Page 50 of Reckless
I lurch forward with the huffing horse beside me, mind reeling and feet faltering.
Plagues, I need a plan.
The parade continues its melancholy march in the pale moonlight—little more than silver shadows painting the sand. “Plan” is a generous word for the idea that formulates, but desperation has me throwing caution to the wind. With a deep breath, I swallow my pride before forcing my feet to drag dramatically.
The rope tethering me to the beast grows taught, my heels grinding into the sand. At first, the Enforcer doesn’t deign to acknowledge my obvious resistance, and the horse he’s atop certainly doesn’t either. But after several drawn-out sighs and stubborn steps—
“What now, Gray?” He sounds utterly underwhelmed by my display.
“I’m tired.”
“Is that so?”
I scowl up at his shadowy shoulders. “It is.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?”I pant. “That’s all you have to say?Hmm?”
“Fine.” I can practically feel him smiling atop his high horse. “Hmm, it’s a shame you’re scared of horses.”
“I am not—” I sigh, taking a deep breath to hide my smile. This is exactly what I wanted. “I’ll get over it. I’m too tired to care at the moment.”
Now he offers a glance over his shoulder. “Let’s see it, then. Get on.”
I swallow, a reaction that I wish was dramatized. He extends a hand to help me up, his mouth kicking up at the corner. “Absolutely not.” I try to take a step back, straining against the rope. “I’m going to need… assistance.”
Now he really does smile. “You mean, you needhelp?”
“I am asking nothing of the sort.”
He shakes his head at me. “Still too stubborn to admit you’re asking for help, let alone that you need it.” I roll my eyes, looking anywhere but into his. “Go on, Gray. I want to hear you say it.”
I shake my head, tilting it toward the stars staring down on us. “You’re insufferable.”
“That’s not quite what I’m waiting to hear.”
A noise of disgust slips between my lips, a groan sounding of regret. “Fine. I need… your help.” I bite out the words, swallowing the bitter taste they leave behind.
He smiles at me then, startling in a way it shouldn’t be—not anymore. In response, he easily slips from his saddle to stand before me. My heart hammers in my chest, eyes flicking to the weapon at his side. I hold out my bound hands expectantly, smiling sweetly at him.
He watches me, his piercing eyes gliding over my face. “One wrong move, Gray,” he murmurs, “and I’ll bind you to the back of this horse. Understood?”
“Understood, Prince.”
He meets my mocking with the hint of a grin. And then he’s cutting me free with the knife I so desperately want in my palm. I don’t dare track his movements as he slides the small dagger back onto his hip, instead keeping my eyes locked on his. My wrists are red and raw, sore from hours of strain. I take my time massaging them, running fingers over the growing welts there until I’m sure his thoughts are far from the knife at his side.
Time for a distraction.
Lifting my eyes to his, I take one last deep breath in preparation for the lack of plan I’ve conjured. “All right,” I sigh. “Get me up there.”
His smile is far too teasing for my liking. “All right, then.” He stepsbehind me. His hands are hard on my hips before I can suck in another breath, sure and strong and sickeningly familiar. And then he’s lifting me up, up, up—
“Plagues!” I squeal, thrashing in his hold like I intended to. Every limb is flailing, desperate to flee from his grip out of what I hope looks like fear. My back is pressed against his chest while feet fly in front of me and hands reach behind to grasp at anything—his face, his arms, his hip as I slip the dagger from its sheath.
“What thehellis wrong with you?” He lowers me back onto solid ground, dodging an elbow I throw back in his direction. As soon as my boots hit the sand, I turn and stumble against him, reaching the hand holding his knife behind my back. Unable to risk tucking the weapon into the band of my pants where he will likely feel it, I flip the blade so its handle faces downward and silently say a prayer to Plague-knows-who. Only then do I let the knife drop toward the mouth of my boot.
I bite my tongue against the sting of pain, feeling blood begin to prickle my skin where the blade nicked my ankle. But then I’m biting my tongue against a smile.
