Page 23 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Crawl

Warrick

In the Underground, one can sell anything. Body, skill—always. Once, souls, but without the presence of magic, flesh holds greater weight. Within Synlon’s sector, I’ve tried to sell something else.

Choice.

I pull my mask down, letting its black feathers hang around my neck so I’m easily recognized by the staff.

Low moans pulse through the velvet-hung space, soft laughter curling around curtained alcoves. Hearths glow in intimate dens, and Skin offer me gentle nods of acknowledgment as we pass. Pride warms my chest, but I push it down, my eyes on Rayze.

She walks stiffly at my side, her hand hovering near the knife strapped to her thigh. Her shoulders jump when a whip cracks behind a curtained-off section. A sharp yelp cuts through the air, and she snaps toward the sound.

“Rayze—” I reach for her, but it’s too late.

She rips back velvet and freezes.

A man dangles from a bolted chandelier, arms and legs spread, bound in thick black straps that yank his limbs into angles blurring the line between pain and worship. A gag muffles his moans, his cock buried in the mouth of a woman kneeling below.

She releases him when she sees us and rises, tasseled clamps swinging from her pierced nipples and catching the candlelight. “Warrick,” she says breathlessly, offering me a sweet, easy smile. Her gaze dips to Rayze and brightens. “You finally brought someone.”

Rayze stands stiff, her breaths short and sharp.

I cross my arms. “Sorry, Heather. We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Please. Stay,” she says, gesturing toward the ornate sofa in the corner. “Mr. Hagan loves an audience.”

All three of us look to the man, who groans something into his gag, his cock dripping.

“Seems so,” I mutter, and the smallest smile flickers across Rayze’s lips before it vanishes.

Heather tracks her gaze over Rayze. “Wow, you’re gorgeous.”

Rayze shifts her weight, but she doesn’t look uncomfortable. If anything, the shift eases her stance, her wide eyes softening with the appearance of a smirk. “Thanks, sweetheart. You’re not bad yourself.”

My chest tightens. I straighten, possessiveness flaring beneath my skin. “We were just checking in,” I say too quickly.

But Heather doesn’t look at me. “I wasn’t offering for you to stay, Boss,” she says, her lips curving wider when Rayze offers her a small, unreadable smile. “Mr. Hagan and I have a type, and it’s not you.”

“Alright,” I growl, pinching the leather of Rayze’s coat between my fingers. I tug her back. “We’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” Heather calls after us, voice thick with amusement. “She can come back anytime.”

Candles flicker from crimson sconces lining the corridor, their wax trailing down the walls. Beds of rusted iron gleam under the low light, leather straps left open and waiting. Chains sway above, catching glints of neon and candlelight.

The room hums—not with fear but with want.

It took all of my twenties, but this place is mine. Every moan here is invited. Every scream, earned.

Rayze’s voice slices through the hush. “They almost look happy. You forcing them to smile, Ivor? Paying them enough to pretend this is something they want?”

I stop mid-stride with a scowl. “No. They smile because they want to.”

“Oh, so what is this—your kinder, gentler Skin Trade?” Her arms fold, leather creaking.

My voice stays level, but there’s gravel beneath it, rising. “I’ve been running this place for ten years. Nothing happens without consent.”

“Synlon doesn’t do willing,” she snaps.

“Unless someone rewrites the rules.” I step in close, my shadow kissing hers.

Her jaw locks tight, but her stare is unflinching, hungry to catch me in a lie.

I nod toward the girl standing just beyond the curtain—high boots, mesh bodice, a lit pipe dangling between two fingers. “Nae,” I call.

She turns, face lighting with recognition. “Boss.” Her gaze slips to Rayze. “New girl?”

I smirk. “Guest. She has concerns.”

Nae blows a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. She stares at Rayze for a long moment. “About? You pick your own safe word, honey, and we honor it.”

Rayze glares at me.

“She’s not a client,” I say after a long beat. “She’s someone trying not to hate me.”

Nae’s brows lift. “Tall order.”

I smile, and she matches it with ease.

“See, just look at that.” Nae waves a hand at my face, her eyes on Rayze. “Assholes don’t smile like that.”

Rayze cocks a brow at that. “He’s the biggest ass I’ve ever met,” she drawls.

