Lex Talionis

by Keira Michelle Telford

  Ria’s eyes zip back to hers like magnets. “Say it,” she pleads, her heart aching for the words. “I need to hear you say it.”

  Silver opens her mouth to speak, but a sudden flurry of shrills and the scurrying of frantic hens disrupts and dissolves the declaration before she gets to breathe life into it.

  Uh-oh. The tarts are in a tizzy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Cutler’s blood swills down the plughole, his glazed eyes staring lifelessly at Silver from the bathtub in Ria’s private bathroom, his right foot dangling over the edge, brushing up against her leg.

  She kicks the foot into the tub with the rest of him, keeping all of his dead limbs and leaking bodily fluids contained. When she’s done cleaning the blade of her hunting knife, and making sure all the blood’s out from under nails, she dries herself off on a towel, then drops it over his vacant face.

  “Stop staring at me, you ugly prick.”

  In the bedroom, Carmen covers Cutler’s bloodstain with a rug, adjusting it this way and that, trying to make it look like it belongs there. Meanwhile, Ria wriggles into a clean pair of knickers and investigates the fuss in the hen house.

  She returns to the bedroom less than a minute later, immediately zeroing in on Silver.

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” She looks frazzled, her eyes full of tears and uncertainty, hopelessness invading. “Luther’s security staff are searching the house and grounds looking for an intruder, and they’re on the their way to the hen house.” She buttons up Silver’s shirt and waistcoat, still undone from her earlier explorations. “How many people saw you come up here?”

  “Enough.”

  “What’re we going to do?” Ria grapples with the buttons, her co-ordination suffering, her body surging with adrenalin and fear. “There’s a dead man in my bathtub.”

  “Does anyone else come in here?” Silver inspects Cutler’s handgun and knife, holstering both to her belt alongside her own weapons.

  “Not usually. It’s strictly forbidden for the men to come in here uninvited. But did you hear me? They’re going to search the hen house looking for you. Unless the hunt’s called off before they reach my bathroom, they’re going to find Cutler dead, and I’m going to be blamed for it.”

  Under the correct set of conditions, that might not be a bad thing. Silver banks the information.

  Sooner or later, someone’s going to notice that Cutler’s missing, and it probably won’t take them long to figure out where he might be. The discovery of his body is inevitable, they simply have to make sure the reveal is played out to their advantage.

  “What happens if you try to make a run for it?” Silver draws out Ria’s right wrist, baring the tether affixed there, noting the absence of any prongs that might be used to deliver an electric shock. “Does this hurt you?”

  Ria shakes her head. “It’s a tracking device, that’s all. If we stray too far from the house, or try to tamper with it, it’ll set off an alarm.”

  “How did you remove it last time?”

  “I didn’t. Argo did.”

  “Ha! I knew there was something dodgy going on there.” Carmen plonks down on the edge of Ria’s bed, abandoning her efforts with the rug. “He totally had a twitch in his trousers over you earlier.”

  “No, it’s nothing untoward like that.” Ria tuts disapprovingly. “Argo’s not that kind of man. He’s a proper gent, with a kind heart. He knows I’m gay, and—”

  “You told him that?” Carmen’s voice is an unapologetic combination of dismay and judgment. “Have you gone completely round the bloody twist?! He could’ve turned you in to the law!”

  “I had to confide in someone,” Ria defends her actions plaintively. “Do you have any fucking idea how ugly it feels to accept a man’s body inside yours day after day, even though the very thought of it repulses you? I never wanted this.” She points to her tattoo. “Argo knew it. He saw how unhappy I was and didn’t like seeing me held here against my will, so he told Luther I only liked women. He thought if Luther knew I couldn’t enjoy being with him—that I couldn’t love him that way—then he’d lose interest and let me go.”

  “But Luther was too selfish,” Silver concludes disdainfully. “He wanted you regardless.”

  “He thought it was funny. He told Cutler, and they teased me about it relentlessly. They said it was best that I stay here, where I’d be safe from the CPS and the rope. Saving me from myself they called it.”

  “And where does this Argo guy fit in with them?”

