Geared for Pleasure Read online

  “There is a different statue in every corner of this room. When I first brought a man in here, I was near surprised as you. I mean, they don’t move at all, but it still seemed like they were watching.” She shrugged. “They are definitely listening. I’m not certain how they work, I only know they do. We can hear every bedroom from this spot, no matter where it is. ’Cept the boss’s, of course. And ours. No profit or pleasure to be had from listening in on our day-to-day. Boss already knows all our secrets.”

  “The noise is coming from other bedrooms?” Dare felt the heat as blood rushed to her face. Those were not screams of pain, then. What kind of place was this?

  Lavender laughed, not unkindly. “Some men enjoy doing, some watching. Others, for whatever reason, prefer the listening. When the last is true, we bring them here.”

  Dare’s voice sounded high-pitched, even to her. “We? How many women has this boss of yours saved? Are you all forced to share yourselves against your will? Forced to indulge in perversions with strange men?”

  The young blonde sighed blissfully. “He would never force a woman to do anything she had no desire to do. Not our captain. A hero, through and through, he is. He doesn’t care what side of the Hill you were born to, every woma—”

  Dare felt a pang of guilt as Lavender fell into a limp heap on the floor. She had used the momentum gained from freeing her wrist to knock Lavender between the neck and shoulder, rendering her unconscious. She would have a headache when she woke, but no more than that.

  There could be no help for it. It had to be done if she was going to escape this place. Wherever she was.

  Dare rubbed one aching wrist thoughtfully, grateful that the cuffs had not been difficult to overcome. The lining’s material had made them easier for her to slip her way out of.

  She rolled off the bed and stepped gingerly toward the wardrobe, forcing her bruised body to move. She must have been tossed around like a bag of feed while she was unconscious. Or Thrice had let the men get a few hits in. Was that why she still felt so sluggish?

  Dare shook her head. Clothing first, then answers.

  Lavender called her boss a captain, but Dare refused to believe he was the one she was looking for. The one she was told to trust. The Deviant would be an apt name for a ship made to indulge the sort of debauchery that was obviously occurring here, but Dare hardly thought any loyal servant of the queen would ally themselves with criminals.

  A sound of frustration escaped her lips. One garish sarong the color of a blinding sunrise. Long enough to wrap around her, nowhere near enough material for adequate covering. She would use the sheet but it was far too voluminous to allow for freedom of movement, and Lavender might awaken if she were to attempt to remove her dress. Not that she had the height or narrow frame required to wear it. The sarong would have to do.

  Duty first, Dare. She had to get out of this room, find her weapons, or any that were handy, and confront this arrogant captain. A male shout of satisfaction echoed off the walls, covering her bare limbs in a full-bodied blush and hastening her movements.

  This “boss-captain” had much to answer for.

  She wrapped the fabric securely around her, braiding her thick mass of hair while heading for the door. She’d known it would be locked, but with no keyhole in sight, it also appeared impenetrable.

  A whirring, distinctly mechanized sound had Dare spinning on her heel, arms raised in self-defense. Bluish-green light emanated from a square-shaped seam above the bed. Another room?

  She stepped atop the plush down of the mattress and reached up to slide her fingers along the opening. Air. She could feel it on her skin. Not another room, then. Better. A means of escape.

  Prying the panel open proved simple enough, and relief rushed through her when she realized it was a shaft big enough for her to crawl through.

  The light was moving away from her, beckoning her to follow. Had she seen the fluttering of tiny wings? Dare hefted herself up into the opening, feeling the cool, smooth metal beneath her hands. The snug confines did not engender a sense of security as she began to crawl through the length of the shaft, though anything was better than being chained and helpless.

  “Follow the light, do not think,” she muttered under her breath.

  But she had to. What was it? Far too small to be another dragonfly, yet eerily reminiscent. The more important question had to be, was she on a ship? Was it at sea or still stationary at the docks? The mere idea that they could be away from land at this very moment made her queasy.