“Biggest dick, baby,” I correct her. “I have the biggest dick you have ever—”

Nae cackles, cutting me off, and I grin at the sight of Rayze trying to suppress a smile. Then Nae gives her a pointed look. “What do you want to know?”

Rayze clears her throat. She glances between us, defensive but intrigued. “I’m not going to listen to some rehearsed script.”

Nae shrugs. “I get it, but every Skin here signs up,” she says, quiet and flat. “We get the choice to stay or leave. Warrick checks in on us daily—more than daily. Sometimes he hovers so much we have to kick him out.”

Rayze’s lips twitch. “He is clingy.”

I shoot a glare at Nae. “I’m thorough.” Then I turn to Rayze, all teeth. “And you didn’t seem to mind it in those stables.”

Rayze swallows. Hard.

I win.

“You’re a stage five, nervous wreck wrapped in muscle and bad pickup lines,” Nae mutters through a puff, eyes twinkling. She blows smoke between us, then softens. “But a good one, Boss. You care. We feel it.”

“Well, fuck me. That was almost sweet. I might cry,” I mumble.

Nae’s nose wrinkles as she sticks out her tongue.

I chuckle, and Rayze’s fists curl at the sound.

Her gaze flits between the two of us. Her brows draw together. Her lips pinch.

She doesn’t look confused. She looks…

My Gods, my woman is jealous.

My cock stirs. My heart pounds. Blood rushes to my head, and I know I’m fucking blushing but I don’t give a damn. I move to grab her, to tuck her behind one of these curtains and see just how far that jealousy goes.

But her feral look seeps away, her face suddenly pale. She stares at the floor. In horror.

I jerk my hand back, inches from brushing hers, and scratch anxiously at the back of my neck.

This is going to be a long fucking night.

“And if you’re wondering if I ever want to leave,” Nae says, noticing Rayze’s strange look. “I’ve left. Twice. Came back both times.”

“Why?” Rayze asks, her voice hoarse. She blinks a few times, her expression smoothing.

“Because here, I’m not afraid. Because here, I say when. I say how.” Her gaze sharpens. “Because here, if a man disrespects me, Warrick puts a blade through their balls.”

Rayze lifts a brow.

“Enjoy the tour,” Nae adds with a final shrug, then disappears back behind the curtain, hips swinging.

I wait.

Rayze glares at me.

“We can talk about my dick some more,” I offer.

She blows out a long exhale. Then she lifts a hand, pinching her fingers together. “This close, Warrick. This. Fucking. Close. Make one more joke, touch me again, pretend for even a second you’re not the bane of my existence, and I will rip this Bond in half with my bare hands.”

I smile. “Angel, you were seconds from coming on my fingers less than twenty four hours ago.”

Rayze curses low and filthy, shoulder-checking me as she storms toward the back of the club.

“Wrong way,” I call, jogging to catch up. I grab her wrist.

She spins, tugging it free, eyes narrowed, but there’s heat in them now, lust winding through suspicion.

“Rayze,” I rumble, leaning close. “You can’t fool me. The only thing keeping your hands off me is how badly you want them on me.”

Her breath spills over my neck.

Submission. Finally.

But when I draw back, she glances away, jaw tight, tension crackling in her silence.

I sigh and nod toward a back booth. Mirrors line the walls, a chandelier above dripping with thin lightning-caged bars, their blue glow casting a flicker across the glossy black seats and table. “Into the booth, vicious.”

She slides in with reluctant grace. “What’s this?”

I lift to my knees, pressing my fingers along the outer rim of the mirrored wall behind the booth. The glass is cold, the edges faintly grooved. There’s a latch here. Hidden.

Rayze joins me, her eyes gleaming with that wicked curiosity I’ve started to crave. She lives for this shit. Secrets. Schemes. Hidden doors and rules she can break.

And fuck, I love chasing after her. Catching her. Solving her. My girl doesn’t just like puzzles. She is one, and she plays rough.

Good. So do I.

My fingers hitch on the small latch. Then the mirror swings open.

Rayze stares at the hidden tunnel, her gaze darkening with realization. “That’s not tall enough to stand in, Heir.”

I smirk. “On your hands and knees, angel.”

She pans her gaze down my body. Her eyes heat before her lips curve with a daring smile. “I didn’t hear a please.”

