Page 45 of Bloody Black

R otting in a jail cell can be enlightening, especially in the bowels of The Bitter End. Letting your enemy believe they’ve won, staying quiet, and pretending you’re compliant is sometimes the right thing to do. Sometimes, surrender is a good strategy.

Robb lounges on the narrow cot, boots stretched out like it’s some kind of goddamn holiday.

Infuriatingly perfect, with his dark hair and a shirt so white it seems like it’s just been laundered.

The only sign that he’s been through anything is a cut across his temple.

It looks bad, though I can’t really tell because of the lighting.

If there’s anything good about all of this, it’s that seeing Robb with a sword was a reminder: he’s dangerous. There’s a deep streak of violence in him, and now I’ve seen it.

He’s my captive, whether he’s tied to the mast or sitting with me in prison. A mutiny is the perfect time for him and his men to seize power; at the first opportunity, he’ll likely betray me, use my weaknesses against me.

Outside, I hear footsteps. Chains dragging. Shouts. What I don’t hear is anyone friendly or any cavalry coming to rescue me.

“How are you?” he asks, out of the blue.

I’m in a jail cell, after a mutiny led by my closest friend. “I have no idea,” I admit.

What’s clear is that I need a moment to rest, a moment to think. I feel worn down, probably because of all the nights when I haven’t been sleeping.

“I’m sorry about your crew.”

“Eh. It’s not about you.”

Robb laughs. “What did I say about lying?”

Feeling insulted, I grit my teeth. “Don’t be a bastard, Robb.”

“I’m not. You boarded my ship. You killed my men. You kept me hostage. Every time I’m untied, I end up rescuing one of your crew or helping you. You have yet to thank me, by the way.”

“Yes, yes, you’re such a good Samaritan,” I say tiredly.

The only reason I’m here is because of him.

I’m sure some of his men stood with Prudence.

If I hadn’t been below deck, we wouldn’t have fallen into that trap with the sirens.

If I weren’t whiling away the hours, lost in his kiss, grinding in his lap…

I lose track of my thoughts, thinking of that.

Fine. He’s not a bastard. What he is, is distracting. Very.

I lean back against the iron bars. The metal is cold against my spine, and I shift, trying to ignore the way it bothers me. “So. You were fighting for me?”

“Mostly myself. It’s hard to tell. ”

“How bad is that?” I study the wound on his head.

Robb clears his throat. “I’m not dead yet. Though if you want to take my pants off for inspection, by all means.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, he would think about that.

We fall silent. Not the comfortable kind.

The kind that makes your bones itch. The guard leaves, and no one comes back to check on us.

I remain on the floor, leaning against the bars of our iron cage, and Robb sprawls on the narrow mattress, hands behind his head.

For a prison, it’s not terrible. It’s clean. Dry. There are no skeletons propped in the corners. There’s even a small desk, its surface etched with the profanity of former captives.

I close my eyes and breathe. Mutiny. I don’t even know who voted against me. Or how many of my crew even voted at all.

“You think they’ll kill us?” he asks.

“Probably.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

The silence stretches, taut and crackling.

I pick at the blood under my nails. My hands are pale in the dim light.

A bit too pale. Though Rokhur brought me back, the signs are still there.

Skin too cold, lips too red, the astonishing speed of my healing…

I’m somewhat surprised Robb hasn’t noticed all the oddities.

“About earlier, in the galley? You don’t like to be touched.”

My jaw clenches. “Not really.”

He’s always been honest with me, at least, as far as I can tell. As honest as a man in his position can be. And Robb is right; I am a villain, but I’m not a liar. Telling him the truth is the least I can do .

“I need control. I don’t like to be held down or feel trapped.” Or feel like I’m still the girl suffocating in that trunk, held down on the dock.

“You don’t want a man on top of you.”

No. Not for any reason. “Right.”

And there’s one other thing. Might as well come clean.

“I don’t want anyone to come inside me,” I say abruptly. “Or on me. Ever.”

He doesn’t react. Which is strange, because as far as I can tell, this is the only thing men really care about. Clearing my throat, I continue. “Just so you know. That’s why you shouldn’t want to have sex with me.”

On the bed, Robb rolls over to his side, props himself on one elbow. “Wait. You think that I wouldn’t want to have sex with you because of that ?”

“Yes?”

“That’s stupid.”

“Is it?” A little offended and very humiliated, I shoot him a glare.

“Good gods.” He falls onto his back, rubbing his eyebrows with one hand, eyes closed. “If we were standing on the gallows, I would still want to touch you. With my hand, my mouth. Hell, maybe even my toe. I can’t imagine a single scenario in which I wouldn’t want you.”

