Page 87 of Seven Oars
She looked around, noting the hyper-focused attention from the pirates who’d moved out of the way.
Ucai’s fists were clenched, and dark veins pulsed in his arms with every hit, every jab, every move. Alyesha was now by his side, tracking the fast-moving bodies with bright eyes.
What was she doing?
Rosamma refused to guess.
Phex held his own against the Striker until, somehow, the Striker got the upper hand.
Phex wobbled—still upright, still fighting.
“You wanna see a clean move, by the fucking rules?” Fincros growled.“Here’s one.”
It happened too fast to follow: Phex doubled over… rallied… then rammed into the Striker, only to get picked up and pile-driven into the floor, setting off the vibrations that seemed to echo through the entire space station.
He did not get up.
Someone cheered.Ucai grunted in displeasure.
Fincros planted his boot on Phex’s head.
He looked worse for wear himself, face bloody and grimy, dirtied hair falling from his tight knot to stick to the burn marks on his right cheekbone. His shirt was torn, and Rosamma glimpsed ropey, bulging veins snaking up his arms and shoulder.
On him, this expression of physical strength was a sign of unchecked male aggression. There was nothing attractive about it. She abhorred the sight, knowing he’d never used his power to protect, only to punish.
Beasts, all of them. Vile, mindless beasts.
“You ruined my shirt.” The Striker’s voice came out hoarser than usual and a little wheezy.
A jab of dark satisfaction pierced Rosamma’s battered heart.
He wasn’t immune to pain. Phex had given as good as he got, and he’d hurt that… asshole.
Asshole, she repeated snidely in her head.Scum.
Phex swiped at the foot that was flattening the side of his face.
The foot was removed, only to deliver a vicious kick that left him gasping and gagging.
The Striker looked down at his shirt, which, like the shirts of everyone on Seven Oars, resembled a poorly preserved rag from prehistoric times. Phex couldn’t have ruined it. It had been beyond repair long before he set foot on Seven Oars.
“Yep, ruined,” the Striker confirmed for the room.“I think I’ll take yours. As a prize.”
Another humiliation, that’s what it was.
Phex still wore his defender uniform, a beautiful, strong garment that remained whole after everything he’d endured.
Now, the Striker was claiming it and making a show of it.
All of it was one giant show.
He could’ve claimed Phex’s shirt at any time. He could’ve had any woman, or all the women, in every way possible. He could’ve simply killed them at capture.
But no. Too easy.
Because games.
“Hey, I wanted that shirt!”Ucai rushed over, elbowing the Striker.
