Savage Lands (Savage Lands #1)

by Stacey Marie Brown

  I could hear the girls already shouting down at pedestrians passing by, encouraging them to indulge in their wildest fantasies.

  “What do you want, pretty boy? Fae, half-breed, or human? Male or female? On top or underneath? Against the wall or over a table? Chains or feathers? Any way you want it,” a woman purred down above us.

  “How about all my friends and me? It’s his birthday,” a youthful boy’s voice hooted up.

  “Ugh.” I swallowed, no longer feeling the burn of the shoddy liquor, each sip glossing the room in a haze.

  Warwick scoffed, pouring back his own shot, his attention out the window. He began to slump down more into the chair with every chug he took.

  “What?” I struggled to push myself higher against the headboard, my muscles limp and floppy.

  “You really are uptight and prissy, princess.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Stop being so judgmental.”

  “About a bunch of boys wanting to chain bang a girl?” I flung my hand toward the window. “Sorry, I really am awful.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “About the fact she fucks for money.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Please. I can feel—” he cleared his throat, gesturing to me. “See it all over your face. Your nose wrinkles every time you hear them in the hallway or calling out.”

  “Didn’t know I was being monitored so closely.” My ears heated with guilt. Did I do that? I couldn’t deny I was uncomfortable being around prostitutes. Meeting people such as Rosie, who made this place feel so normal, was kind of unsettling.

  He flicked his eyes, peering back outside. “Guess you can’t help it. Though really, as someone coming from prison, who are you to judge?”

  “I’m not.” I so was. “Prostitution is severely frowned on in my world. I’m sorry if I’m having trouble adapting instantly. Plus, prison wasn’t a choice. This is.”

  “You think what they do is a choice?” he snapped back. Wagging his head, he returned to the window, quietly drinking, his attention feeling far away and haunted.

  Picking at the label, his silence curled around us, choking the air. Several minutes passed before he spoke.

  “I was born in a whorehouse,” he muttered, making me freeze with his admittance. “Nothing as nice as this one. Back then, life was even more cruel and unkind to women trying to survive. Especially those who didn’t come from money, weren’t married, and had been abandoned and pregnant. It’s not a choice. It’s survival.”

  My teeth dove into my bottom lip, not sure how to respond.

  “I was ten when she died of syphilis.”

  “I’m sorry.” I curled my good leg closer to my chest, understanding the effects of losing a parent.

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “How long?” I tried not to slur, my mouth not working as fast as my head. I was curious about how old he was. To humans, age mattered, to fae it didn’t. I wasn’t sure how half-breeds aged.

  His blue eyes slid to mine, his lip curling up. “Subtle.”

  “What?” I feigned innocence, but a wicked smile hinted on my lips. Damn, he was so sexy. Was the room humid? Why was it tilting?

  “You think you’re the first to try and figure out how long I’ve been around?”

  “No,” I retorted, really feeling the alcohol cloud my head. “But for some reason, you have this unexplainable need to tell me.”

  I was flirting, wasn’t I? What the hell was wrong with me?

  His head tipped back in laughter, and goosebumps vibrated my flesh. He rubbed his brow, chuckling to himself.

  “I’ll just say I’m a lot older than you.” He smirked. “You should get some sleep. You’re drunk.”

  “Am not.”

  “Go to sleep, Kovacs.”

  “Is that an order, Grandpa?” I narrowed my lids, swaying as I took another drink in defiance.

  “If you want it to be.” His tone was neutral, but I felt the implication race up my thighs. “They have a lot of whips, handcuffs, and rope here.” His gaze burrowed into me then roamed my barely clad form. “If it’s the only way you will listen.”

  Yes!

  Nooo!

  Brexley, I chided myself, pulling my gaze down to the bedspread. You are lonely and drunk. Go to sleep.

  Annoyed he thought he could tell me what to do, I almost kept drinking just to vex him but knew I was simply hurting myself. My head already flinched with tomorrow’s headache.

  “Then you should too.” Oh yeah, stick it to him, Brex.

  “Was planning on it.”

