Reckless (The Powerless Trilogy Book 2)

“Slice.”

My brow furrows, waiting for her to continue.

“Please,” she manages from between bared teeth. I reward her politeness with a smile and a piece of apple lifted to her lips. Her teeth snatch it from my palm, narrowly biting me in the process. Which she’s tried. Several times.

She glares at me from where she sits atop the roof. Early morning light dapples her face and the strands of silver hair peeking out from beneath her scarf. “Is this really necessary?”

She’s talking about the rope I’ve bound her wrists with, of course. “Oh, you know exactly why it’s necessary.”

After a long day of walking to the quieter outskirts of the city, we managed to climb onto the roof of a run-down building where she had the nerve to pull a knife on me in my sleep. I woke up to the sound of her picking at the lock around her ankle before she held the blade to my throat. I’m slightly concerned that she managed to get ahold of a weapon without my knowledge. But the tiring scuffle ended with both hands bound behind her back with a strip of old tarp I’d found. Only then was I able to get some rest.

“Am I not supposed to try to escape my captor?” she asks, exasperated. “I’m not exactly the type to go quietly.”

“Obviously not,” I sigh, offering her another slice of apple. She takes it begrudgingly, hating that I’m feeding her.

“How long is this going to last?” She wiggles her fingers at me from behind her back.

“Until the urge to kill me dies down.”

She huffs out a laugh. “So it seems I’ll forever be tied up.”

“What a shame that would be,” I say distractedly, using the knife she found to cut slivers of apple for myself.

I catch the quick roll of her eyes. “Slice.”

This is becoming rather unenjoyable for the both of us. I cut another piece for her before reaching over to lift it to her lips. “We’re about halfway through Dor. If we make good time today, and don’t run into any trouble, we might make—”

“Slice.”

I shut my eyes, breathing deeply for a moment before I feed her another piece. “As I was saying,” I breathe, sounding calmer than I feel, “we might make it to the Sanctuary of Souls in a couple of days.”

“Perfect.” Her smile is deceptively sweet. “One landmark closer to my death.”

I look away to the street below us, not wanting to think about the possible truth in her words. I hate that I don’t know what Kitt plans for her. Or worse, what he plans for me to do to her.

“Well, it’s best not to keep the king waiting, hmm?” She struggles to her feet, looking down at me as she adds, “Especially since we’re taking the long way back to Ilya. We wouldn’t want him to think something happened to you.”

Her tone is mocking, attempting to mask what she’s truly feeling. I know better than most what that is like. So I say nothing as I stand to my feet, studying her face and the emotions she refuses to let me see. But it’s the hand she waves at me from around her back that steals my attention.

“I need my arms to climb down.”

I smile slightly. “I could just catch you at the bottom.”

“This chain would pull me off the roof before you even got there.”

“Fine,” I say simply. “Then you’ll beat me to the bottom.”

A sound of annoyance climbs from her throat. I laugh lightly before closing the distance between us, watching her eyes flick between mine. She stills when I reach behind her back, brushing her sides before I grab her bound hands.

It’s only when she opens her mouth to tell me off that I cut the tarp with my knife, holding her gaze all the while. Her hands break free with a snap, the sound stretching a soft smile across her lips. “So you don’t want me to fall to my death?”

She’s close, smelling faintly of the inn’s cheap soap. I shrug. “Not if you’re going to pull me down with you.”

“Well, that’s the only way I’d allow myself to die.”

I’m smiling before I even get the chance to stop myself. Then I’m reaching up to tuck loose silver strands of hair into her scarf, my fingers brushing her temples. The feel of her skin has my mind wandering back to the alley where my mouth was on her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips.

It’s troubling, how tempting she is.

She tasted like a privilege, felt like a dream.

It was an effort of sheer will to step away, to pry myself from her.

But it was all pretend, after all. At least, that is what I keep telling myself.

I run a hand through my hair before pulling the bandanna over my nose. “Ready?” I ask, walking us over to the edge of the roof.

“It wouldn’t matter if I wasn’t,” she says cheerily.

