Page 26 of The Hood and his Thief

“He won’t be finding you here.”

Ansel’s tone held so much surety that a thrill ran up Rhosyn’s spine. Maybe she was trapped here, immobilized at the mercy of a man who had become a notorious criminal nearly as fast as Nate had been dubbed “the Beast”. Perhaps she should have been more concerned by her predicament, but an oddly familiar fire burned in her gut, the threat of danger igniting in her blood.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Rhosyn threatened with a too-wide grin.

Ansel’s brows rose at the challenge in her words. “Oh, because your Royal Police were doing so well at tracking us down before now. And the one officer who came close to discovering us is no longer on the board.” Ansel inclined his head towards her. “If they can’t track down the missing Talented, they won’t be able to find you.”

Rhosyn jerked, the excitement in her veins sizzling into anger at Ansel’s implication. He didn’t just know what had happened to Olivia and Paul—he had them.

“Where are they? Where are Olivia and Paul?” The words came out a hiss between her gritted teeth.

Ansel’s posture straightened, as if he wanted to back up a step against the force of Rhosyn’s anger, but had trained himself too well to retreat in the face of danger. “I’ll tell you, but I need you to show me that I can trust you first.”

“And why would I do that?” Rhosyn asked, voice like stone.

“Because I have a feeling you might see things my way, but I need to know you’re not going to ruin our plans before I tell you anything.”

Her curiosity piqued, but her hands still involuntarily curled into fists, tight enough that nails she had bitten down to the quick still dug into her palms. “If you’ve hurt one hair on Paul’s and Olivia’s heads, you’ll have more to worry about then spending the rest of your life rotting away in prison.”

Ansel’s solemn nod indicated that he took her threat seriously. Rhosyn wasn’t wholly satisfied, but her inner Lion purred in pride.

“I’m going to untie your legs. If you can prove to me that you won’t immediately try to break all my associates’ noses, I’ll let you see Paul and Olivia.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Rhosyn nodded. Ansel bent over to untie her feet, although he watched her warily, as if he half expected her to kick him in the face. She didn’t blame him, but remained relaxed against the mattress.

As the bonds immobilizing her lower body went slack, Rhosyn flexed her legs and circled her ankles, grimacing at the stiffness in her hips after staying in one position for so long.

To her surprise, Ansel put a hand on her calf, rubbing it to restore any lost circulation. Once again, she noted calluses rasping gently on the sensitive skin just below the inside of her ankle bone. It almost tickled, and Rhosyn had a sudden urge to squirm, despite his touch being focused on such an innocuous area—no, she would not admit to Contessa that there was anything remotely scandalous about ankles, thank you very much. Instead, she thought about the roughness of Ansel’s palm, which made more sense now that she had seen his practiced ability with a knife. She snorted quietly at the thought.

Ansel looked at her curiously.

“When I felt your hand the first time, I guessed you were a juggler because of the calluses. I don’t know how I didn’t recognize the hands of a knife-fighter,” she explained. In fact, Ansel’s hands felt similarly rough to her own, although missing the hardened skin across the fingers that came from Rhosyn’s brass knuckles.

“Who says I can’t juggle knives?” Ansel asked, a hint of the charismatic circus performer leaking into his voice. Now though, it didn’t seem as exaggerated, less the purposeful airs of a performer than a teasing twinkle in his eyes. Rhosyn wondered if it was genuine.

Realizing his hand had stilled on her calf, Rhosyn yanked it out of his grip. He had dazzled her into overlooking his guilt before, and it wouldn’t happen again.

Ignoring the weight of Ansel’s gaze, she twisted her legs this way and that to relieve any stiffness. She stretched her spine too, frowning. She felt…great. Certainly not how she would expect to feel after being knocked unconscious and kidnapped.

Her muscles felt pliant but strong, responding quickly to her commands, a far cry from the sluggishness she often battled against at the end of her patrols. She was still thirsty though, and her stomach grumbled in hunger. Although she had ruined her chance at a glass of water a few minutes earlier, she couldn’t completely bring herself to regret it.

She continued to work out her stiffness, surreptitiously testing the bonds on her wrists. They remained immovable, clearly expertly tied—perhaps assembling the trapezes and tightropes that held the weight of multiple performers every night conferred you with impressive knot tying skills—but the rickety bedframe creaked with her movements.

Rhosyn smiled sheepishly at Ansel, trying with difficulty to summon the more docile side of her nature. “If I promise not to break your nose, can we try again with a glass of water.”

Ansel nodded. “If it’s any consolation, I doubt you did any permanent damage to Little John’s nose.”

“It makes it sound even crueler when you call him ‘Little’,” Rhosyn grumped.

“When he was younger, his friends thought it was a clever name for the circus’s strong man. They realized it wasn’t, but the name had already stuck.” Ansel smiled wryly.

Rhosyn blinked at the realization that Ansel hadn’t hired John from a gang for intimidation. He was actually a member of the circus.

Ansel took a few steps back in her silence. “I’ll be back with water.”

As the door hinges creaked, Rhosyn lay still, waiting for the click of the lock to tell her she was alone. The moment Ansel was gone, Rhosyn heaved with her abs, folding her body in half.

She wasn’t as flexible as she once was, when she spent so many hours teaching youngsters self-defense and how to stay limber, but she still managed to swing her legs over her head until her feet planted on the wall above the headboard.