrary, their love was obvious to all. He was well and truly bonded.” Layla forced her shoulders to shrug casually. “Again, you will hear this from others, I’m sure.”
Throe shook his head. “Then he could not have let her go.”
“Maybe you should consider this against any further ambitions you have for the throne.” She took a surreptitious step back. “A male who will set aside his bonded mate will do anything to keep that which others seek to take from him. The foe you are seeking out by your actions will not be beaten—and he will come for you all. Mark my word.”
“Fierce little thing, aren’t you.”
“Again, it is merely fact for you to discover at your leisure. Or not. Either way, it bothers me not.”