  She soothed herself with thoughts of her personal patch of garden on the palace grounds. Her hands deep in rich soil, the sun warm on her face, and the queen teasing her from the balcony for dirtying her Chalice uniform.

  The buzzing light brightened and lifted out of her sight. What was it? Or who? It moved with purpose, staying just out of view. And then it disappeared altogether.

  The shaft must continue upward. Did up mean out? It had to. Dare reached up with one hand, seeking purchase, something to grasp to aid her climb. She found nothing. She stretched farther and heard the groaning give of the thin metal she knelt on. Time seemed to slow, long enough for her to guess what was happening, but not long enough for her to escape her fate.

  It collapsed, buckling beneath her, the jagged edges of the broken shaft scraping her thighs and hip as she followed the pieces down into the room below. Pain radiated throughout her body at the jarring landing. Nearly blind with it, she reacted instinctively to the sound of masculine cursing above her body.

  Her foot flexed and her leg kicked out behind her forcefully. A sense of satisfaction soothed her discomfort when she connected with muscle and bone.

  The man beside her swore with more vigor and stepped back, but Dare didn’t take the time to study her victim. Rolling to her feet, she ran toward the floor-to-ceiling window and froze.

  “How—?” A memory blinded her for a moment, replacing the incomprehensible vision before her eyes. In her mind she was in one of the turret courtyards of the Copper Palace, searching for Queen Idony at her favorite spot. She’d been winding up an odd-looking toy that Cyrus must have brought back from one of those special missions the queen was always sending him on. She’d set it in the small pond in front of her just as Dare arrived.

  “Look,” she’d said.

  Dare had sat down on the ground beside her obediently, smiling as she watched the ship shuttle across the water. When it started to sink, she reached for it, believing it defective, but the queen stopped her. The ship submerged and continued to make its way around the pond, this time beneath the water.

  Queen Idony had told her it was called a submersible. “Someday, Dare,” she’d whispered. “Someday you and I will travel in one the size of a small city. We will have a grand adventure under the sea.”

  Dare recalled her laughing reaction. “My queen, when that day comes you should take Cyrus instead. You know I prefer dry land. Besides, I cannot swim.”

  She blinked rapidly, her awareness returning along with a wave of sadness that swiftly turned to nausea. Black spots filled her vision. “Oh my.”

  She wasn’t in a ship on the sea. She was beneath it. There was no way out.

  “I find it intriguing that a pocket-sized package with such a talent for escape and violence is afraid of a little water.”

  Dare strained her neck trying to look at the man standing behind her, and not the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling glass holding back the sea.

  The wall he currently had her facing.

  At least he’d put her in a comfortable chair before he’d bound her to it with the silken curtain cord. Still. She would much rather be looking at anything else. The view was disorienting to say the least.

  He was, she assumed, the infamous boss Lavender had told her about. Her attempted escape had ironically led her directly to his private chamber.

  She’d lost consciousness. She wished she could blame it on the remnants of Thrice’s drug, but she knew better. She had fainted
at the sight of the sea consuming her, much to her chagrin. Apparently she had been out long enough for him to restrain her once more. Now her arms were bound tightly against her sides to prevent movement or escape.

  Lavender had said he was kind to women. A hero. Where was his kindness now? Why was he forcing her to face something that he knew terrified her? Not that she should admit to that weakness. Not to him. Not to anyone.

  “I am not afraid of, how did you put it? A little water? There is more than a puddle outside your window, sir.” She shuddered as she looked up at the endless, watery dark. “Any being without fins would be surprised were they to awake to this view. I am not sure how far we are from Centre City, but I demand you release me. Find the nearest shore. If you require compensation I can arrange it once I am back on land, and I will tell no one of the crimes you are now complicit in.”

  His chuckle caressed her bare shoulders. Had he come closer? “Why would I do a thing like that? Release you after witnessing the carnage you wrought on Nettles before he caught you? On poor Lavender? And only moments ago, on my leg. I am no fool, my lady.”

