Page 3 of Brutal Prince

“School fees paid off.”

“That will require more than one job.”

“She’s a member of the Worm and Mug,” Benson told him.

“So, she’s a spy,” he asked almost comically.

“No,” I answered. “I’m here because-”

“Hush wench!” Benson hissed at me. “No one told you to speak.”

The man stood back and placed a finger on his chin examining me. “Four jobs and she’ll get her fees paid.”

“What will-” I began.

“-Quiet!” Benson snapped.

“If she has a tendency towards disobedience, we might have a problem,” the man in the middle stated.

I was too scared to speak in case they changed their minds. I was dangerously close to entering their lair and could almost smell the smoldering ashes after I sent it alight. My only hope was that these black bandits were trapped inside when I struck the match.

He stood there staring at me through the eyeholes in his balaclava. Without seeming obvious, I glanced at his eyes to see if I could identify them again if I met this man in normal circumstances. Brown green almonds, the color of calf shit, but bright and inquisitive, and he had a small dark spot over his right iris.

I knew those eyes far too well and stifled a smirk. Gotcha. I suspected all along that he was behind it all and I knew the chances of him recognizing me were slim. The devil can hardly identify his victim when she was nothing but the dust he wiped off his shoes.

“I’ll give her one job. If she behaves, I’ll give her another.”

“Is that wise?” Benson asked.

“Probably not.”

“What will I get paid for one job?” I asked.

“Benson, control the wench!”

“I apologize, Dom.”

Dom? That’s his pseudonym? Lame. I bet they think I’m too stupid to notice. I can play dumb and act like a brainless fool. Hell, if I can play Lady Macbeth on stage at High School, I can play any role, including this one.

“I’ve seen enough,” Dom informed us and flicked his hand for us to leave.

Benson led me back up the stone steps and opened the ‘staff only’ door. “When a job comes up that’s a good match for you, you’ll be messaged with the time and place and password that must be uttered upon entry.”

“Okay. But what will I get paid?” This was not about the money, but I had to make them believe that it was. Being desperately poor can force the best of us do the worst things.

“The message will contain what the payment will be and you must reply with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on whether or not you want the job.” He grasped my upper arm from behind, holding it firmly. “Before you leave you must sign a gag contract.”

I was expecting this. The guild had to protect its secrets. “Fine.”

“A warning,” he said, moving in so close to me that I could smell his rancid breath, “it is very unwise to break the contract.”

“I need to read it first before I sign it.”

“No signature, no job. No job, no money. It’s that simple.”

“Can I ask who Dom is?”

“Dom?” he asked, playing dumb. “I don’t know anyone called Dom.”

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