I shake my head and swing over the side of the building, gripping the tall lip of the roof while my legs dangle beneath me. Paedyn does the same, straining as she begins to carefully climb down. We struggle down the wall of the building, using every crack in the stone as a place to fit our fingers and feet.

The chain clanks between us when we finally leap to the ground. My hand stings, and I look down to find a thin line of blood blooming across my palm, courtesy of a jagged stone. Ignoring it, I watch her wrap most of the chain around her ankle before she straightens. Then she’s hesitantly threading her arm through mine as we set off through the backstreets of Dor.

The edge of the city is eerily empty, housing only the homeless and crippled. To live this far from the main market streets is not a choice—it’s a punishment. Outcasts are pushed to the outskirts, leaving them to fend for food or make the trek to the market alleys.

But it’s safer to travel along the border where there are less people to recognize us, especially with the news of our escape from prison likely spreading. We make good time, only needing to dodge a few persistent peddlers as the day wears on.

It’s only when we pass the fourth flyer of her face that she tears it from the shop’s wall. “What?” she bites out, catching the glance I throw at her. “I’m sick of staring at myself.”

She’s about to crumple the poster when I snatch it from her. “Let me see this.” I easily avoid the swipe of her hand, lifting the parchment above my head.

“You are insufferable,” she huffs, finally giving up. “What could you possibly want with that?”

“Comparing it to the original,” I say simply, holding the picture beside her face. She almost allows herself to laugh at that. My eyes flick between her and the poster, scanning each feature. I hand it back to her in a matter of seconds. “Not enough freckles.”

“Not enough…” Her head whips in my direction, confusion crinkling her brow. “What do you mean, not enough freckles?”

“I mean,” I say without looking at her, “they didn’t draw enough freckles.”

She huffs. “Yes, I heard that, but—”

A burly man steps out from an alley, blocking our path. Paedyn’s arm tightens slightly around mine as his eyes skim over us, stopping at the sight of a chain clamped at my ankle. I take a step, urging Paedyn to move around him when his face suddenly splits into a smile.

“Damn,” he bellows, “you’ve really got yourself a ball and chain, eh?”

For once, I’m relieved by such a comment. Let him think what he wants, so long as he doesn’t know who we are. With that in mind, I play along. “Yes, and she’s clearly quite the handful.”

I’m going to pay for this later. I can feel it in the way she’s squeezing my arm.

I rest my hand on Paedyn’s back, guiding her forward as the man laughs. “You certainly put her on a leash!”

Her entire body tenses, ready to rip the man apart. I slide my hand around her waist, trapping her against me so she doesn’t do anything rash. “Well, I can’t have her running away from me, now, can I?”

His laughter fades behind us as we hurry past him and down the alley. I expect the elbow she throws into my ribs before the blow lands. “That,” she says softly, “is the least you deserve.”

“What exactly did you want me to do?” I murmur. “Tell him why you’re chained to me?”

She doesn’t bother answering as we step in time down the street. We walk in silence for several minutes, keeping our heads down and our pace even. It’s only when a group of men step out in front of us that we falter.

There’s four of them, all large and lumbering. A man steps forward with a jeering smile, the one we escaped from just minutes ago. “You know,” he says, shaking a finger at us, “I thought you looked familiar, girl.” He pulls a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket, holding it up for us to see Paedyn’s face staring back. “So this is the infamous Silver Savior, eh?”

I brace a hand on Paedyn’s back when he takes a slow step toward us. “And that must make you the Enforcer sent to fetch her for your little king. We heard about your escape from Rafael. But he captured the both of yous easy enough.” His smile only grows. “We’ll get a lot for these two, boys. The Elite freak can’t take down all of us. In fact, I don’t think the Enforcer is half as powerful as we thought.”

I glance to the right, eying the empty alley there. “I’d hate to say it, but…”

“I know,” she murmurs back before lurching into a run.

We skid into the alley, tripping over the chain as Paedyn struggles to unravel it from her ankle. Shouts echo behind us, closely followed by the sound of thundering footsteps. I grab her hand as we zigzag through the uneven streets, focusing on keeping our feet beneath us.

