Page 182 of The Poison Daughter
“Actually, you’re right about the chair. I want to look in those violet eyes while you ride my cock,” he says.
Shane stumbles toward the chair, fumbling and almost missing the seat. I crack my elbow against his temple, and he instantly slumps over to the side. I search the room for something to hold him in place in case he tries to get handsy again.
The only option is the cords holding the curtains open.
“Sorry, Bea,” I say as I remove them from the curtains and use them to bind each of the man’s wrists to the wooden arms of the chair.
I stand back and look him over. His chin is tucked down, his mouth open and drooling on his shirt. I hit him harder than I meant to.
This might take a while.
Instead of sitting there staring at him, I slip out of the room and back downstairs to enjoy Bea’s fine wines while I wait to begin my interrogation.
Instead of going straight for the bar, I turn the other way at the bottom of the stairs and head down the back hallway that leads to a cleaning supply closet. I duck inside and cross the small, cluttered space. The shelf on the back wall is almost too high for me to reach, but I brush my fingers over the top edge until they brush cool metal. I grasp the key and push aside a cleaning smock hooked beside the shelf to reveal a keyhole. I unlock the door and push, and it creaks open, revealing Bea’s fine wine collection. She should never have told me it was here if she didn’t want me to drink it.
Running my fingers over the dusty bottles, I choose an old favorite, then step back into the closet, close the secret door, and lock it. I return the key to its spot, reach into the smock pocket where I tucked a corkscrew a while back, and use it to uncork the bottle.
I step out of the closet and sneak out the back door with my pilfered wine in hand.
The courtyard behind the bar is quiet, and the cold air feels good after wrestling with the man upstairs.
I lift my hair away from my neck and sigh, taking a sip of the wine. It’s as good as I remembered—smooth and rich and perfect for a winter night.
Shane better wake up soon. When Henry gets back to Carrenwell House, he’ll realize I’m not in my room and he’ll tell Gaven, and then I’ll have to deal with both of them.
I stare up at the night sky and sip my wine, listening to the ruckus inside. I could just stay out here and take a night off from spying. Guilt twists through me at the thought and I knock back a few gulps of wine.
It takes a good fifteen minutes or so for the feeling to dissipate, butonce it does, I feel more grounded, even with the pleasant buzz of alcohol flowing through my veins.
Hopefully, I’ve given Shane enough time to wake up. I’ll just bring this bottle to the bar since it’s one of Bea’s favorites and I feel bad only drinking a little bit of it. If the man isn’t awake by the time I’m done, I’ll find a way to wake him.
When I step back into the bar, it’s even louder and more crowded than before.
Bea spots me and frowns as I push my way toward her.
“That was fast,” she says, pouring something from a nondescript bottle and handing it to me. She glances over my shoulder toward the stairwell.
“My friend got a little excited and I had to settle him down,” I say. “I may have settled him a little harder than I meant to. I figured I’d have a drink while I wait.”
Her brow wrinkles. She looks toward the hallway again. “Did you see—” She holds up a hand and shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m not here to judge whatever games you get up to.”
I’m about to ask what she means, but I take a slow sip of the reddish liquid and almost groan. It’s the smoothest whiskey I’ve ever tasted, with a hint of something fruity at the very end.
“What is this?”
Bea preens in satisfaction. “Thisis why the crowd is so big tonight. Word got out that I was sampling my new Dark Star Festival brew for one night only. I can’t imagine how that happened when I was keeping it under wraps.” Her voice is laced with sarcasm.
Bea is so good at spreading rumors and hyping up her rare distillations. She has an uncanny ability to create a frenzy by sharing information with just the right patrons to ensure that it spreads through the whole city within one evening.
A thought sears through my mind. The only other person who can create such persuasive havoc is Rochelli.
I watch Bea as she wipes up a spill in front of a man sitting a few seats down at the bar. She couldn’t possibly be the leader of the rebellion. But my mind immediately starts fitting pieces together. She is incredibly well-informed—a fact I’d written off because of the sheer volume of people she speaks to every night. But she also hates my family,she has no magic, and she has testified vehemently at town meetings against the second blood tithe.
I shake the thought away and take another sip of the drink. It’s unimaginable that I was so blinded by my affection for her that I would have missed that. Besides, she rarely ever leaves Guardian’s Crossing except to get ingredients for her creations. How could she run a revolution and a business?
After handing an ale to a man at the end of the bar, she walks back toward me, leans over, and smirks. “Low, I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to say something. I don’t know what kind of kinky game you and your new husband are playing, but I have to ask why you’re still down here when he went upstairs so long ago.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
