"Fucking right I don't!" She tugs at the cuff on her hand again. "I don't care if you don't like them, but you don't abandon people! You don't leave them to die!" Her mouth trembles and for a moment she looks ready to cry. "That's my family you abandoned. My friends. Those are the only people I have left."
There's a look of pure devastation on her face that makes me flinch. "I'm going back," I mutter. "It's not as if—"
"When? When are you going back?"
I toss the cake aside and sit up. "Soon."
"That's not an answer!"
"It's the only one I have for you," I snap. "Things have to be…established first." I have to get answers. I have to figure out what the kef I'm going to do. I have to confront my family. Talk to va'Rin. Think of a way to hide the fact that I've suddenly got a hundred and thirty-odd slaves that I need to somehow safely get out of my hands without my name being tied to them. And it's getting harder by the day, because apparently now I have a naked, angry human in my quarters and my crew is planning mutiny.
I really am having the worst day. I rake my hand through my hair, a hysterical laugh bubbling up from my throat.
"What's so funny?" Ruth demands.
To think that I started piracy because I wanted to help the family name. Now I'm going to be the one to destroy it. A high-pitched, insane laugh escapes my throat. "I'm losing my mind. That's what's so keffing funny." With another laugh, I slide back down into my seat, grab a bowl of soup, and begin stuffing my face.
Food never solved my problems before, but it makes her scowl, and that makes me feel better. So right now, that's all I've got.
I stuff myself full of food, drink everything except the night tea, and then contemplate my keffing existence as I mope in my chair. At some point, I fall asleep, only to wake up with a crick in my neck. There's a clattering sound in my room, and I rub a hand across my eyes as I try to figure out what's causing it.
When I look over at the female, I see that her teeth are chattering. Her skin looks oddly pale and her lips are almost the same shade as mine with cold. Seeing that just makes me sigh heavily. Why must she be so stubborn? I get to my feet and head toward the bed, weary to my bones. Everything in me aches, and it's probably due to the fact that I slept on the floor last night, and I'll be in my chair tonight.
I should give up piracy. Just sell my ship for whatever credits I can get for it, buy some backwater moon with nice beaches, and open a casino. It'd be far less trouble than dealing with my crew and this human.
As I approach the bed, the female's eyes widen and she skitters backward, tugging at her wrist. "I'm going to fucking kill you if you rape me," she spits as I approach. "Don't you dare! Don't you—"
"Shut up already," I say, and pick up the blanket that I've kept just out of her reach all night. I tuck it around her, covering her chilled limbs with it. "Computer, turn the temperature up to regular levels."
She glares at me, all defiance, and doesn't thank me for the blanket. Of course not. Here I vowed to break her, and I'm bending the moment she looks uncomfortable. Truly, I'm a terrible corsair. "Will you tell me the name of the clone that helped you onto this ship? Or who's planning the mutiny?"
Ruth tugs at her cuff again. "No."
So much for that. I grab the edge of the blanket and toss it over her head. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up if you decide to confess your sins."
"Let me go!"
I ignore that. I'm weak, but I'm no fool. If I let her go, I'll end up with another knife sticking out of me somewhere. Rubbing my shoulder, I head back to my chair to sleep for the night.
14
RUTH
I'm positive I won't be able to sleep a wink, but at some point, I wake up to the sound of twittering birds, the computer's morning wake-up program for Straik's quarters. I rub my eyes, my muscles stiff, and find that I'm still covered up with the blanket, unmolested.
I'm a little surprised by that. He's done endless terrible things but he draws the line at touching me? Not that I mind. I'm grateful. It's just confusing. I thought he'd tied me to his bed so I couldn't get away when…things happen. And nothing happened.
I don't trust it…but I'm relieved.
I glance around the room. Straik is at the far end of the chamber, seated at the table still covered with food. He picks at something bread-like (maybe a pastry?), his concentration focused on his data pad. There's so much food laid out that my stomach growls, and my mouth feels like a desert. I know this is part of his ploy to break me, and I'm worried it's going to work at some point. That I'm going to crumble the moment he discovers my weakness for coffee and he'll use it against me. I envision torture rooms where he holds fresh grounds under my nose, teasing me with their scent, and then demands answers or else he'll throw them away.
My muscles tighten and I shift on the bed, desperate to get up. The cuff clinks against the headboard and Straik's head jerks up, one of those shorn locks of hair flopping over his face. He looks strained, his face tight as if he hasn't slept. Well…I don't feel sorry for him. He looks in my direction, studying me…and then pops another bit of pastry into his mouth. "Good morning, little one."
I bristle. "Don't call me that. I have a name."
He just smirks in my direction, and I immediately regret rising to the bait. Great. Now he's going to call me that shit all the time, just because he knows it gets under my skin. "Are you hungry?" he asks, breaking off another bit of the thing that definitely crumbles like pastry, and my mouth waters. "Thirsty?"
"You know I am."
He holds a cup out to me. "You know what I want."
"You know I don't have your answers."
Straik shrugs and sips from the mug. "Pity. I guess we want different things out of this partnership, then."
Partnership? He's joking, right? I tug on the cuff again, but it sends a wave of soreness up my arm. It's a reminder that I'm not going anywhere, no matter how hard I tug. "I have to pee."
"That's really not my problem."
"It is if I pee all over your bed because you won't let me up."
He shrugs. "I'm not the one currently using it."
I clench my jaw, frustrated. He's right. Peeing on the bed out of spite will only get me so far, because then I have to sit in the mess I make. I don't want to do it, but if he doesn't help me soon, I might not have a choice. "Look, male, I don't like this any more than you do," I begin, my voice reasonable and pleasant. "So why don't we agree to a truce for now—"
"You're asking for a truce and calling me 'male'? Doesn't seem like much of a truce." He tilts his head and eats another bite.
I mean, he's not wrong. That's definitely not truce-y of me. I grit my teeth. "If I agree to stop calling you 'male,' will you let me go pee?"
A smile crosses his face. "Why is it you think you get to call the shots?"