“I’ll get you a sheet to hang,” he replies through a mouthful of his own sandwich.
A sheet?It’s better than nothing, but the thought of it makes my skin crawl.
“And if you behave,” he adds, leaning in just enough that I can get a tiny whiff of that pine scent again, “I’ll let you use the actual toilet block once a day. I don’t particularly want my house stinking of your high-class shit.”
“Delightful,” I snap, wrapping my Drakeward ice around me like a blanket. “I’ll be sure to put it in my five-star review of this hellhole.”
“Yeah, yeah. Listen, Princess, this is how the system works,” he says, sounding like I’m boring him. Fucker. “The Guild has to play nice because my people run the plumbing, the incinerators, and the air filtration. It’s hot and dirty as hell down here, but it gives us leverage—we control their basic needs.”
I tilt my head, giving him my best unimpressed stare. “Hmm. Sounds like you’re trying to put lipstick on a pig.”
He stands and moves toward the bars. We’re only a couple of feet apart. This close I can see the golden-bronze flecks in his rapidly narrowing eyes. “Rule number three: keep that smart mouth shut. Stay quiet, stay put, and do exactly what I tell you.”
As he stares me down I lift my chin. “I don’t really have an option about the staying put part, do I, asshole?” Catching flies with honey has never been my MO, and being locked in a dog pen doesn’t exactly improve my mood. But I need him, for now.
“Fine,” I say, leaning back into the shadows and crossing my arms over my chest. I make sure to look like he’s the one beingboring now. “Rules temporarily accepted. But don’t get used to it.”
He lets out a soft, mocking sneer. “Like you had a choice, Princess.”
Gods.If he were within reach, I’d kick him right in the balls and laugh while he crumpled. It would be the perfect finale for the last twenty-four hours.
“And I want a pillow,” I yell at him.
Taliesin scoffs, rolling his eyes as if I’m the most demanding person he’s ever met. He reaches down and scoops up the coffee-soaked, smelly gray jumpsuit Layla brought in earlier. With a flick of his wrist, he tosses the damp bundle through the bars. The stinking fabric hits me right in the face.
“Pillows are for people who earn them,” he grunts. “Get changed. You’re a Digger now. Welcome to the family and all that bullshit.”
5. TALIESIN
Istorm down the stairwell, thoroughly fucking annoyed—mostly with myself.
I’ve just brought a mountain of trouble down on this block, and instead of worrying about the fallout, my brain is stuck on a loop of things I have no business thinking about. Like the curve of her throat. Or the way the sweat was pooling in the valley of her cleavage while she struggled into that oversized jumpsuit. I can still see those full, pouty lips and those icy-blue eyes that looked at me with nothing but cold, dark fury.
My dick paid too much attention.
Fuck.
I’d pictured fucking that haughty attitude right out of her. I’d thought about how good she’d look completely wrecked and panting.
Wrong fucking call, man.
She’s only sixteen.Sixteen.And yes, that might be the legal age in Havengard, but it’s obvious she’s still a kid. A stuck-up, annoying, innocent little Princess who has no idea how fast this place will eat her alive.
Besides, I have politics to attend to, and thinking with my dick isn’t going to help navigate this room full of people who may want my head on a platter.
At least I know Clay will support me.
He’s sitting at the end of the table, an empty space beside him saved for me.
The Digger’s “council chambers” are an unused basement storage room that reeks of exhaust fumes and industrial cleaner. Jensen, Layla and several more Diggers are waiting there. I feel their eyes boring into my back as I walk to my seat. I’ve probably pissed off ninety percent of the people in this room, but honestly? I don’t give a single fuck. I’m the Boss. Anyone who has a problem with the way I run this pit is more than welcome to challenge me for the title.
I won’t have any takers. Everyone loves to bitch, but nobody actually wants the headache that comes with the crown.
“You look fucked up,” Danny says. He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Danny is a snake. I keep him close because of the old philosophy about enemies. “You had a big morning, Boss.”
I sit, trying not to show that every breath stabs at my ribs. Heinz really did a number on me. “Just another day in paradise.” I aim for casual.
Sitting on a crate behind Clay is Imran. The boy who looks like he’s made of nothing but skin and bone. He’s only seventeen, but the six months he’s spent in this hellhole have aged him a decade. Every time he lets out that wet, rattling cough, I see Clay flinch.