  “Fine,” I said, very maturely slamming the bottle on the nightstand. I rolled my hair into a bun and curved onto my side away from him. I could feel his eyes on me. Squeezing my lashes together, I attempted to block him out.

  It didn’t work.

  Opting for another strategy, I switched off the lamp on the table, plunging the room into obscurity, feeling the need to hide. Lights from outside stretched shadows across the room like ghosts. If I thought the dark would shield me, I was sorely mistaken. His presence in the corner seemed to grow. The night only emphasized the sound from inside and out.

  Sleep, Brex. I curled into myself, trying to clear my mind.

  I heard him exhale, the chair creaking as he shifted. Minutes passed, and every second the need to look over at him intensified.

  I fought. I really did.

  Giving in, I glanced over my shoulder. His silhouette sat in the chair, his head tipping to one side, his massive frame not fitting the decrepit, small wingback.

  “You’re sleeping there?”

  Half hidden in shadows, his head turned to me.

  “Figured the princess of Leopold would prefer the bed to herself.”

  “Stop calling me that.” I gritted my teeth. “Plus, I’m not so uptight and prudish as you seem to think I am.” My alcohol-influenced tongue spoke before my mind could tell it to shut up.

  “Really?” The simple word licked up my spine, twisting my stomach, making me wonder what the hell I was doing. It held so much implication in six letters.

  I had “slept” with Caden all the time. We did it a lot as kids, and it never really stopped, especially after I lost my father. He was my anchor. His nearness and warmth kept me from drowning in agony. It ebbed when other girls started taking my spot, but every once in a while, he’d climb in next to me, curling up like we were kids.

  If I could handle sleeping next to Caden, who I was in love with, I could certainly deal with someone I felt nothing for.

  “Whatever,” I huffed. “If you want to stay in the chair, I’m perfectly fine with taking up the entire bed.” I flopped back down on my side, pulling the blanket over my shoulder. The seconds ticked by. Nothing happened. A stupid feeling of disappointment and embarrassment pricked at me, arousing anger in me. I tucked deeper into the lumpy pillow.

  Only at the sharp creak of the chair, followed by the sound of his footsteps, did my eyes snap open, my pulse leaping into my throat. Forcing myself not to peer over my shoulder, acting as if I were either asleep or didn’t care, my muscles locked down.

  The mattress dipped, and the frame groaned under our weight as he moved down on the full mattress, his enormous build consuming more than half of it, so close I could no longer breathe. His knee brushed my ass as he settled on his back. In one second, I was sober. Awake. Alive.

  Danger, my mind yelled as my nerves purred with the contact. I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending I didn’t feel his presence or his heat smacking against my back like a whip.

  He exhaled loudly, the bed shifting again.

  Fuck me.

  Go to sleep, Brex.

  Letting out an exhale, I tried to relax, letting my mind retreat, concentrating on my exhaustion, forcing my mind on Caden again.

  Thump. Thump. Thump. The noise hit the wall, and my lids lurched open with alarm and dread.

  “Oh shit! Oh shit,” a man’s voice moaned loudly.

  “You wa
nt that, don’t you?” a woman asked.

  No. Please. No.

  “Yesssss,” he hollered louder.

  “Fuck me harder, bad boy. Spank me…yeah, that’s it.” A woman wailed dramatically through the wall as slaps and the sound of a bed creaking filled my veins with heat. “Oh, gods! Oh, gods! Yesssss!”

  Oh, my fucking gods… Frozen, I couldn’t even breathe.

  The pounding against the wall vibrated our bed like a quake.

  A giggle tore down the hallway, followed by men hollering back at their friends, then a door slammed on the other side of our room.

  In a whorehouse, sex was going to be rampant, but I didn’t think about it seeping into this space, crawling up my thighs, and shredding through the fragile bubble I was in. Not while I laid barely dressed next to a man who wore only a towel and was so sexually charged, he could light up an entire country.

  Pinching my lips until it hurt, the sliver of oxygen going into my lungs stumbled and fell, causing me to suck in sharply. I could barely breathe.

