Page 84 of Bound

“Shut. Up.” But there wasn’t time or energy for the extra viciousness. Diversion was his best option now. “You do remember the part about the uniforms at Bourget taking some target practice at me, yeah?”

“Fuck.” Just as quickly, Ethan dropped his forehead into a tight frown. “Z? You said he’d only been scratched.”

“Fortunately, that was the case with the dome.” Brick brushed a couple of fingers across the tiny stitches in his forehead. “Wasn’t so lucky with a couple of the drumsticks.” With the same hand, he tapped at his shoulder and thigh. “But their whitecoats know their embroidery. The scarring won’t be bad.”

“Boo to the yah,” Ethan commented. “That’s good to hear.”

“Pfttt.” Zeke grunted. “If I were you, I’d flaunt that fuckery, man. When you get Stateside again, the girls will be lining up for a spot on your dungeon dance card. Subbies go into heat over scars.”

Ethan flashed a skeptical side-eye. “And you’re the hot expert on subbie trends now?”

“Said one old married fart to the other?” Zeke rejoined. “Come on, all the girls talk and you know it.”

Brick stepped forward. “Can we go back to the part about me getting Stateside?” The subject was so invigorating, he forgot about the throb in his leg. At this point, he’d forego a trip back to his infirmary room for the little cup of meds that Twylah had likely set out for him by now. “Whatever ride you guys used to get here, I hope it’s still waiting for the return trip—and an extra guest.”

The guys took such a long second to respond, he feared they’d say their pilot—or skipper, or whomever—was off the clock for a long while.

At last, Ethan stated, “We put down anchor in Sancti Harbor. The captain’s holding tight.”

“Good.” Brick pivoted, gesturing for them to follow. If anything beneficial had come from his trip to Jayd’s suite today—okay, likely yesterday by now—it was his improved sense of direction around here. “Come on. I think I know a shortcut— Goddammit. What the hell, guys?”

What else was he supposed to say in response to their next hesitation? Were they waiting for emails with their VIP bar code?

“What the hell indeed, buckaroo.” Zeke shook his head. “You’re going to leave just like that? No goodbye, farewell, auf wiedersehen to you?”

“After their docs patched you up?” Ethan concurred. “After what you did—what, exactly?—for and with their princess?”

Brick scowled. “The princess won’t miss me.”

Their instant—and buoyant—laughter shouldn’t have yielded his matching jump of tension. But holy fuck, how it did. At once, he was grinding teeth and twisting fists again.

“Told you, pretty boy,” Z crowed at Ethan. “You owe me a crisp Benjamin.”

“A hundred bucks?” Brick lasered a glower at Ethan. “Why?” And then at Zeke. “And what’d you tell him?”

Never before had he seen such a wide smirk on Zeke Hayes’s lips. “That Prince Charming isn’t the only one who likes macking on the princess.”

Brick jabbed his tighter fists into the ample pockets of his jumpsuit. “All right, ladies. Can we just get the hell out of here now?”

“Do. Not. Take. Another. Step.”

Though the command lacked any native Arcadian, he knew an imperative from their most menacing prince when he heard one. Further proof of that truth—as if he needed any—were the unnerving sounds that suddenly filled the foyer. The distinct snocks of cocking gun hammers.

Samsyn was obnoxiously serious. He’d brought a small battalion as proof.

“Whoa, baby.”

“Shit.”

Z and Ethan finished the reactions with fast arm raises. Brick did the same, only to have his wrists grabbed, dropped, and slammed against the middle of his back.

Before he could quell it, a harsh grunt exploded up his throat. Nothing like severely strained stitches to make a guy enjoy being shackled a little more.

“That hurts, hmmm?” The prince seized the chain between the cuffs, which had to have been crafted in the days witches were burned at the stake, before leaning in from the side and shoving a thumb into the wound at the top of Brick’s shoulder. “Not as much as I want it to.”

Raw confusion kept him from concentrating on the pain. Brick flung it all at Samsyn with a stunned swing of his head. “Okay, what the hell?” he demanded. “You don’t like me. I get that. But I was getting ready to clear out, all right?”

“We’ll vouch about that, man.” How the hell Zeke sounded like he was unhooking Brick from a bar fight instead of tetanus-inducing handcuffs was beyond belief. “He’s antsy to be gone. Just let us take him and—”