“I knew if anyone knew where to find Helldrick, it would be you.”
The smile vanished. “That foreign devil owes me money.” Calculation gleamed in his eyes. “Maybe I should get it from his daughter.”
Jamaeh never flinched. As brave as any warrior, more beautiful than a queen with her red and black braids falling around her shoulders, she shrugged. “To my knowledge, the only daughters he recognizes all live on Mortis. You could try them.”
They weren’t on Mortis any longer, but none of them needed to know that. The other daughters of Helldrick were safe on Gravas. What must it have been like for her, to know her father recognized some of his daughters but not her?
Reman made a noncommittal sound as he reached out and plucked a plump fig from the red ceramic bowl on the table. “He never had any use for you, did he? I heard he’s claimed his younger son. Seems his other one, the one who looked like him, died recently.”
This time, she flinched. Her weak spot was her brother. He’d suspected as much after reading the file the computer had put together. Seems it was common knowledge.
“He can’t have Esau.” She slapped a hand on the table and leaned inward. “He cares nothing for my brother.”
This time, their host picked up his wine and swirled the ruby liquid. They weren’t offered refreshments, an obvious snub after Zaxe’s earlier comment. “Men always want sons.” Again, it was a slam against her, but she took it without giving any indication of her thoughts or feelings. The only way to get that good at something was if you’d had years of practice and training.
“I wish to find Helldrick,” Zaxe interjected. Reman was enjoying his subtle mental torture. Another mark against him.
“What you wish is of no matter.” He took a sip of wine and set the goblet aside. “Who you are? Now that is of interest.” He picked up a linen napkin and pressed it to his lips. “Remove your hood.”
“And if I don’t?” He needed to test the man. See how far he would go.
This smile reminded him of a predator waiting to take down a prey. “It’s your choice, but every time you refuse, I’ll simply have my men remove a piece of Jamaeh’s clothing. It will be interesting to see which of you breaks first.”
****
Jamaeh flushed hot and then cold. Her shirt was stuck to her back. She counted backward from one hundred. Something she’d always done to help center herself in times of stress. If she could go back to this morning, she’d roll over and stay in bed.
It was odd how one decision could change the course of your life. She’d almost put off the market until tomorrow. If she had, she’d never have met Zaxe, not ended up on the wrong side of Samar, and certainly wouldn’t be in this situation.
This was the most dangerous spot she’d ever been in, and that was saying something, considering who her father was. Her previous dealings with Reman had been over small things, and she’d always led with flattery and small gifts, feeding his ego. She’d heard rumors of his temper but had never seen it in action until tonight. It was cold and biting, his tongue able to flay with little effort.
What have I done?
The life she’d painstakingly built one slow piece at a time was crumbling around her. If Reman blacklisted her, no one in the city would trade with her for fear of retaliation. And that was the least of her worries. Her life itself was now in jeopardy because of some stranger she’d met only hours before. If she ever wanted proof that her instincts sucked, that she’d been born under an unlucky cloud, she had definitive proof.
Men were all alike. Women were nothing but pawns in the games they played. Disposable pieces, cast aside when no longer useful.
She’d rather die than be stripped by Reman’s men. The knife strapped to her belt was within easy reach. Her fingers flexed, but she kept her hands in her lap. Let them think she was nervous rather than preparing to fight.
The silenced stretched, each second an hour. It was Reman who finally broke it. “Our new guest needs some incentive.” He jerked his head to the man behind her. “Remove her cloak.”
It’s only a cloak. It’s only a cloak.
But it was so much more. It was her badge of independence. Unlike most women who favored gauzy, colorful ones, hers was white and heavier like the men’s.
Fear tickled her throat. She bit down on the inside of her mouth, swallowing back her scream of rage. Fuck this!
She flowed to her feet, undid the clasp, and tossed the garment at her feet. “Is this what you want?” She held her arms out by her sides, still respectably clad in pants and a shirt. Her breasts were bound to make them appear smaller than they were. It was something she’d done since she’d entered her teenage years and it became harder to hide her gender.
Reman’s mouth tightened, his nostrils flared. Fire flashed in his eyes. He didn’t like being thwarted. “If you’re so eager, take off another layer.”
Why hadn’t she kept her temper? The gods knew she’d been forced to do so her entire life, ignoring snubs and taunts meant to hurt, pretending the shoves and pinches of other children didn’t hurt.
Tears of fury burned in her eyes, but she blinked them back. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shook her head. “I just met this man this afternoon. He hired me to bring him to you for information. I’m not paying for his sins.” There’d been enough of that in her life.
“You brought him here, therefore the debt is yours. Maybe next time you’ll choose your clients a little more carefully.”
There wouldn’t be a next time, and not because she’d never be stupid enough to do something like this again. She’d defied him to his face and she was a woman. In his world view, women existed to serve whatever needs he had. Up until tonight, she’d amused him, so he’d indulged her. She could read it as easily as she could the words of a book. Whatever happened between him and Zaxe, Reman would make her pay.
If she managed to get out of here, she’d have to run. But where? None of the territories were exactly welcoming, and she had no family to sponsor her, no essential skills. Traders were a dime a dozen. She couldn’t exactly go to her father for help. The bastard wouldn’t be more likely to return her to Reman … for a fee.
As always, she was on her own.
Reman chose a plump fig from the bowl and bit off a piece. “I’m waiting.” His guards took a step toward her. She took a deep breath and brought her fingers to the front of her shirt.
“Enough.” Zaxe’s deep voice cut through the room with the force and precision of a machete through a coconut. “Once you see me, there is no going back.” With those ominous words, he lowered his hood.
Relief flooded her. Since her knees were weak, she lowered herself back down to the cushion. With all the attention on Zaxe, she swirled her cloak back around her and fastened it. It took several tries since her fingers were trembling.
What was the big deal about his appearance anyway? She’d seen him. Maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. Maybe he’d only paid her because he planned to take the money back when he killed her.
Gods, her imagination was running wild with scenarios. This was nothing more than a power play between men. Like animals in the wild, both of them were trying to assert their dominance. A hysterical laugh tickled the back of her throat, seeking escape. She clamped her back teeth together.