  Warwick hadn’t moved, to the point it was unnatural, only adding to the tension between us.

  Sweat beaded along my spine. I wanted so bad to kick off the covers but didn’t want to show I was being affected. Especially when noises started in the room on the other side of us.

  “Fuck! Yes! You want my big fucking cock?” The man in the first room grunted like a pig, frantically banging against the wall.

  “Yes! Oh, gods, yes,” she cried out, sounding more like a bad actress, but he didn’t seem to notice, nor did my body. “I’ve never had this big before.”

  Lie.

  A bedframe from the other room thwacked against the wall, along with loud moans.

  I wanted to cry. Perspiration pooled between my legs and breasts, need aching my core.

  “Oh, gods!” The woman in the first room shrilled as he bellowed, their release flooding our room.

  Warwick shifted, his leg grazing me again, my body jerking at his touch.

  “Bed’s small.” His voice was gruff and thick.

  “Yeah.” Mine squeaked. “It is.”

  While the one room went silent except for the sound of them exiting, a thump hit the ceiling from the room above us. Warwick mumbled something under his breath, modifying his position, tucking his arm under the pillow, his arm gliding against the skin of my shoulder. Flames scorched the area he touched, spiraling down my nerves before he jerked away like I had burned him.

  “Call me Daddy. That’s right, little boy. Suck me. Harder!” Men’s grunts and groans came from the room across.

  I was in hell. I had to be.

  My side ached, forcing me to twist onto my back, my frame restless and hot. But I now could see his bare chest out of the corner of my eye, his hardness almost breaking through the thin towel.

  Damn. If I thought prison was cruel and evil, now I was about to beg for them to take me back. Days in the hole felt like nothing compared to being stuck in a small bed with Warwick Farkas and surrounded by sounds of kinky sex.

  I closed my eyes, demanding the liquor or fatigue take me away. I wanted to turn him and all the thumps and groans into white noise and make them disappear into my head, But his presence pressed against me, scratching at my wall.

  Nooo. I shoved back the sensation of him, needing to breathe. Blocking him out, I turned over again, coiling into a ball.

  Compelling myself to leave my consciousness, I dug deep into the darkness. After a while, the alcohol finally took me under.

  As I drifted off, I swore I heard Warwick mutter, “Fuck! This is hell.”

  Chapter 30

  Filtered sunlight streamed through the curtains, shooting through my eyes and into the back of my skull. Groaning, I slammed them shut, feeling my brain splinter in half.

  Damn palinka. Though, it was more than my head throwing a tantrum. Inhaling through the agony, my muscles screamed and spasmed. In training, it was always the second or third day when your body really responded to a brutal workout. There were days I struggled to even sit on the toilet and pee. Today my body suffered everything it had gone through during our escape.

  A louder moan parted my lips as I tried to stretch out, my legs aching, feeling tight, as though I hadn’t moved all night. Locked in a ball resembling a pill bug, I had been too afraid to venture out of my protected space.

  Every memory of the night before swept in, some slightly fuzzy, but all rocking my stomach like the ocean waves. I really needed to stop drinking my meals.

  Lifting my lids, I found the room empty again. After the night before, I thought I’d be relieved to not face his intense presence this early, but instead, my shoulders deflated at his absence. Where was he going every morning? I thought we were supposed to be in hiding. He only had one motorcycle to dispose of.

  Slowly, I rolled up, pausing to take a breath several times on the way. Placing my feet on the ground, I clutched my head, leaning over my legs. The idea of scrubbing my teeth and drowning in a shower sounded like heaven.

  I stood, bones cracking, and shuffled to the door, feeling decades older than my not even twenty years. My birthday was coming up in a few months, the day fae celebrated Samhain all over the world, an ancient Celtic festival. Another reason I never wanted to observe my birth—it was a sacred day for fae.

  Caden always threw me a party, trying to cheer me up, but I would have been happier ignoring the whole thing. To me, my birthday represented my mother’s death. Millions were murdered and killed that night. Our world crumbled into chaos, never to be the same again. And for us in the East, nothing but hardship came after. The day the wall fell was filled with hate, sadness, heartbreak, and blood.

