Page 72 of The Freedom You Seek

“Let’s talk about whatever is bothering you, Naya.” Dion’s tone was soft, and he stepped closer, reaching out to pull me into a hug, but I shook my head in warning. A single black tendril froze in midair, hovering in front of me, its tip already slightly curled. I glared at it even though I knew it wasn’t alive.

“I don’t want to, Dion. Give me some space, for fuck’s sake. And take your magical friends with you!”

All occasions when I’d set my pride aside soared to the surface and entwined with the growing ball of anger that had started to form as soon as I’d read the book.

“Naya. You know I’m here if you need me.”

I made an angry and frustrated sound as Dion touched my shoulder. The ball of anger burned brighter and brighter the more Dion disrespected my wishes. “I don’t need you, godsdammit. Can’t you get that through your stubborn head, or is your god-complex preventing you from understanding something so simple? What I need is some—fucking—time—alone.” Somehow, thesituation had morphed into something dangerous. I wanted to hurt Dion just as much as he’d hurt me.

“And I don’t want your help. You’re not the godssent solution for everything. Most of the time, you’re the fucking problem! Leave me alone!”

Something inside him seemed to snap. Dion’s eyes turned icy, an expression I hadn’t seen on him since the very first days we’d met. He showed me his teeth and then narrowed his eyes. His clenched fists shook at his sides. “As usual, you’re being problematic, Jama.”

Ah, he was back to referring to me by that stupid nickname. “Out. And don’t you dare to come back before tomorrow morning, or you can shove the remnants of our friendship up your ass.”

Dion stared at me with obvious hurt, and suddenly, everything in me begged to apologize, to explain, to make him smile again. To tell him he was my friend, no matter what. I’d gone too far, and regret burned like acid in my stomach, but before I could explain, he slipped on his cold mask and stalked for the door.

“Fuck you, Jama. I hope someone will come to claim the bounty. Don’t even think I’ll come to your rescue. My mistake for thinking that if you ever had some kind of problem with me, you’d at least try to talk to me before—” Dion shook his head and threw me one last poisonous glare. “Never mind. Fuck you. Get yourself killed for all I care.”

He was gone, and only the loud bang of the door he’d slammed stayed behind.

I did it. I was alone. But I didn’t feel victorious. The hollow feeling that had started in the library was almost unbearable now. The way Dion had regarded me with eyes full of hurt nearly proved to be my undoing. When I realized I had most likely just severed a friendship with the man who’d confessed to me that I was his first—and only—friend, my hands started to tremble, and soon, the rest of my body followed.What kind of monster was I?Hot tears threatened to break out.

I shook my head a little. I had to harden myself desperately. It was Dion’s own fault for lying to me or for at least omitting the truth. In the end, he’d brought it on himself. I needed to keep my head clear, and if my plan went well, I wouldn’t see any of them again after today anyway.

I shoved the burning agony deep into the recesses of my mind until only a numbness remained. Compartmentalizing at its finest. Standing up straight, I concentrated on my breathing once more and grounded myself. And then I planned my escape.

I was completely dazed as I walked down the staircase to the tavern of the inn, trying to figure out what in the gods’ good names had happened and what had gotten into Jama.

I was pissed and hurt, and she could rot somewhere for all I cared.

When I arrived downstairs at the tavern, I didn’t want to think about this nightmare of a fucking situation anymore and searched for some distraction. It didn’t take long before I spotted a group of four men playing a card game. Without hesitation, I took an empty chair and sat down. My comrades were nowhere to be seen, which was for the better, because Fig had ordered us to stay out of the publiceye, but I’d deal with his anger later. If he thought I’d allow him to boss me around today of all days, he could go and rot right next to Jama.

“Bring me a bottle of your strongest spirit.” Ignoring how the barmaid batted her eyelashes at me, I just barked my order. I was in enough trouble with females as it was without adding mediocre flirtations to the mix. Instead, I threw some coins in her direction, ignored her offended scoff, and placed the rest of my money on the table in front of me.

The dealer, who was a brute so enormous, he dwarfed even me by more than a head—that I felt small next to someone had rarely occurred to me before—grunted in approval and introduced himself as Rufos. He smelled as if he hadn’t bothered washing in months, but I couldn’t care less.

The man seated next to him owned a face that bore the brutal marks of a meat grinder accident, with a multitude of scars that trailed down his neck and vanished beneath his tunic. I glanced at his hands, and they were scarred as well. Still, his clothes were surprisingly clean and were definitely too fine for a seedy place like this.

“That’s Cutter.” The giant called Rufos grinned and emptied his glass before grabbing a full one already standing in front of him. “No one knows his real name. He can’t speak. We gave him his nickname because he constantly uses knives or razor blades on himself. He even cut out his own tongue. His whore looks almost the same, and we all believe it’s some kind of kink they’re having.”

Cutter glared at Rufos and, while banging his fist on the table, played around with a switchblade he gripped in his other hand.

“Yes, yes, I know, Cutter. Marlie is your wife, but you know I call her a whore. She has to be one to deal with a big oaf like you.”

I was no stranger to kinks, and I could relate to knives potentially spicing up a good fuck, but this was too extreme, even for my taste. But I kept my mouth shut because as long as it was consensual and they had their fun, it wasn’t my place to shame them—that’s where I drew my line. Kink shaming—and rape.

“I’m Lor.” I turned to the person speaking and realized this Lor was a woman by birth, only that they possessed very masculine features and very short, dark blonde hair. It was their voice giving them away. They were maybe in their thirties and wore no choker. Instead, they were dressed in men’s clothes, and even if I were generous, I wouldn’t call them clean. I canted my head as I tried to discern how much of their appearance was a disguise choice and how much was their authentic self.

“Don’t get any ideas, pretty boy. Lor doesn’t play for your team. She’s into women.” The last man at the table flashed an almost toothless grin in my direction as I studied Lor—maybe a little too long.

I glared at him and shook my head at his insinuation. A flippant retort got lost on my tongue as my attention was momentarily diverted by the barmaid, who brought me my drink.

Making a show of uncorking the bottle of colorless mystery schnapps while holding the gaze of Toothless, I ignored the glass in front of me and instead took a good mouthful of the—surprisingly strong—stuff, and I was pretty satisfied with myself and my choice of drink. It would do its purpose—I would be damned if I thought about Jama tonight. So, I took another gulp.

“As if you have any idea which teamIplay for,” I grumbled to answer the man who still hadn’t introduced himself.

“Easy. You’re obviously having a shit day. Considering you’re wearing one of those fancy arm cuffs, I strongly presume it’s because of lady trouble. Also because I saw you with that tiny pretty blonde earlier when you arrived. Damn, your wife’s a looker, but shit, she seemed pissed.”