Page 4 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

Deep in the night, the bell from the tripwire chimes softly.

I whip the knife from beneath my pillow and land in a silent crouch on the floor. Staying low, I slink to the entrance of my sleeping alcove and peer around the corner of the partition at the front door.

A handful of steps away, there’s a figure bending over, disengaging their boot from the string I placed across the entrance. By the shape and movements of the person, I’m fairly sure they’re male.

When this intruder entered my sanctuary, his life became mine. I don’t kill thoughtlessly, but to protect the people I care about, I will cross that line.

I’ve been utterly silent, and we’re far from the light of the low-burning fire on the hearth. And yet, when the intruder straightens, he spots me.

“Well, fuck,” he whispers. A knitted mask covers most of his face, but I see him grin through the mouth hole.

His teeth are slightly crooked, and one of his canines juts out noticeably, glinting in the light.

The effect is odd, since there are X-shaped stitches in bold white on either side of the mouth opening, extending his smile in a way that’s both cocky and creepy.

I’m about to challenge him, to ask what he wants, but before I can speak, he says, “Goodbye,” and darts out the door, leaving it open. He must have picked all three locks in perfect silence.

I bolt out the door after him, yelling for Boulder. By the time Boulder reaches the entrance, the intruder and I will be long gone, but at least he’ll be able to close the door behind me. I’m not pausing for even a second to haul that big-ass door shut.

The man I’m chasing is already scaling the bridge wall. I’ve climbed the same wall more times than I can count, and I’m lighter. It takes me half the time to get to the top and launch myself onto the wide stone balustrade. I race along it, but damn—he’s fast. Long-legged, obviously fit.

In Belgate, even in the wee hours, there are always people on the bridges—pedestrians, lurkers, streetwalkers, hustlers, and peddlers, along with a passing wagon, a carriage, or a couple of cabs.

I don’t see any constables or watchmen though.

As long as they’re not in view, I don’t have to worry about anyone interfering.

And from what I know of the City Watch, most of the guards wouldn’t care about a couple of lowlifes involved in a foot chase.

They’d probably shrug and go back to drinking from their pocket flasks or flirting with the sex workers on the corner.

The intruder runs lightly along the bridge balustrade, leaps off the end, and veers sharply left, nearly getting trampled by a horse. I dart behind a passing coach and chase him down the nearest alley.

He does a one-footed bound off the alley wall, springs onto the tiled roof of a shed, grabs the balcony railing above him, and swings nimbly onto it.

His boots stay on the railing for only a second before he’s climbing higher, crawling up the building like a spider.

There’s a blithe swiftness to his movements, a gleeful flair to his body language, almost like he’s enjoying himself.

I match him move for move, annoyed because until now, no one has been able to best me when it comes to running Belgate at night.

Of all my skills, I’m most proud of my ability to navigate the crooked streets, slopes, and rooftops of the city with speed and stamina unmatched by any other thief. And yet tonight, I’m being outrun.

Who is this fool, anyway?

The Javelins are far from being the only gang of thieves in the city. I know most of the members of the Clappers, the Rotten Hands, and the other major players under the umbrella of the Consortium, our regional thieves’ guild. This man doesn’t move like any of them.

He could be from Swallowfox. They’re newer to the scene, a hot gang with especially vicious members. They’ve snagged a few gigs I had my eye on. But they primarily work in the Ivory Quarter. I haven’t seen them near the Lesser Canal before.

If the members of Swallowfox are trying to broaden their territory, it could mean increasing hostility and an all-out war.

If that happens, the Consortium will get involved.

They might even dictate that my crew must be absorbed into Swallowfox to avoid chaos and bloodshed.

They’ve forced similar mergers in the past.

A thieves’ war, abandonment by my crew, or a forced blending of the Javelins with another gang.

All the possibilities I can foresee make me so frustrated I want to scream.

But instead of screaming, I push my anger through my muscles, willing them to work harder and faster as I scamper and leap after the intruder.

He’s running along rooftops now, the stupid motherfucker. These aren’t the well-constructed brownstones along the waterfront; these are some of the poorest tenement buildings in the Lesser Canal area. The roofs here are not very sturdy. He’s going to end up crashing through somebody’s ceiling.

“Are you insane?” I yell. “Stop!”

“Then stop chasing me,” he calls over his shoulder, skidding down a slanted bit of roof and jumping over to the next building. He pauses there, lightly balanced on a ledge.

There are streetlamps below and a partial moon above, but all I can see is his silhouette. He’s covered head to toe in black gear, including gloves.

“What were you after?” I ask. “Did you come to kill us?”

“If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead,” he says cheerfully.

“Bullshit. You couldn’t get through the door without getting tangled in a tripwire. I could have slit your throat while you were bumbling around like a clumsy toddler.”

“Really?” He chuckles. “A pitiful insult, given how easily I’ve been outrunning you. True, you caught me off guard with the trip wire, but it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t. Because you’ll be dead.”

“Is that why you’re following me? To slit my throat? Or maybe you want something else. Are you still looking for a little carnal comfort?”

I frown, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The promise I made you. That I’d be the best fuck of your life.”

Oh shit.

“You’re that asshole? From the Puzzled Coin?

” My rage mounts even higher. I wish I could remember what that man looked like.

He was attractive in a nondescript kind of way, and I can’t conjure an image of his face in my mind.

But he’s obviously been thinking about me. “Is that why you broke in? To—have me?”

“Sure, sweetheart.” He strikes a dramatic, languishing pose, with the back of his hand against his masked brow.

“Fair thief, ever since the night I met you I’ve been obsessed with your body, simply crazed with desire.

I will not rest until I can run my hands over those skinny legs and that flat chest.”

