Page 19 of Rubies and Revenge

Zarina digs a fingernail into the skin under my collar, just beside my jugular, and scratches across my neck. “It can cost more than money, if you like,” she purrs.

I take her wrist in my hand, sweeping my thumb along her pulse point in a harsh contrast to her threatening claws. I lean over, lips beside her cheek. “Really, someone ought to bend you over their knee, princess.”

“Maybe later, hm?” She pats my shoulder with her free hand as I let the other slip from my grip and watch her back out of the kitchen, expression smug. “Right now, we have business to prepare for.”

ZARINA

Arack of designer clothes rolls into my room that evening. I thumb through the garments—cashmere wool, silk, pima cotton, leather. There’s a complete wardrobe with easy-to-pair pieces here. I don’t know if Darius or Tamayo had any hand in the choosing, but if they did? Color me surprised.

“I walked the whole grounds, and no one stopped me at any point, though a few locked doors did.” Pat lies spread-eagle on the bed behind me as I pull out a pair of cream-colored, wide-legged slacks and an orange cropped sweater so soft I want to rub it against my cheek. I try not to wonder if Tamayo chose the color palette and instead assume it’s the trend of the fall season.

Despite the arrival of another rack of more androgynous pieces for them, Pat’s dressed in the same outfit they wore last night. “It seems each house on the block serves as both living quarters and community space. A guard even took me to the gym—which is the entire main floor of the red house across the courtyard. It’s kind of cool how they’ve set everything up.”

“Definitely different than home,” I mutter and yank off Darius’s shirt, fully naked beneath it.

Pat doesn’t bat an eye; nudity between us is blasé at this point. “I like it. Feels a lot more, I don’t know…intimate? Like a family, not the military.”

“Is it safe?” I dig into a bag hung on the end of the rack and pull out panties and a bra wrapped in gilded tissue paper. I didn’t tell Darius any preferences for my undergarments, but it’s as if he knew, because there isn’t a thong in sight, nor underwire. It’s almost as if a woman, who would understand my disdain for permanent wedgies and digging metal, chose for me.

I try not to think about Tamayo’s hands touching the fabric before me, her fingers stroking the silk panties I’m currently pulling up my legs. Try and fail.

“It’s safe,” Pat says.

I squeeze my eyes shut and focus more on dressing and less on my wild imagination.

“They’ve got all the usual stuff”—they wave their hand in a circle as if to encompass all the usual stuff—“with the added camouflage of the neighborhood directly outside their front door.”

I frown. That means civilians living in houses uncontrolled by the family directly outside their doorstep. “That feels more dangerous.”

They crane their neck to meet my eye at the end of the bed. “It would be, if the surrounding blocks weren’t full of their soldiers.”

“All of them?” I blink at them.

They nod.

“How do you know?” I pull on the pants, buttoning and zipping them around my waist. They’re perfectly tailored, like they were made for me and not pulled off the rack at a store as they must have been.

“They told me.” They raise both their brows, their bright-blue eyes boring into mine with implication.

“They wanted you to know,” I state and pull the sweater over my head.

“Exactly.” They turn to study an expressionist painting of two men struggling to pull up a net full of fish with a crimson sun shining behind them. It features a bold color palette, the men drawn in blocky shapes, the fish blue and pink. “A threat is only as good as the weight behind it.”

“Jesus.” I tug my hair out from under the collar. It falls down my back in slightly frizzy waves. I wish I had my leave-in conditioner. “Very different from home.”

Pat rolls onto their elbow to look at me. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” A shower and a change of luxury clothes has lifted my mood considerably. Especially after the debacle that was this morning. It’s entirely unfair how little I affect Tamayo while the simple observation of her veined hands around a mug of coffee can make my mouth water and my core clench. Fucking ridiculous.

I survey myself in the floor-length mirror propped against the wall. The room Darius led me to last night is simple, like an elevated hotel room with distinctly Southeast Asian artwork and basic furnishings. Thankfully, there’s an en suite bathroom with a clawfoot tub and a plethora of bath salts, which I took full advantage of this morning after I left Tamayo in the kitchen.

I smooth the sweater, which leaves a sliver of my stomach showing. It’s a good day outfit, but it won’t do for the Council. I sift through the clothes again, favoring the dresses at the end of the rack. She went all out. There are bags lining the floor marked Cartier, Christian Dior, Louboutin, and more. I wonder if Tamayo hand-picked each piece, though I can’t imagine she has the time. At least, she shouldn’t.

Pat rolls to lie on their side, head propped on the heel of their palm. They watch as I sort through, considering and rejecting option after option. “What’s the plan, then?”

“You were there last night.”

“Come on, tell me what you’re scheming.”

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