Release: Davlova: Book One (7 page)

He was equally good at fixing people. I suspected he’d been a doctor before he’d joined Anzhéla’s troop, although I’d never asked. But I’d seen him stitch up more knife wounds than I could count, and he could splint broken bones, too. But he seemed to prefer gears and wires to people, and today he had a new project. It looked like little more than a tangle of wires attached to a few dials, but it must have made sense to him. He poked at it with what to my untrained eye looked suspiciously like an icepick. His normal scowl seemed more poignant than usual.

“What is that?” I asked.

“At the moment? It’s shit. But if I can get it to work, we’d have a way to communicate with some of our other...” He waved the icepick in circles as he considered his next word. “…
associates
around the city.”

“You’d be able to talk through it?”

“Assuming I can tap into a bit of electricity.”

The thought filled me with dread. What he was talking about was a death sentence. The first ban had been purely economical, designed to curb use of electricity, thereby saving the city money, and preserving what electricity Davlova had for the hill. But several years later, an underground group had been caught using radios to plan a coup. They’d all gone to the gallows, and the mayors had immediately expanded the law to include just about anything that wasn’t powered by hand. Siphoning a bit of electricity for light or heat was a small crime, punished with a fine or a bit of jail time. But this?

“You could hang for that.”

“Only if they catch me.”

“You really think you can make it work?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Never know until I try.” He laughed. “First I have to convince Anzhéla it’s worth the risk. And that’s a hard sell. I’ve been telling her for ages this kind of thing is possible, but she never listens to me.”

“Honey, I listen to you more than anybody else in the world,” Anzhéla said from behind me. I hadn’t even heard her come in. “I lay awake every night listening to you snore.”

Frey grunted but didn’t answer, and I tried not to look surprised. It had never occurred to me how intimate their partnership was.

“I hear you came home in good spirits,” Anzhéla said to me as she took her own seat behind her desk.

I ducked my head to hide my blush. She was the one who’d sent me to him, who’d told me to fuck Donato, but for some reason, I didn’t want her to guess how much I’d enjoyed my job the night before. “Dinner took a long time.”

She placed a pair of bright green reading glasses low on her nose. She leaned her elbows on her desk to regard me over their rim. “Tell me everything.”

“Everything,” I quickly realized, was a relative term. I saw no reason to talk about jacking off in the carriage, or being bent over the dinner table, or the way I’d ridden Donato all the way home, screaming in ecstasy as I did. Those things were none of her business, whether she’d assigned me the job or not. All she really needed to know was who I’d met, so I began to list off names. I’d always had a good memory for that kind of thing. Anzhéla took notes, meticulously writing everything down on a pad of paper, although she didn’t say anything until I got to Benedict. Then she growled.

“That man and his police! I wish I could tell you to kick him in the stones next time you see him.”

“I’m just glad Donato turned down his request to bed me.”

She shook her head. “I hope for your sake this job is over before the shine wears off and Donato decides to share his toys.” She glanced over at Frey. “Did you tell him?”

“Tell me what?”

“Jabin is gone. Lorenzo, too.”

“A raid?” Certainly the leaflet would have mentioned that.

“No raids officially, but nobody’s seen them.”

“Arrested, then?”

She took her glasses off, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s what we figure. It’s Lorenzo’s first offense. He’ll probably show up in a day or two, but Jabin...”

Jabin had been grabbed twice before. He bore the tattoos of arrest on the back of his neck, which meant this time was his third strike. He’d be facing a trial.

With Donato.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Anzhéla put her glasses back on and picked up her stub of pencil. “Don’t you dare mention him to Donato. That man thinks you came from Talia’s, but he can’t know anything else. He can’t suspect you have any real connection to the trenches.”

How could I face him tonight and not ask? How could I let him fuck me and not try to help my friend?

“Who else?” she asked pointedly.

“Who else was arrested?”

She scowled at me. “Who else was at La Fontaine?”

“Oh.” It took me a second to collect myself and return to the list of names. “Elias, the harbormaster.”

Anzhéla’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She put her glasses on again, but kept them low on her nose to regard me over the green rims. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“A harbormaster is middle-class at best. He shouldn’t even have a gate pass, let alone access to La Fontaine. And why would a man like Donato even bother speaking to him?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. But he was definitely there.”

Anzhéla looked over at Frey. Frey stared back at her. I had no idea what passed between them in that look, but after a moment, Frey bent back over his desk and Anzhéla indicated that I should continue.

“You’ve done well,” she said to me after I’d finished reciting my list of names.

“I wish he’d been more willing to talk to me at dinner.”

“It was only your second night with him.” She tossed her glasses onto her desk and leaned back in her chair. “Keep it up. Let him get comfortable with you. Establish a rapport. There’s nothing like giving a man a mind-blowing orgasm to loosen his lips.” She winked over at Frey. “Am I right?”

Frey ducked his head lower, but not before I saw the blush on his cheeks. At any other time, seeing him so disconcerted would have amused me, but I was still thinking of my clanmate.

“What about Jabin? Donato will know—”

“Jabin was aware of the risks
, like everybody else. You can’t help him now. Asking Donato about him will likely cause him even more trouble. With any luck, they assumed Jabin was a lone street punk. If they have reason to suspect he’s part of a clan or runs with a crew, we’ll all be in danger. The last thing we want is for Donato to look too deep into the trenches. Even worse would be for him to learn of your connections there.”

She was right, but I hated feeling so
helpless. And useless. I would be in Donato’s bed, possibly even enjoying myself, while my friend faced a trial? Jail time? Maybe even hard labor?