“We won’t lose them like this,” she pants, pulling me in a new direction.

“I know,” I say, swiping at the sweat stinging my eyes. The next right we make has us heading for one of our pursuers, forcing us to skid to a stop and turn around. “Any brilliant ideas?” I ask breathlessly.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.” She barely manages to avoid an old man who hobbled into our path. We turn another corner, this street more crowded than the rest. Without a word, she’s tugging me toward a dimly lit building and throwing open the door.

We all but stumble inside, going from blinking in the blinding sun to being shrouded in shadows. I scan the room, taking in the velvet chairs and gaming tables. The space is smoky, helping to conceal the faces of the men drinking and gambling. Women prowl around the room in flimsy clothing, searching for an empty lap to sit on.

“You just pulled us into a gentleman’s club,” I murmur beside her.

“Of course you would know what this was,” she whispers harshly. “What now?”

“Now,” I say, letting my hand graze her lower back, “we blend in.”

I pull the floppy hat from the pack slung over her shoulder and quickly rip the scarf from her head. Then I tug the hat low over her face, tucking the remnants of her messy braid into it. “Play along, all right?” I murmur, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Take off your vest. It’s recognizable.”

She obeys for once, folding the fabric into her pack to leave her with only a thin shirt hanging off a tan shoulder. Then I’m pulling her toward an empty chair seated at one of the many gaming tables. A few men encircle the game, peeking around the women on their laps to sort the cards in their hands, smoke puffing from the cigars hanging at their lips.

I sink slowly into the velvet chair before pulling Paedyn onto my lap. She sits straight and stiff until my hands find her hips to ease her back against my chest. “Loosen up, darling,” I whisper against her ear. “Look like we belong here.”

She nods slightly, the brim of her hat nearly hitting me in the face. I feel her melt against me, convincingly more comfortable with where she’s perched atop my thigh. Keeping one hand slung loosely across her hips, I use the other to signal the table to deal me in. After throwing the few shillings I have onto the felt, a man throws me several cards.

She turns so her cheek is against mine and slowly wraps a lazy arm around my neck. It’s just an excuse to whisper without looking suspicious, but I struggle to slow my racing heart, nonetheless. “What are you doing, Azer?” she murmurs, her lips bushing my cheek.

I swallow at the feel of it. “You pay to play,” I breathe. “And not playing will only draw more attention to us.”

She exhales against my skin in a way that has me clearing my throat. “Remind me to steal your money back at the end of this.” With that, she’s turning toward the table to watch the men lay their cards.

It would be a lie to say that I’m unfamiliar with a gentleman’s club, though the one in Ilya feels much cleaner than this. But I know how these games are played and, much more importantly, how to win them.

“I doubt you’ll need to do that, darling.” I lay a card onto the worn table. “I don’t plan on losing.”

The men around the table take their turns, frequently swapping out the women decorating their laps. I feel Paedyn tense each time a girl is exchanged, hating how the men discard one just to run their hands over another.

It’s not long before a woman slinks over to wrap her arm around my shoulders. Her voice is high and breathy as she offers to take Paedyn’s place. But when I open my mouth to decline, it’s not my voice I hear.

“This lap is taken,” Paedyn says coolly, pulling herself closer with the arm still draped across my neck. With a huff, the woman nods and turns away to find another body to warm.

A sly smile spreads slowly across my face. I lean forward to look at her, but she’s stubbornly ignoring me to instead focus on the game unfolding before us. Wanting to catch her eye, I drop my cards onto the table to drag her chin toward me.

“Jealousy looks good on you, Gray,” I murmur, my fingers still cupping her chin.

Her eyes flick between mine, full of a familiar fire. “I’m not jealous.”

My gaze lingers on her lips before traveling down the length of her. “Then you just look good.”

She scoffs, turning her face from my hold. “Why don’t you focus on not losing, hmm?”

I open my mouth to argue that it’s her fault I’m distracted in the first place when the door suddenly bursts open, flooding the room with harsh light.

Two familiar men step inside, looming in the doorway and looking for us.