Page 41 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals
My mirth is short-lived, though. My injured thigh muscles are tremoring oddly, and ever since Slaughter threw that orb against my chest, I can’t seem to draw a good, deep breath. It’s all very unsettling, and I have no doubt that if I don’t get some food, water, and rest, I’m going to fall right off this beam and be swallowed up by the creature.
I look back at Ravager and gesture to the beast.
Kill it?he mouths, eyebrows lifted.
Before we get too tired. I shape the words silently.
He waves for me to approach again, and after a moment’s wary hesitation, I do.
“There’s something in my pack we can use as a distraction,” he whispers. “I need you to get it out.”
“Another explosive?”
“You know me so well.”
“I know you’re a one-trick pony.”
“Excuse me?” he hisses. “Onetrick? In addition to inventing and implementing the very finest and most versatile of explosives, I’m an excellent pickpocket. No lock can defeat me. I climb like a spider, as you’ve seen, and I fuck like a king.”
“Ugh.” I make a face. “I’ve heard kings are extremely selfish in bed.”
“With this king, the queen always finishes first.” He waggles both eyebrows suggestively at me.
I roll my eyes, although his words generate a naughty flutter between my legs. “Turn around and tell me where in your pack Ishould look.”
9
I explain to Devilry exactly where to find the pin-bomb, and then I wait, feeling her fingers tug at the fasteners of my pack, still hardly believing that those same fingers were rubbing my dick a few minutes ago.
She’s an atrocity and an astonishment. Teasing and treacherous, wicked and lovely. I like the deep black of her hair and the strands she has dyed blood-red. I like the full pout of her red mouth, the saucy way she tosses her head when she’s angry. I like the fluid movement of her body when she’s fighting or climbing. She’d fuck the same way, I think—impatient, vigorous, taunting.
If I ever get to come inside this woman, I think I will die of pure shock and bliss.
“Wake up!” she whispers harshly, striking my shoulder. “Is this it?”
She holds out the tiny orb, no bigger than a human eye.
“That’s it.” I start to take it from her, but she holds it out of my reach.
“First explain what it does,” she demands.
“It’s a flash-bang grenade,” I whisper.
“Did you make it yourself?”
“Of course. I designed the first one when I was about eight. It’s not very destructive, but it’s an excellent distraction.”
There’s a new look on her face—an expression I haven’t seen from her yet. Admiration and grudging respect. But she only hands me the pin-bomb and says, “Let’s see if your work is any good.”
I turn the tiny crank slowly and carefully so it won’t make noise. Then I click the trigger mechanism into place, but I don’t push the button yet. “I was hoping to save this for an emergency.”
“This is an emergency,” she whispers. “If we stay up here any longer, we’ll be too weak to fight. We need to get out of this tower. If we can’t make it all the way to the basement, we can at least find a room to hole up in and rest, maybe eat and drink something. You got any food or water?”
“I had water, but I threw my water jug into that nest of bodach beads. That’s your fault.”
“Your stupidity isnotmy fault.”
“Doyouhave anything to eat or drink?”