  “They really wanted to make sure I was dead. It was the night of the Fae War. Right before the final barrier fell.” Walking down the quiet hallway, I rubbed the space between my eyes, recalling Warwick’s admission the night before. He had died when I had been born.

  Life and death.

  “Oh, gods.” I groaned at the reflection in the mirror. My pale skin appeared almost blue under the dim lighting, my veins showing through my thin skin. My cheeks were gaunt, my eyes bloodshot, and my body was covered with bruises and marks.

  Once, I had been the perfect bait for powerful leaders, a lure for generals and delegates. Heads of state had courted me for my unusual beauty and wit.

  Now? I looked haggard and beaten down by life.

  Washing my face and teeth, taking care of business, I headed back to the room, halting in shock at the person leaning against my door.

  “What are you doing up?” I tilted my head at Rosie. Dressed in her silky negligee and robe, her makeup smeared under her eyes, hair in tangles, she still looked better than I did. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping for another six hours?”

  “I should be, yes. But thanks to your man, I haven’t gotten to bed yet.” She trailed me into the room, her throat husky and low.

  “What?” I spun to her, regretting my quick movement as a brick of dread plummeted to my stomach.

  “Oh relax, luv.” She swished her hand, tugging at her robe with the other. “It’s not what I meant. Though I won’t lie to you and say I wish it was for that reason.” She winked at me. “But because we’re friends, I could never do that to you. Plus, he doesn’t want me…” She arched an eyebrow at me.

  “I have no idea what you mean.” I rolled my shoulders back. “And he’s not my man. You have full permission to go after him.”

  “Right.” She snorted, twisting a strand of her hair, not believing a word I said. “I was ushering my last customer out when he was leaving. Told me to tell you to stay put.”

  “He said what?” I blinked at her.

  “Think his exact words were, ‘Make sure she doesn’t step a fucking foot out the front door.’”

  “Oh really?” I folded my arms. “He leaves each morning but orders me to stay put like a dog? He has no say over what I do.”

  “Funny, he knew you’d say that. He told me,
quote ‘hogtie her if you have to, use your cuffs, but she doesn’t leave.’” She curled her fingers in quotes.

  Indignation detonated inside, breaking my hangover into tiny pieces, leaving only rage and obstinacy. “He said I couldn’t leave through the front door. Did he say anything about the back one?”

  “Oh, I know that look.” Rosie grinned wickedly, rubbing her hands together. “I mean, I wasn’t against tying you up. You are seriously sexy, but once upon a time, I was married to a controlling man. I’m all for putting them in their place.”

  “You were married before?” The peek into her life, the realization she was completely human with a life before this, punched me in the gut. As much as I pretended I didn’t judge people here, I did. But they were people with lives. Families, mothers and fathers, husbands, wives, kids.

  “Yeah.” She wrinkled her nose. “He saw me in a play, came to the back door every night for a week with flowers and promises. He was charming, and I was young. Thought it was love. I was looking for an escape from that penniless life and thought he was it.” Her gaze went to the floor, agony slicing over her expression. “He was the opposite.”

  There was a moment of quiet, her past life haunting the room, stinging my heart.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She let out a shaky breath, forcing a smile on her face. “No worries, luv. He’s long gone, and I couldn’t be happier.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “One can hope.” She shrugged one shoulder. “He disappeared years ago after one of his business deals went bad. He was into a lot of shady shit, always trying to find the quick, easy way to make money, which usually went the opposite way. Had a lot of enemies. Left me with a lot of debt from really bad men. Madam Kitty took me in. Saved me.”

  “Saved you?”

  “She paid them off so they wouldn’t kill me. I slowly work off what I can each month.” She smiled through a twinge of grief. “I’m a lifer here.”

  Would my life have been so different if I married Sergiu? I would have luxury, but I’d be trapped, paying off my debt in sex and abuse. At least here, Kitty protected her girls.