Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“Worried or scared, my guy?”
“Scared, Little One,” our princess sells out at the same time her grip tightens on my fabric covered back as well. “But I told him you’d rescue us.”
“Of course, I’d rescue you,” I lovingly insist. “I’d do anything for the two of you…”
Including…but not limited to…what I did do.
“Enough sentiments,” Ravencroft announces, unfortunately pulling us apart. “We have business to attend to.”
Stepping to the side grants her a clear view of the three of us when Garcia cautiously questions, “Permission to speak?”
“Oooo,” coos the crazy in red bottom pumps prior to letting the tip of the freshly cleaned tool touch her lips, “I knew you could be trained.” A waggling of her eyebrow precedes her pointing the object in his direction. “Granted.”
“What business do we have with you, Ravencroft?”
“You owe me a debt,” she emotionlessly informs. “You each owe me a debt for saving your lives – that is not something I nor the organization does for free – and you also owe me compensation for my expedited services as I had to…rearrange…my plans to tend to this matter instead.”
“I made the deal,” leaves me before she can explain further. “I…made…a deal…with the devil…”
Ravencroft villainously beams. “Flattery will get you almost anywhere and everywhere.”
“Our lives in exchange for goods or services to be rendered by the syndicate.”
“Zero!” shouts the salt and pepper bearded man like I predicted he would. “Why would you fucking do that?!”
“Because it was the only way I knew how to make sure you stayed alive! And you two being alive is all that fucking matters to me!”
His mouth lowers, although no sound escapes.
“And if that meant selling my fucking soul to a woman without one-”
“Blush…” she nefariously swoons in between sounds of more buckets being emptied into the water.
“-and doing the same on your behalf then that’s what’s up!”
“Did you even bother considering what we might want?! What we might have to fucking say about this shit?!”
“The dead don’t talk, Garcia,” Salay sassily reminds.
“Exactly,” I argue in a weaker tone than intended. “And I’d rather you be alive and pissed at me for what I did and chewing me out about not reading the fine print of this arrangement than be some shark’s 4th meal.”
“Real shit?” Our bikini bearing woman throws out. “Kinda always assumed I’d get eaten by a shark.”
“There’s still time.” Ravencroft vilely smirks. “Particularly if you continue to waste mine.”
Garcia momentarily presses his lips together in submission.
Fuckme, I know on the clicks and clacks, it’s not time to admire her for that, but I do.
Her ability to flex on him is the same one Salay possesses.
It’s the same one I wish I had.
Could have.
But no matter what I do, no matter how much I nut up, do the shit that show my balls are made of steel not Styrofoam, he still bucks back.
Fights me.
Refuses to accept that I am a lot more capable than he wants to give me credit for.
Stronger than he wants to see.
I’m not some fragile little fuck toy all the time.
That’s a privilege.
One I’d really fucking appreciate him understanding.
Ravencroft tucks her newly cleaned letter opener into the tight, high bun on top of her head. “Debts will be paid in services-”
“Not dollars?” rudely interrupts Garcia.
“My business. My decision.” He lowers his jaw to talk again prompting her to lift a finger. “You’ve now lost your speaking privileges.” The tiniest twitch pushes her to add. “One more unapproved sound, and I’ll use my new gift,” she motions to the tool tucked into her locks, “to hold your tongue in place while I use a fillet knife,” this time a gesture is made to Gibbons who wiggles the one he’s holding, “to cut it out of your mouth.” A quirked eyebrow is attached to her next command. “Nod that you understand.”
And he does.
“Salacia-”
“Salay,” she instantly corrects. “Respectfully.”
“Salay,” Ravencroft slyly smirks, “you will finish the salvaging of Écume de mer Éternité with my blessing.”
No sound manages to escape her bobbing lips.
“You will lead a team – for a much lower rate than that of which you initially charged your boyfriends – that’s approved by me – all approvals will go through me – to finish finding the remains of the ship and getting them back onto land where they will then be verified, vetted, and admitted into a state history museum with your name absorbing all the credit and backing linked to a wealthy, anonymous, multiple dead-end shell corp owning donor.”
“You don’t want the credit?!”
“Unlike you, I don’t need notoriety from Daddy dearest or any other authoritative figure that basically told me I wouldn’t amount to anything more than a tight twat with a danger addiction and preference for men who look great naked but believe sea horses are just horses you ride by the sea.”
The glare she’s twitched by the woman she’s speaking to simply deepens her grin. “One. Guy.”