  “He’s Luther’s younger brother.” Ria fidgets with her tether. “He’s in charge of security, so he’s the one you need to coerce if we’ve any hope of getting out of here.”

  “Can you take me to him?”

  Ria shakes her head. “His men are everywhere, and they’ve been told to shoot you on sight. We’d never make it out of the hen house.”

  “That’s why I need your help,” Silver insists, encouraging her with shoulder rubs. “You know this place like the back of your hand, and there has to be a way to get me in front of him without us being seen.”

  Ria is about to object without giving the matter any thought, but then has a spark of an idea. “We could use the servants’ passages. This house is full of hidden staircases and hallways, with concealed doorways and such. The hens use them to sneak into the pantry at night, stealing food or booze, or rendezvousing with Luther’s men.” She takes Silver’s hand, some of her hope renewed. “And I know where Argo will be.”

  “What about me?” Carmen upturns both palms.

  “You stay here and keep an eye on Oliver.” Silver shows little concern, Ria tugging her toward the door.

  “Alone?”

  To that, Carmen receives no answer, except for the affirmation of her assumption by way of being left in exactly that state: alone.

  Acting swiftly, and with as little noise as possible, Ria shows Silver into a concealed servants’ stairwell that leads from the hen house to the ground floor, into an unlit, narrow hallway, trailing through the bowels of the building toward the kitchen area.

  Here, she brings Silver to a room that was once a butler’s private office, and is now used exclusively by the servants to play late night card games. At this moment, the sounds of copulation are coming from within: various grunts and groans, one male approaching climax, and one eager female.

  “Fuck me, Argo!” the woman cries out. “Fuck me harder!”

  Ria peeks through a small window in the door, a grin taking over her lips. “Oh, it’s Jess! She and Argo have been having it off for months. They’re trying to get pregnant so that Argo can marry her.”

  “That seems backwards.”

  “Luther doesn’t approve.” The grin fades, misery returning. “Whores are for fucking, not marrying, but if Argo can put one in her, then there’s not much Luther can say about it. Marrying her would be the decent thing to do.”

  “Your country is so weird.” Silver surveys the room through the tiny window.

  At the center of it, the circular table normally used for cards is now a perch for the ass of a maid—Jess. Her apron is abandoned over the back of a chair, the top buttons of her black dress undone, her front-hook bra hanging open, her breasts exposed and bouncing as Argo—his loaded gun resting on the table beside them—thrusts between her legs.

  “I’m so close, baby.” He slams into her, grinding his shaft in her sex. “You want me to come inside you?”

  “How else are we gonna get pregnant?”

  He stops moving for a moment, sighing with frustration. “That’s not the point, Jess. Just say it.” He resumes thrusting. “I want to hear you say it.”

  “Come in me, Argo,” she obliges him. “Fill me up.”

  He grunts, his peak imminent. “Say it again.”

  Silver turns away from the window. “I don’t think we should be watching this.” She grimaces, wishing her hearing wasn’t so acute. “Does he really have a soft spot for you?”

  Ria keeps watching.
“I think so. Why?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “With my life.” Ria finally diverts her gaze.

  “Good.” Silver pulls out her hunting knife. “I want to make an impressive entrance in case he tries to draw his gun on me. Is that okay?”

  Ria eyes the blade, nodding cautiously and a little fearfully, wondering what ‘an impressive entrance’ might mean.

  “Relax.” Silver steps behind her and places a hand on her throat. “You’ll be perfectly safe.” She keeps Ria’s head tilted back, holding her firmly. “I won’t let the blade touch you.”

  Saying that, she brings the knife up to Ria’s neck, her thumb pressed between the flat edge of the blade and Ria’s skin, making sure it won’t slip.

  Ria whimpers softly. Were it not for the deadly weapon resting a mere inch or two away from her jugular vein, the way Silver’s manipulating her head and neck would be erotic. She’s so strong and forceful, positioning her like a doll. Even the light pressure of Silver’s fingers on her carotid artery feels mildly pleasurable.

  “I love you,” she blurts out then, angling her face at Silver’s neck. “So much.”

  Silver’s heart thrums.

