Page 27 of Phoenix's Last Heist
“I assumed there would be more skill to this,” I say after she explains the rules of the game.
She rattles the dice in the wooden cup and grins mischievously.
“The skill isn’t in the ability to roll a certain way or manipulate the dice,” she says. “It’s in your ability to handle your alcohol. I’ll even allow you the honor of the first roll. Do you have any questions before we begin?”
“Let me get this straight. All I have to do is roll the dice and if I roll a seven, eleven, or a double, you drink. If I roll none of those, I simply pass the dice to you and you try, and we go back and forth until someone calls it quits,” I answer.
“That’s about it,” she says.
“Seems pretty dull,” I reply. “I never enjoyed games of chance.”
“Well, if you want to spice it up, we can,” she laughs.
My cock hardens and I grit my teeth. “What did you have in mind?”
“Easy, Ranger. I told you I’m not trying to seduce you. I figured since you were so keen on interrogating me back on Xylothia, you’d relish the opportunity to ask some pointed questions. How’s this: when we have to take a drink, we can abstain if we answer a question. The question can be anything, but it has to be answered honestly.”
“It’s not my honesty I doubt,” I mumble. The idea of asking her anything and receiving an honest response seems almost laughable given her ability to lie and deflect. Yet, it might prove incredibly valuable in my pursuit of the truth and the end of the Xylothian smuggling ring.
“I don’t usually back out of a drinking contest, but I swear on my father’s grave, if I choose to answer a question, I’ll do so honestly,” she says, holding up her hand.
“Fine,” I agree. “Let’s begin.”
I shake the cup of dice and let them fall on the table between us—a five and a six. I grin. Lyra picks up the shot glass of Zorium moonshine and downs it. She shudders a breath and gestures for the dice.
She rolls a double, two twos. Smirking, she slides a shot glass of moonshine in front of me. I lift it to my lips, recoiling momentarily when the powerful reek of spirits hit my nostrils. Grimacing, I tip my head back and let the horrid, burning liquid slide down my throat. Lyra laughs when I cough and sputter.
“Yeah, it’s best not to let it touch your tongue,” she says.
“That stuff is vile,” I says. “Don’t you have anything better?”
She shrugs. “Nope! But you could always offer me a truthful answer instead. Maybe it won’t be so bad—spilling all your secrets to me. Probably better than a belly full of Zorium’s finest.”
“Just give me the dice,” I grumble. She hands the cup back to me and I curse when I roll an eight, and Lyra’s answering turn—a seven—has me choking down another swallow of the pungent booze.
So it goes for the next hour, the only sounds in the kitchen the rattle of dice in the cup, followed by our curses and steadily growing laughter. I have to hand it to Lyra—she’s been handling her drink well so far, but her giggles are coming too often now and her dice rolls feel a little looser.
Her nose wrinkles at the two fours I roll and I grin in triumph.
“Okay, I’ll be the brave one first. Hit me with your best question,” she groans.
I sit straighter, willing my brain into some semblance of sobriety. Now’s my chance to find out about the smuggling ring and Lyra’s resumé of criminal activities. But the words that fall from my lips aren’t about either of those things.
“Why are you working for Brill?” I ask.
She winces. I wait.
“Can I change my mind?” she grumbles. “I’d much rather face tomorrow’s hangover.”
“Hey, you set these rules,” I say. “Honest answers only.”
She glares at me, then sits back in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest. Her breasts squeeze together beneath her shirt and I fight through the pounding of need in my head.
“I don’t work for him,” she bites out, the words sounding like acid. “Brill is my patron. He bid for me when I came of age at seventeen.”
“Your patron?” I ask, suddenly sick with more than just head-spinning moonshine. The word lands heavy and my stomach knots. I can already picture the gleaming collar, the transaction that made her his. I’d suspected, of course—she’d as good as told me back on Amphitreas—but there’s a differencebetween knowing and feeling it like this, with her eyes blazing across from me.
“I thought you left Velusia.”
