Their faces are carefully blank, and it just irks me even more. "Which one of you was it that let her on board?"
"It wasn't any of them," the female calls out. "Fuck off."
I turn and glare at her. "I wasn't speaking to you. Unless you want a gag in that sour mouth of yours, you'll stay quiet."
"Kinky fuck," she mutters, but goes quiet. She just glares instead.
Sakkar finishes her wrist and gets to his feet, looking over at me. "She is taken care of, my lord."
"Good." I grab one of the chairs near a table off to the side and tug it forward with my good arm. "Now do me."
Alarm flashes over Sakkar's features, and I have to admit that it feels good. "You are hurt, Lord Straik?"
"The human stabbed me with a child-sized knife." I say, tugging at the auto-fastener on the high neck of my tunic.
She makes an outraged sound from the bed. "You motherfu—"
"Do you want to be gagged or not?" I say loudly, speaking over her.
She goes silent again.
Good. I'm sick of this. I expose my shoulder and gesture at the wound. My clothes are soaked with blood, but it didn't hit anything vital. "Seal this up," I say irritably and cast another look at my silent crew. Their disloyalty stings. Have I not worked hard to win their trust? Have I not rewarded them well in our corsairing efforts?
Is this a mutiny? I look over at the female, her forehead bruising up and swelling. Sakkar coats my wound with a numbing cream that makes me painfully aware of just how irritating the wound is. Like everything else this day, it's just one more irritation. As the medic fusses over me, I study the female again. I think about my mother's response to the thinly veiled hints I gave her and I wonder if the female perhaps has a more nefarious plot in mind.
"Are you here to assassinate me?" I demand of her.
The female just laughs. "I'm here to ruin your life, buddy."
"You already have."
That makes her laughter die. A hint of confusion crosses her face, quickly hidden by her smirk. "Good."
"Sir." The new head of security, Kazex, steps forward. "Shall we take her down to the brig?"
What, so she can escape again? So they can aid her with mutiny? I snort. "Absolutely not. She's staying with me."
Kazex pauses, shooting the female an uneasy look. She frowns, too, as if this is something that she hasn't considered. All the more reason to keep her at my side. If she's under my nose at all times, she can't plot mutiny with the crew, now can she? The more I think about this, the more I like it. If the crew won't admit who's working with her, I keep her in my sights at all times, and someone is bound to mess up. They'll show their hand and I'll finally have answers.
"Keeping her here, Lord Straik?" Kazex asks.
"Yes."
"In…your bed, sir?"
"Yes."
His gaze flicks to the cuff on her hand and then to the blanket draped over her nudity. "Are you sure that's wise?"
I just smile tightly. "I'm no longer making wise decisions at all, actually. But thank you for your concern."
10
RUTH
As the crew files out of the room, they leave me alone with Straik.
I'm still naked, still vulnerable, and now he's pissed and I'm chained to his bed. Perhaps I didn't think this one through so well. I don't show my fear, though. I lift my chin and glare at him as if my hatred will protect me.
He crosses his arms over his chest, staring at me. He's shirtless now, his tunic removed so the ship's medic could stitch him up. I'm a little uneasy at the sight of him half-naked, too. It's easy to watch him from above in the vents because he can't touch me. It's another thing for him to stand five feet away from me, scowling and half-clothed. From here, I can see his arms bulging with muscles, the occasional vein tracing along under his skin. He's covered in tattoos, too, most of them symbols and designs I can't make out. One ear is crusted with jewelry, and he wears a necklace with a single, solitary sigil that I don't recognize. His pants hang loosely at his waist and slither to the floor in flowing black fabric.
I don't see any weapons, but that doesn't mean that there aren't any.
It's the look on his face that worries me the most, I decide. The unhinged, at-the-end-of-my-rope look that isn't helped by his hair that looks as if a three-year-old took scissors to it. I don't know what he's planning on doing, but it worries me.
I'm not scared of being killed. I'm scared of him deciding to keep me, because that death would be slow and awful.
He drums his fingers on his arm, watching me. I shift on the bed, making sure the blanket covers my nudity, and it's silent between us. Neither one of us speaks and it feels a bit like a dare—who is going to break first and say something?