  “You choose now to tell me this?” She rubs her thumb back and forth over Ria’s jawline. “While I have a knife to your throat?” She tilts Ria’s head tightly against her shoulder, chin up and turned to the side. “How romantic.”

  Ria’s brow creases with regret. “I’m sor—”

  Silver kisses her, smothering the unnecessary apology before it touches the air. Her tongue finds its way between Ria’s lips, probing and invading, eliciting a soft whine.

  “Ya teb-ya loo-bloo,” she says slowly to her ravishing Russian lover when the lip-lock breaks. “Did I get that right?”

  Ria nods—as best she can with Silver’s hand constricting her chin and neck—and nestles close to her. “I’m sure you’ll be practically fluent by the end of the week.”

  Silver nuzzles Ria’s hair, kissing and nibbling on her, and Ria feels the hand with the knife slacken, starting to fall away from her.

  “No, don’t let me distract you.” She grabs it and moves it back up to her neck. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She reaches for the door latch, Silver’s boot impacting the paneled wood as soon as the latch lifts free, the threshold breached in an instant.

  Their sudden arrival completely ruins Argo’s orgasm. He starts to spurt, then the door flies open and he withdraws from the maid in a panic, spraying his load all over her clothes and the tabletop.

  “Sonofabitch!” His cock finishes draining onto the floor at his feet. “Ria?!”

  His head swirling with endorphins, heart thumping and cock pulsing with climax, it takes a while for him to register precisely what he’s seeing: Ria with a knife to her throat, a strange woman holding her neck in a vise-like grip.

  “Who the hell are you?!” he growls at Silver, stuffing his cock back into his trousers while Jess, the terrified maid, squeals and takes cover behind him.

  “Remove the clip from your gun, toss it over here, then empty the breech,” Silver instructs him from the other side of the table. “We need to talk.”

  She watches him eye his gun, considering the possibility of drawing on her.

  “Or you can try to shoot me,” she adds a second option. “Then I’ll cut Ria’s throat, and you can explain to your brother why he’s not getting his cock sucked by a beautiful Russian woman tonight.”

  Ria winces, the words painful to hear, despite their emptiness.

  Unwilling to risk her life—not confident enough to call Silver’s bluff—Argo complies without further hesitation.

  “Now siddown.” Silver bobs her eyes between Argo and Jess. “Both of you.”

  More compliance.

  Argo sits opposite Silver, Jess to his left.

  The situation now under control, Silver releases Ria, banishing the threatening knife back to its holster, but Ria doesn’t pull away from her. She doesn’t behave at all like a woman repulsed by her captor—quite the opposite, in fact.

  She stays close, reluctant to let the physical contact drift completely, seeking the reassurance of a tender touch; a silent affirmation of their love.

  As Silver takes a seat at the table, Ria drags the fourth chair nearer and sits beside her, seeking out her hand to hold, kissing the fingers that were wrapped around her neck moments ago.

  Argo knows he’s been conned.

  “Blagger.” He purses his lips and folds his arms, leaning back in his creaky wooden chair. “What if I’d called your bluff?”

  “Argo”—Ria tries to rein his focus in on her—“I can explain. She’s—”

  “Oh, no.” He holds up his hand, silencing her, never taking his eyes off Silver. “I know exactly who she is,” he proclaims confidently, wagging a finger in Silver’s direction. “You’re the muff diving foreigner that Mancunian twat, Slade, keeps banging on about.” His lips twist into a small, tight smirk. “I half thought he’d made you up to save face when Ria slipped through his clutches.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “On the contrary.” Argo loosens his posture, relaxing, sending Jess to fetch something to drink from the kitchen. “The fact that you’re real is a very great relief to me. The fact that you couldn’t keep Ria away from my brother is a bit of a letdown, though.” He sighs dramatically. “I expected so much more from the woman who dared to abscond with his favorite plaything.”

  “I’m not done yet.”

  “Aren’t you?” He lacks faith in her, one eyebrow raised. “You can’t possibly expect to get out of here alive. You killed nine of my staff!”

  “Ten,” Silver amends the total. “Cutler’s dead.”