“Nobody ever comes back from the camps,” I said quietly. “You know that.”

“Jabin knew it, too. Misha, stop thinking you can help him. You can’t. And you have no reason to feel guilty.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“If you’d been snagged, and Jabin was still free, would you expect him to do something crazy? To suddenly turn heroic and try to save you?”

The thought almost made me laugh. Jabin had never done a heroic thing in his life. He would have scoffed at the idea. “No. Once we’re snagged, we’re on our own.”

“Exactly. You want to help your clan? Do your job. Fuck Donato silly, then bring him to his knees.”

“Easy for you to say.” She wasn’t the one who’d have to decide between pride and lust, family or pleasure.

She reached out and took my hand. Her small fingers were dry as paper, but her touch warmed me. “We have a chance to change everything, Misha. To take the hill by storm. To take men like Donato down.
That’s
our goal. That’s the one thing you can do for your clan.”

That was all it took for her to solidify my resolve. “I will.”

“Good luck, kid.”

***

That night, I had a new role to play. I wasn’t allowed to bathe. I was dressed in torn clothing and left barefoot. My hair was ratted into an artful mess. Instead of black kohl lining my eyes, Lilja used dark, shadowy colors in the hollows under my eyes and along my cheekbone to imitate bruises.

“Just be glad he’s letting us paint them on,” she whispered to me as she did it. “Sometimes it’s causing the bruises that they get off on.”

For the first time, the butler seemed embarrassed for me. He couldn’t meet my gaze. That was unfortunate, since I’d decided he might be my best source of information.

“What’s your name?” I asked as he led me toward the stairs.

He hesitated a moment before answering. “Butler.”

“Does anybody else work here?”

“There’s a woman. She and I handle all the duties inside the house. And there’s a driver. He deals with the horses and the upkeep of the lawn.”

We were climbing the stairs now, him in front of me, which meant I was talking to his ass. “And how long have you worked here?”

“A while.”

“And the others?”

“The same.”

We reached the landing and turned down the hallway toward the bedroom. I chewed my lip. I was already running out of time, and I’d learned nothing.

“Was there a whore before me?”

“Stop.” He turned to face me, halting his forward progress so suddenly, I nearly ran into him. “Do you value your position here?”

“Uhh...” Only if it allowed me some answers. “Of course.”

“Then don’t ask questions. Nobody in his service will answer them. He has too much leverage. And if he finds out you’re snooping, you’ll be finished.”

I swallowed hard, wondering exactly what “finished” meant. That I was no longer Donato’s whore? Or that I was no longer breathing?

“I was only trying to be friendly.”

“We’re not allowed the luxury of friendship.”

He opened the door to the room and stood there, avoiding my eyes. He closed it behind me without a word.

So much for getting help from the help.

I sighed, feeling defeated, and lay down on the bed. I stared up at the mirrors above the bed. The stark bruises under my eyes made me look desperate. I looked like a street wretch—more so than when I actually
was
a street wretch. I was reminded of those few months after my mother’s death, before Anzhéla found me, when I’d slept in alleys and eaten rubbish. When I’d hidden from the bullies and older, slinking men with their predatory eyes.

Now I was practically handing myself over to one of them.

I took an ildenaaf and closed my eyes while I waited to be used.

I stood when I heard him come in. I knew by now that he’d want first to inspect me. I kept my eyes on some spot on the wall, near the ceiling.

He made a slow, deliberate circle around me. That tattoo on his face seemed to twitch in the uncertain light. I tried to hold still. The il had taken affect and I was painfully aware of my erection, held within the confines of my pants.

Donato made a low, growling sound. “Very good,” he said, his voice already thick with arousal. “I told Talia I wanted a whore who could play many roles, and she’s outdone herself.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you. I was talking about your mistress.”

“I’m sorry.”

He stopped in front of me. He gripped my jaw in his strong hand, pinching hard as he forced me to look at him. “Yesterday, you were a courtesan, but today, you’re not even a whore. You’re nothing but a bit of trash who will do anything I say for a scrap of iron. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

He wrapped both hands around my neck. Panic flared in my chest, but before I could react, he kissed me.

This was nothing like the passionate kisses we’d shared in the carriage. This time, it was me being ravished. Being attacked. He crushed my lips with his own, tightening his grip on my neck when I instinctively tried to pull away. I forced myself to be still. I hadn’t taken one of the sedatives, and I wished more than anything that I had. My heart pounded. I imagined he could feel my pulse against his hands. He could squeeze it to silence if he desired. He tightened his grip, and I gasped. I could barely move the oxygen through my constricted windpipe. I longed to scream. My vision began to go black.

He bit me, so hard I tasted blood. I made a terrible, strangled sound—the utterly primal squeal of a trapped animal as the hunter’s knife came down.

“Get down on your knees.”

He let go of my neck. My legs gave out and I landed on the floor sooner than I’d planned, the blood rushing back into my head. My bleeding lip throbbed. I held my throat, gasping for air, practically sobbing with relief.

He grabbed a handful of my hair and pointed my face at his groin. He’d already undone his pants, and his erection stuck out from his open fly.

“I’m going to force you,” he said, “and you’re going to fight just enough to make it fun, but not so much that you make me mad.”

Obeying turned out to be both easier and harder than I might have expected. It was easy because I was already scared. Because panic flared in the dark corners of my mind, telling me that this was it. I was about to die, not by a knife in some alley, but choking on a cock in a rich man’s playroom. The hard part was not fighting too much. He shoved his erection into my mouth. He was still holding my head, and he thrust in fast and hard. I instinctively tried to pull away, but he held me there and shoved in harder.