  The timbre of his voice was low, disarmingly attractive with the hint of an accent she could not place. It was odd and unfamiliar, and it only intensified her sudden desire to turn around so she could see the face that belonged to the seductive rumble and the complicated puzzle of feelings he was exuding. He was not as easy to read as the others she’d come across since she’d left the palace. That did not bode well for her. Not in her current state.

  She shifted in her bindings and winced. The shards of metal must have scraped her legs on her way down. Added to the bruises from her capture, the fog still lingering in her head, and the knots in her stomach brought on by the sea surrounding her, she knew she was not at her best. She would have to be careful not to give too much away.

  “My sincerest apologies for harming Lavender. I believed, chained as I was, that I had no alternative. But I am once again confined, and therefore no danger to you or yours. I understand you dispatched Nettles with far less mercy than I, regardless.”

  His voice hardened. “I did. Perhaps I was too hasty, but I am ever impatient with the ignorant. Kidnapping is not my business. If anything, it endangers my reputation. Thrice and her ilk may have been unaware of that before, but no longer.” He hesitated, his voice gentling. “Lavender is fine. In better shape than you. Truth be told, she is in awe of your skills with handcuffs and hopes you’ll explain how you did it when you’re feeling better. She believes some of her regular visitors would find that little trick… stimulating.”

  She heard the sound of water being wrung out of a cloth and then he was at her side, sliding the warm, damp washrag over her injured thigh before he spoke again. “You are not a prisoner. Not officially. You were confined until I could determine who you truly are and why you are here. Your attempt at escape did not help your cause. I am now more curious about you than I was before. More intrigued.”

  Dare lowered her chin against her shoulder, catching a glimpse of dark hair as he cleaned off her wound. The same man who bound her was now tending to her? For what reason? “Your curiosity will not be satisfied with me, sir. I have no secrets worth telling.” Not unless he was the captain she’d been looking for.

  She could feel his attention intensify as his touch slowed. “You are very beautiful. Soft but disarmingly strong. You mentioned compensation. What kind did you have in mind? Are you a runaway? Or did they steal you from your virgin’s bed on the Hill? Is there family or a lover who would pay a ransom to see you again?”

  Dare’s body jerked at the unexpected question. She had to tread this murky water carefully. Water. She swallowed weakly. She was under water. She attempted a careless shrug. “You are the first to look at me and think me highborn. Before I answer your questions, may I request an answer to mine? Where am I? And who are you?”

  He stood again, backing away, but could still sense his stare and that feeling again. The one she wasn’t used to. Excitement. Arousal. It had to be coming from him.

  He hummed, considering. “I suppose that’s your right, though I am irrationally insulted that you haven’t heard of the Siren. She is one of a kind, after all. But then, secrets are her trade. Inside of her all deeds dark and dangerous are recorded for posterity. Not usually a place for a woman of high birth. Unless, of course, she has a taste for something different. Something base and untamed.”

  The Siren. This ship was not called Deviant. He was not her captain. Relief was quickly followed by regret. She was on the wrong vessel, still no closer to her goal, and she could not tell her captor the truth as to who she was. If he—if anyone but the Deviant’s captain—were to find out what had happened to the true queen, least of all anyone of the criminal persuasion, anarchy would swiftly follow.

  Queen Idony was the light that held the world together. The people’s faith, as well as their knowledge of her ever-presence, kept Theorrey running smoothly.

  In order to get back on dry land and find the vessel she’d been originally bound for, she would have to attempt to be what Lucy Thrice believed her to be. A shield guard’s bastard. Anything more and he would surely use her for his own personal gain. Anyone with noble connections could be bartered for. But a lowborn was quickly forgotten, could not be used because she had nothing to lose. Could make her own bargains.

  She relaxed her fists where they’d tightened at her hips. “You have seen me, sir. You know what I am. You know a ransom would be pointless. It is cruel for you to continue to pretend otherwise while lurking in the shadows behind me.”