Damn her. “Do you even realize what you do to me?” I ask, my voice rough.

Her tongue darts over her bottom lip, devious and cunning.

Yes. Fuck her. She knows exactly what she does to me.

“Get in the tunnel,” I bark, “or I’ll haul you in by the ass.”

Her eyes dip to my mouth. “That still wasn’t a please, Warrick.”

My chest seizes. My grip tightens around the mirrored door. “Please. Get. In. The. Tunnel.” I lean closer. “Waste another second and this booth becomes a bed.”

Rayze releases a breathy laugh and lifts onto the seat cushion. “So touchy,” she murmurs.

“Trust me, you haven’t known touchy .”

She snorts. “Nae was right about those bad pickup lines.”

She places her palms flat against the tunnel’s base and pulls herself up. Her bow and weapons clink against the tunnel’s mouth.

I wait until she crawls further in, then rise behind her with a scowl. “Hope you’re not scared of the dark.”

“How could I be,” she tosses over her shoulder, “when I’ve made a deal with the likes of you?”

I reach back and slam the mirrored door shut. Darkness folds over us like a second skin, but it doesn’t slow her. She rustles ahead.

Fuck, she’s aggravating.

“Your courage is beautiful,” I admit, crawling after her with the hard-on from hell.

But she doesn’t answer. Just breathes shallow and fast, the sound filling the tunnel.

I pause when my fingers graze the backs of her boots. My pulse kicks, my restraint fraying at the edges.

“If you want me to take you from behind,” I murmur, “you only need to ask, angel.”

“You called me beautiful,” she says after a moment, crawling out of my reach.

My hand snaps to her calf before I can stop myself.

She freezes, muscles tense beneath my grip.

I drag my hand up and beneath her coat, tracing the hem of her dress where it cups her ass. The fabric’s damp. Her skin, hot.

“You’re beautiful, Rayze Angeline,” I whisper. “I’m a fucking wreck near you.”

“Alright,” she rasps.

“Beautiful,” I say again, voice like grit. “You.”

“Warrick, why—?”

“Snake or not, that compliment will never surprise you again.”

She exhales. “I keep thinking I have you figured out.”

There’s something different in her voice. Softer.

A slow, dangerous ache spreads under my ribs. “You’re smarter than that,” I tell her, not trusting myself to say more.

“True,” she whispers. Then quieter, like it’s a confession. “But something about you makes me feel like being stupid.”

I blink. The words punch the breath from me. She may not trust me, but that sounded close enough.

Her hips shift, and the slide of her trench echoes as it tilts to one side.

I would give anything for a damn light.

My fingers flex against her thigh. I want to drag her into my lap. Clamp my hand over her mouth. Fuck her senseless.

“If you’re stupid for wanting me, baby,” I bite out, “then I’m an idiot for how deep I need to be buried inside you.”

Her thighs clench, and the ripple sears into my palm.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Try to steady myself. “There’s a fight at the end of this tunnel,” I say, grounding myself in the reason why I’ve brought her here.

“Promise?” she whispers and shifts again.

“I wouldn’t lie.” I suppress a groan as I scrape my hand down her leg and she doesn’t pull away. “I’m desperate to see you violent,” I say, and my voice cracks.

“Then let go of my leg.”

My grip tightens on her thigh. “Crawl forward and I will.”

Silence.

I shift closer, my breath catching as my fingers slide higher. Each inch is a vow she hasn’t asked for, but I’ll carve into her skin all the same—she can have me. All of me. However she wants. Whenever she pleases.

Rayze shudders.

Then her hips tilt back.

My cock pulses at the silent permission. I clench my jaw, barely holding myself back. “Angel,” I growl.

“Snake.”

“Don’t toy with me.”

“Why not?” Her voice slices. “You’re such a pretty plaything.”

My mouth goes dry. Every nerve tightens. “You don’t know my lack of restraint.”

“Maybe,” she whispers, “I’m curious.”

Then she sits back.

On my hand.

My groan is guttural. Raw. “Rayze.”

“I can’t concentrate,” she mumbles. “I’m too fucking wet.”

There’s not enough oxygen in the damn realm to hear a sentence like that.

“Fix it?” she breathes.

“Gladly,” I growl and yank her hips back to meet my mouth.