“What if I were dead?” I ask.

“Then your ghost would most certainly not approve.”

In spite of myself, I chuckle. I’m sure he doesn’t actually mean that. If he knew that I really am dead, and Rokhur is merely keeping my body alive and looking sprightly… he’d probably feel differently.

“Come up here. Be with me.”

“No. Why?” I blink, startled.

“You need rest.”

“So?”

“Can you just lie next to me without making me beg for your company? It’s undignified and I’m injured.”

“No, thank you.” I cross my legs primly.

“Where will you sleep?” He sounds perturbed.

“On the floor. It’s perfectly fine.”

“You can face a homicidal witch with a sword, but you can’t manage a cot with an injured man in it?”

It scores my pride. “You’re not that injured.”

“No, I’m not… but I’m sure you could fix that.”

It’s not the request that unnerves me. It’s how badly I want to say yes. How much I want comfort, and to be next to him. I can’t decide how risky that is.

“Fine. But you face the wall,” I order. “I’m not putting my back to you. You’d probably put a knife in it.”

Robb huffs. “You realize I’m unarmed.” With a disgruntled sigh, he turns over, and that’s the only reason I feel comfortable lying down next to him.

Still, I have to scoot close, very close, because the bed is so narrow.

There’s barely enough room for us two, and I have no choice but to wrap one arm around his waist, just so that I don’t fall onto the floor.

My nose presses between his shoulder blades.

“Better? ”

“Much.”

Despite how tired I am and how my eyes keep drifting closed, I keep thinking about the galley.

About his reaction to the rope. About putting my hands on him.

About kissing. Mentally, I’m stuck, still trying to process everything.

In the stateroom, he’d respected my boundaries.

Each time his green eyes met mine, I felt…

something. I can’t name exactly what that is, but it’s something.

In fact, the only thing I’m not thinking about is the mutiny.

“Robb?” I say quietly, after some time. “Are you awake?”

“I don’t think I can sleep with your body so close to mine.”

The cell is dead quiet. Almost too dark to see. So I summon my courage. “I liked it when you kissed me,” I admit. “I want you to do it again.”

To show I mean it, that I’m not joking, I slide one arm around his waist. Press my breasts against his back. It’s only hugging. He’s not even facing me.

“What are you doing?” His voice is strained.

“Continuing where we left off.”

“We’re in jail.”

“If I recall correctly, you said we could be on the gallows.”

My fingers graze over the muscles on his shoulders. It feels forbidden. Clandestine. Like a secret. Goosebumps cover my arms, but there’s no trace of panic. As before, I am much more comfortable when I’m the one pursuing him. Making the decisions.

My hands creep around his arms, down his chest.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.” Need thickens his voice.

“Why not?” I ask, even though answers flood my head. Because he’s my enemy. Because I’m still technically married. Because he’s not really interested in me. Because… Insecurity rears its ugly head. “Is it because I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“I’m not sure that matters.” He exhales softly. “You have quite the effect on me.”

That does seem to be true.

“Can I turn over? And we try something? If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.” The rough edge of his voice sends a violent shiver through me.

No. We shouldn’t. Yes. A hundred replies rotate on and off my tongue. But in the end, I nod. Breathless and curious. More than a little afraid.

Robb shifts on the bed, rolling over to face me. Obligingly, he presses his spine against the wall, making sure that I have the lion’s share of the mattress. Still, even with those things, his face is entirely too close to mine. His breath is warm on my cheek.

I bite my lip anxiously.

“Hold my wrist,” he instructs me.

I do, grasping it like a lifeline, and when he finally moves, it’s slow, deliberate. His fingers trail along my jaw, so light I can barely feel them. Completely intent, he traces my lips.

“Is this alright?” he asks.

Speechless, I nod.

“First, you don’t hate to be touched. Not everywhere. Only some places.” To demonstrate, his thumb drifts across my throat, and my grip tightens on his wrist. He hesitates at its hollow. “Yes?”

I chew my lip. “Fine. ”

Robb takes a full minute to linger here, until my spine and shoulders begin to relax, until I’m breathing normally. He doesn’t kiss me, doesn’t crowd me.

His fingers trail downward to skim the delicate sweep of my collarbone, first the left, then the right, as though mapping it into memory. There’s reverence in his touch, not hunger, and it ignites something deep within me.

“You’ll tell me to stop,” he says, so low it almost blends with my pulse.

“I will,” I whisper back. Maybe.