  She heard him swear behind her and felt the rope give as he cut it before tossing the knife on the ground at her feet. She eyed it for a moment as she rubbed feeling back into her limbs, but there was not time to reach for it. Large hands gripped her arms, lifting her out of the chair and twirling her around to face him. “I have seen you. The color of your eyes, your hair. And I know what you should be. The unwanted child of a lusty Wode and a defenseless citizen. Too small for service, too distinctive for anything else. So why do I not believe you are who you seem?”

  As soon as the room stopped spinning, the light shining from the sconces along the wall provided her with her first good look at the infamous boss.

  He stole her breath.

  Had she supposed all criminals would look like Nettles and Thrice? That their foul deeds would somehow show through their inheritance and onto their skin? If so, she would have been wrong. This man was impressive. Imposing. His back and shoulders rivaled her fellow shield guards’ massive physiques. If not for his midnight black hair, she would have thought he was one of her own.

  She’d always believed Queen Idony the most striking being she’d ever seen, but this man… His face… She doubted an artisan would be able to truly capture his appeal.

  No one on the Hill would say he was handsome. Not in the way the nobles measured such things, with full cheeks, perfectly symmetrical features, and fair skin. His attractive qualities were not that easily defined. He was too hard, his features sharp and chiseled as though by a rough hand.

  She studied his strong, currently unshaven jaw and cheekbones. His nose, which must have been broken more than once, and his lips, firm with resolve and frustration. His skin was darkly bronzed, which was not an unusual coloring in itself, but it made those light, crystalline eyes all the more dramatic. Stunning, really. In fact, she could not remember seeing eyes so light a hue before. They were as difficult to fathom as his thoughts.

  Unique.

  She tore her attention away from his face with difficulty, only to discover his body was just as distracting. He wore a white collarless shirt that was half unbuttoned beneath his burgundy vest, and black pants so snug she should think them vulgar. Instead Dare felt herself struggling for breath again. Who was this man?

  He laughed at her expression, a deep rich sound that heated her blood. “Are you ready to deliver your judgment? Do I not look the proper part of dangerous
criminal? Owner of the Siren, nefarious gaming den and brothel beneath the sea? If it helps, you in no way fit the mold of helpless victim, or one in my employ, despite your revealing attire. And you seem too clean and taken care of, too healthy and strong—apart from your recent injuries—to be a half-breed from the lower levels.”

  Dare swallowed the gasp she’d been fighting since his admission. She’d had suspicions, but now that he’d confirmed them she was shocked. The moans of pleasure from the Echo Chamber, Lavender’s clothing, the words of Lucy Thrice—it all made sense now. Brothel. An old word for a forbidden business.

  From Dare’s observations, she knew that on occasion pleasure was sought and given between unsanctioned couples, nobles and lowborn alike. As long as it was consensual and did not result in offspring, the law and its shield guards turned a blind eye.

  But there were a few unbreakable rules. No one was to take pleasure from the unwilling. No one of any caste was to cohabitate or produce offspring without the proper protocol and inheritance blood testing. That law was more difficult to enforce, though stringent census records were kept in every city and community in Theorrey. The penalties, if discovered, were severe. Most children born without permission were taken, tested, and placed in lifetime apprenticeships in other cities.

  There was also no selling or trading of pleasure permitted—at least, not outside the boundaries of the island chain of Maithuna.

  Maithuna was set apart. It existed outside the laws by the grace of the Theorrean Raj. Its production of potent medicinal flowers and herbs, as well as its connection to the nobility in Centre City and beyond, ensured its autonomy.

  It was a sinful fact of life that was never spoken of in more than whispers inside the palace walls. Certainly not in front of the queen. Dare herself only knew of its existence because of the stories Cyrus had heard from other Wode who had been, in their opinion, lucky enough to be sent to guard product shipments or visiting nobility.