My face flames at his sarcastic tone. I’m suddenly conscious of what I’m wearing—a scanty black shirt with tiny straps, shorts that barely cover my ass, and a pair of black socks through which two of my toes are showing.

My heels are already protesting at all the running I’ve been doing on hard stone.

I should have put on my boots before I chased him.

“Relax, love,” he continues. “My interest in you is purely professional, and that’s all I’m going to say.

You may as well give up and go back to bed.

You won’t catch me, and if by some miracle you do.

.. well, let’s just say I’d rather not harm a woman—not even the notorious Devilry of the Javelins. ”

When I met him at the Puzzled Coin, I used a false name, but he has learned my thief name. It makes sense that he would, if he’s a member of a rival gang who’s targeting us.

“You’re worried about harming me?” I bark a laugh. “You should be more worried about how you’ll manage to drag your sorry ass home when I’m done with you.”

“Someone thinks highly of herself.”

“I don’t make empty threats. I back them up with bruises, and sometimes broken bones. Want me to demonstrate?”

“If you have the guts. Which I doubt, since you’re standing there talking instead of coming for me.”

The way he says coming for me in a heavily suggestive tone makes me shiver with disgust. My teeth clench and my body tenses for a jump. I’ve lost my momentum, but I’m fairly sure I could still make the leap across the alley, between the rooftops, and close the gap between us.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he taunts. “Come and get me, or go home like a good girl.”

That good girl is the final straw. Renewing my grip on the knife, I back up a few steps, run, and jump.

My sock feet land on the ledge where he stands—and then they slip.

I sway backward, my lungs seizing with terror, my heart in my throat as the height of the drop flashes through my mind. We’re four stories up. Even if I don’t die, I’ll break multiple bones.

The man’s gloved hand darts out. Clasps around my throat. Yanks me onto the ledge with him.

I’m taller than most women I know, but he’s half a head taller than me. Muscles swell against the black knit fabric covering his arms. His teeth are gritted, an unnerved energy radiating from him, like he surprised himself by grabbing me.

“Let go, asshole,” I hiss.

“Are you sure you want me to?”

I shift one foot forward, grip his forearm, and twist, pivoting my body and his with a swift fluidity he doesn’t expect.

But he’s also more solidly planted than I thought, so instead of reversing our places and putting his back to the drop-off, I only end up moving him a couple of steps.

I have better footing now, but I can’t break his iron grip on my throat.

I’ve still got the knife in my other hand. I jab it forward with the vicious speed of a striking serpent, but he catches my wrist. With a squeeze so brutal that I gasp in pain, he whips me around and pins me in a headlock, with my back to his chest.

“Motherfu—” I jab my elbow into his side. I’m thin, so my elbows are especially sharp, and he grunts at the force of the blow. I turn my head to the side, tuck my chin, and drop, squeezing out of the crook of his arm.

Savagely I stab at his ribs, but he blocks me again. This time he draws his own knife, raking it at me so fast he opens a shallow cut along my upper arm.

I spin and ram a kick into his groin. My aim is a little off, but he still doubles over, and I knee him in the face.

With a pained bellow, he wraps both arms around my waist and barrels me backward along the ledge so fast that my heart jolts, terrified that we’ll both fall off. My back collides with a brick chimney, hard enough that I feel it shake.

“Enough,” the man spits through the blood dripping from his masked nose, over his lips. “You need to go home and stay there for a few days, if you know what’s good for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I struggle in his grip, trying to get the knife blade into his body.

“Do yourself a favor and lie low for a while. And when I let go of you, stay here and be still. I’d rather not have to kill you, but I will do it if you keep this up.”

In answer, I slam my forehead against his.

“Ow, shit!” he exclaims, and as his grip loosens, I jab the knife into his side. It’s lower than it should be for a killing blow, but I’m hoping he’ll bleed out before he gets to a healer.

Sudden pain shears through my right ass cheek. He fucking stabbed me. My body was still pinned to the chimney, too close to his, and I didn’t move away fast enough after wounding him.

With a screech of rage through my clenched teeth, I side-step to get clear of the chimney and out of his immediate range.

I have to relinquish my grip on my own blade in the process, leaving it between his ribs.

. His knife is still in my ass, and I close my fingers reflexively around the hilt, debating whether or not to pull it out.

“You just stabbed me in the ass, you obnoxious fuckwad,” I seethe.

“You stabbed me first.” He looks down at my knife, protruding from his left side. “Didn’t hit any vitals, though.”

“My mistake. Let me just fix that.” I start toward him, but the pain in my rear spikes dramatically. As it turns out, butt muscles are fairly essential for walking. “You piece of shit,” I gasp.

“Hurts, eh?” His mouth quirks. “You want me to pull it out and put it somewhere else?”

Instead of replying, I yank the blade out of my butt cheek and throw it at him.

He dodges, but I’m rewarded with a hiss of pain as the sudden movement tweaks his stab wound. He pulls my knife out of his flesh, inspects it, and flips it in midair. “I like this one. I think I’ll keep it.”

“Like hell you will.” I lunge for him, but he takes off running up the tiled slope of the roof.

For a second I think about following him, but when I try climbing the slanted rooftop, blood pours from my injury. My ass feels like it’s on fire.

“Chickenshit!” I yell at his retreating figure.

He doesn’t answer. He’s gone.

I pick up his knife and limp back along the ledge. First I’ve got to get back to ground level. Then I need to find Witch and get her to heal me. After that—normally I’d make it my mission to find this man and destroy him. But the Annordun job is too important. It requires my full attention.

When I get back, I’ll warn the others about the intruder. We’ll be more watchful in the coming days. But finding and punishing him will have to wait until our mission in Faerie is complete. I won’t let anything jeopardize the plan.

Still, I hate that the bastard saved me. And I hate that I let him live.