Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1)(81)

The pirate opens his mouth to argue. “But—”

“Now,” Quarter snaps. “You think we can survive an attack from Fourth’s soldiers if we try to renege on the deal? He paid, whether we have the coins or not. He won’t leave without them. Especially not the gilded bitch.”

The pirates glance at one another, clearly displeased, but they stalk over to us. “Come on, you cunts,” one of them mutters.

I quickly lift my hand to the ribbon that’s wrapped around the post and pretend to undo it so that he doesn’t attempt anything like tearing or cutting into it.

He grabs me by my arm just as I get the ribbon undone, his fingers pressing hard through the material of my sleeve as he hauls me out the door while the other pirate takes Rissa.

Just as we’re led out of the room, I hear, “Wait a minute, isn’t that the cap’s coat? Why would he leave without his coat?”

Rissa stumbles behind me, and alarm bells go off in my head.

“Oy! Stop!”

The pirates escorting us jolt us to a halt and step aside just outside the room. Quarter’s footsteps stalk over, and I turn to face him as he approaches, my knees shaking beneath my skirt.

He stops in front of us, holding up the captain’s coat and hat. “You two wanna tell me about this?” he says, looking back and forth between us. I don’t dare look at Rissa.

My eyes flicker down to the coat as he shakes the fur in front of me. “Wh-what about it?” I ask, trying to sound as confused and pitiful as possible.

“You’re telling me that the captain snuck out with the trunk, during a snowstorm, but didn’t even bother to wear his fucking coat?” he snarls.

I flinch from the anger in his voice, but I manage to get out a shaky answer. “I—I don’t know. Maybe he was in a hurry?”

Quarter narrows his eyes and then takes a threatening step toward me. I cower back instinctively, my back nearly hitting the wall. I turn my face away from him.

Don’t touch me, don’t touch me…

His eyes flash with viciousness. “You’re fucking lying, aren’t you? What are you lying about?”

My knees nearly buckle right then and there. My chest goes tight, and it has nothing to do with my knotted ribbons and everything to do with the grip that fear has around my ribs.

“I…” Whatever excuses and lies I was going to try to spin collapse against my tongue.

My mouth is dry, my head is pounding, and I’m so tired...so incredibly weak. I expended a lot of energy—too much—and my body is ready to collapse. I probably would have already if adrenaline weren’t coursing through me.

Quarter leans down close to my cheek, and I freeze. “If you don’t start talking, I’ll stuff something in that useless mouth of yours, and then I’ll fill you with so much cum, it’ll corrode your plated pussy, do you fucking understand? What happened to Captain Fane?” His tone is dark and murderous.

Black dots burst at the edges of vision. My mind scrambles to fix this, to solidify my original story, but after the night I’ve had, it’s like my mind is sputtering out.

Why did I think I could get away with this? The threads of my lies are snapping one by one, and all I can do is try to hold onto the weak strings with a desperate grip.

Quarter growls next to my face, making my eyes squeeze shut. “Fine. I’ll make you talk, and then—”

Before Quarter can finish his sentence or go through with his threat, a cold, smooth voice cuts through the air like a boom, a volcano erupting in the middle of a silent twilight.

“What do you think you’re doing?”





Chapter Thirty-Nine





At the sound of the commander’s voice, Quarter’s head whips over, and my eyes snap open in surprise.

Commander Rip is standing there, flanked by two of his soldiers. The three of them are menacing and dark, like obscure shadows spreading their darkness. Even with the helmet obscuring his face, I can tell that the commander is seething.

“Move away from the favored. Now.”

No room for argument, no politeness in the commander’s tone. He doesn’t even have to raise his voice to sound frightening.

Quarter straightens up at the command. “She’s lying about something, and I’ll be finishing this discussion before you take her.”

To be honest, I’m too shocked at Quarter’s courage to be nervous for myself. But beside me, I hear Rissa whimper, like she’s afraid we’re about to be caught up in a deadly fight, and maybe we are, because the three pirates behind Quarter grasp the hilts of their swords nervously.

But the soldiers behind Commander Rip don’t move an inch. The commander himself also doesn’t grip his gnarled hilt. He doesn’t take a step forward. He doesn’t even argue.

No, the commander laughs.

The sound pours out of his helmet and pools in the air between us, making the pirates go tense. It’s the sound of a warning. It’s the laugh of a madman, one set on the promise of blood.

A threatening aura as thick as tar pulses off him, making my skin bead with an unnatural chill. The spikes on the commander’s arms gleam black like a chasm’s throat ready to swallow Quarter whole, and I nearly feel sick with fear.

This is the monster that King Ravinger unleashes on Orea. This is the male terror that the legends and gossip and tales are derived from. No wonder no one wants to meet him on a battlefield.