  Her confession sparks a worried whimper from Ria, who fears it might cause Argo’s temper to flare. Instead, he takes the news in his stride, digesting it in silence as he gets up to hold the door open for Jess.

  She returns to the room carrying a tray of four glasses and a bottle of white rum. In maid mode, running on autopilot, she sets the glasses down on the table and uncaps the bottle, pouring four equal measures. Ria waits for Silver to decline, but it doesn’t happen.

  “Sorry, we’re all out of vodka.” Argo pushes one of the glasses toward Ria.

  Accepting the glass, she sticks her tongue out at him. “Knob.”

  The racial stereotype of Russians and vodka is completely lost on Silver, but she’s not listening anyway. Her heightened sense of smell zeroes in on the enticing scent of the rum, drowning out every other aroma in the room—including that of Ria’s smoldering libido, which she’s been acutely tuned into since they left the bedroom.

  The bedroom where Cutler’s corpse is going slowly into rigor.

  “Cutler got in my way.” Silver reaches for a glass and swirls the liquor, making its fragrance drift up into her nostrils. “He was—”

  “I know what he was doing when you found him,” Argo cuts her off. “He had about as much respect for women as my brother does.”

  “You and he don’t get along?” she fishes for weakness.

  Eyeing her warily, Argo takes a large mouthful of rum. “I’ll spare you the long and ugly tale of our lifelong enmity toward one another, but I will say this: the militia could be so much more if it weren’t run by a hedonistic misogynist whose main concern in life is having a ready supply of whores.”

  “So why don’t you kill him?”

  Argo shakes his head, the notion absurd. “His men are loyal and they’d turn on me like a pack of dogs. They’d never accept me as the new Arch Rogue under those conditions.”

  Silver shrugs, the solution obvious. “Then I’ll kill him for you.”

  Argo laughs heartily. “How? If it were that simple, don’t you think someone else would’ve done it already? Plenty of people hate him enough, but no-one can get that close.” He finishes his drink and pours another. “I’m his sodding brother, for god’s sake, and he won’t see me wit
hout half a dozen armed men present. He’s never alone.”

  “He is when he’s with me,” Ria pipes up, downing her drink in three gulps, its heat making her wince, burning her throat.

  Perfect, Silver thinks, an idea building.

  “Where does Luther take you?” She pushes her glass of rum in front of Ria, switching it for the empty one.

  Ria smiles appreciatively—more thankful that Silver’s not going to compromise her sobriety than she is for the second measure of alcohol—but the delightful arc of her lips doesn’t last. Uncomfortable discussing the details of her former employment, she hesitates to give Silver an answer.

  “I don’t want to think about that, much less talk about it with you.” She takes a sip of Silver’s donation. “It’s bad enough that you saw … that you had to …”

  “Please, Ree.” Silver’s fingers slip beneath the hem of Ria’s short skirt, rubbing her thigh. “It’s important.”

  “In his room.” Ria stares into the bottom of her drink, about to cry. “But Silver, I don’t want to—”

  “Hey, hey, hey. No more tears.” Silver strokes the fragile brunette from her knee to the top of her stocking. “I’m not gonna let him touch you, I promise.” She kisses the corner of Ria’s mouth, tasting rum on her lips. “I love you, and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “Are you honestly going to do this?” Argo stares incredulously at her.

  “When’s Luther due back?” Silver demonstrates that she is. “And how long do we have before he requests Ria’s company?”

  Argo drinks slowly, not sure if he should be horrified or amazed. “An hour or two, but my men are going to find you long before then.”

  “So call off the search.” Silver sets Ria’s right wrist on the tabletop. “And take care of this.” She fingers the tether. “For Ria, Carmen and Oliver.”

  “Sure.” Argo finishes his drink. “After you do your bit.”

  “You don’t think I can pull it off?”

  Argo sets his glass down, neglecting to answer. “I’ll send my men off on a wild goose chase. I’ll tell them you were spotted in the gardens to the north of the property, and I’ll get them out of the house. If you do what you say you can do, then I’ll remove the tethers.” He eyes Cutler’s weapons on Silver’s belt. “You have Cutler’s gun. As far as anyone will know, Ria held me at gunpoint and made me do it—just like last time.”