Page 7 of Snake Eyes & Bad Luck

She couldn’t stand to give him her tears too.

Cottonmouth pulled back from the tub and grabbed the net covered in soap again. “Now, where was I?”

A heavy tail splashed into the water and wrapped around her leg. He yanked her across the bottom of the tub and she didn’t fight him. She let him scrub an extra layer of skin off her back. Then when he gave the front of her torso the same treatment, she swallowed the flinch of pain from the rough fabric biting across her nipples. To her relief, he did not seem inclined to touch her indecently; he was simply rough. He cleansed her from head to toe, then turned the spigot back on to rinse out the frothy suds.

“Much better. Can’t have a decent conversation when yer covered in guts, darlin’.” Cottonmouth turned off the spigot again before folding his arms over the side of the basin. She stared at him, numb to the core. Her trembling stopped somewhere between him scraping her ass-cheeks like they were rusty cast irons and him completely ignoring the shamefully clenched core when he got his hands between her thighs.

“I guess so,” she murmured, scanning his face for the umpteenth time for any clue as to what his game was. What could he possibly want with me?

“Now,” he smirked, pulling out a blade from his waist and she clamped down the desire to throw herself far away from it. Her attention was on the glinting silver in the dim candlelight. The bathroom had grown hazier the lower the candles in the windowsill behind her burned. There was no telling time, as there was no sun. Though, I guess now, I’m kind of allergic to the sun. SunBringer and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now. Cottonmouth put the tip to the blade under her chin and forced her to swallow hard. “I’m gonna cut the binds around yer ankles. Yer gonna get out of the tub like good girl.”

“Is this the part where you tell me why you washed me and haven’t turned me into a dead girl?” she confessed, eyebrow arched. Avelina was a possessed woman, because, truly, what was she thinking!

He snickered, “Play yer cards right, and it is.”

“I don’t seem to have many cards, sir.” She was the one bound and naked in his tub. She was who-knows-where and spent most of a day running from Paladins. Even with the powers she wasn’t quite sure how to control, she didn’t have cards. Avelina had a singular jester that continuously laughed at her. She didn’t even think she had the guts to try and seduce him to get out of this.

Oh, why did I think that? All of a sudden, as he reached into the tub to cut the cord, tying her ankles to the bottom, she imagined his hand running up instead. His palm cupping her cunt and telling her all the awful things he was going to do to her. Nope! No. Nu-uh.

She might be a warlock, a murderer, a monster, a heretic…but she wasn’t going to add Outlaw’s Bed Wench to that list. She’d been reading too many pirate romances. Kidnapped princesses or court lady, whisked away by horrid pirates, promising wicked delights. That was fiction. Happily ever after guaranteed.

Avelina was in the real world. If she wasn’t smart, she would end up dead. There was no promise she got out of this happy…or alive

“Up ya go,” he grunted, hoisting her by the armpits. They both rose as she eased her weak legs over the top of the basin. Her hands stayed bound as he wrapped her up in a towel. Exactly as before, he dried with little care for her sensitive skin or for the traitorous clenching of certain muscles. Then she was pointed out of the room. Head ducked, she shuffled out the door. She was prepared for a crowd of ruffians, all hooting and hollering over a single naked woman, but the house was empty.

Silent, even.

It was uncomfortably hollow in the wooden abode as he led her from the bath to a large bedroom at the back. A massive bed took up much of the room, clearly meant to accommodate a curled sleeper—like a snake. However, there was a chest of drawers along the wall.

“Pick something out of there and quick.” The binds around her wrists snapped with a flick of his finger.

“Yes, sir.” She grabbed ahold of the first drawer at the center. Either he was sick of seeing her already, or maybe this was his warning that if she stayed naked, other things would be expected. She kept the sarcastic comment to herself. No promise of happily ever after. No promise of safety. Remember you are at HIS mercy. Tala, what have I gotten myself into? She pulled out a massive cotton shirt and pulled it over her head. It fell around her thighs and was thick enough she couldn’t see her skin through it. However, it wasn’t exactly protective.

“Good enough.” He grabbed her elbow before she could rummage around for more. She would have liked pants or even just underthings. Don’t imagine he owns those, Avelina. Her mind was curt and cruel as he dropped her down unceremoniously onto a hard wood chair. She balled up her hands into fists and used them to keep the shirt down against her clenched thighs.

“Now, let’s talk, little viper.”

Chapter Five:

Cottonmouth

Underneath all the death and gore, his lost warlock was gorgeous. Short, plump, with a babydoll face that sported the prettiest, pouty lips—utterly delicious. He liked that with each swipe of the rag against her skin, he found more freckles, hidden treasure beneath all the caked-on blood. And boy howdy was she covered in it. Callum had gotten dirty on jobs before, they didn’t hold a candle’s flame to her. He picked teeth out of her hair at first, then found chunks of meat dried to her calves. The knuckle bone he found behind her ear made him laugh, which is what woke her up.

From there, he was trying his hardest not to leer too hard. She was frightened, but as evident by a few well-spoken barbs, she was not without teeth. He expected she was more shaken by the train experience than him. Besides, when she truly realized the power humming beneath her fingers, their dynamic could drastically change if he didn’t lock her in quick.

A warlock.

A true, bona fide cursed one. What. Were. The. Fuckin’. Odds.

It was perfect—she was perfect!

In a matter of minutes, rinsing the blood from her hair, he realized this warlock was his out. He didn’t want to be here. Callum didn’t want to be Cottonmouth anymore. He very well couldn’t just walk away; he’d have a target on his back. They’d hunt him down. Even puny little shits who didn’t deserve a slice of him would take pot shots at him. No, he needed to leave the same way Mad Madeline, his predecessor, went.

With a glorious bang. What better way to frame his death and escape into the ether than a fucking warlock! She was wanted by the Paladins, clearly, and was a murderer. It was perfect! She. Was. Perfect!

He just…needed to figure out how to frame it. A few short days keeping her captive ought to do it. They’d believe she lost it and killed him, and he’d be on a boat to the Chroma Coast before they even put cuffs on the poor thing. Plus, with all the coin he had stashed, he could start a whole new life, lounging on an island in fuck-elsewhere from here.

A shame, pretty thing like her? He would hate to watch her hang. But that’s life, toots. He’d spent too many years clawing his way out of this shithole, he couldn’t waste this opportunity. And hey! Who is to say she dies, huh? Maybe she becomes the next Cottonmouth. Maybe she cracks like an egg and becomes…shit, very well can’t give her a name if I don’t know hers.