Page 37 of Savage Princess

The bartender grunts at him as he reaches for two glasses—neither of them looking particularly clean—and pours a slug of vodka into one and a watery-looking red wine into the other. “If you’re looking for a game, son, head to the stairs. Keep your girl close if you do.” His cloudy brown gaze sweeps over me, more in an assessment than out of lust, and he glances back at Levin. “They’ll like her a little too much, if you know what I mean.”

Something in me thrills at hearing someone else call me Levin’s girl.I could get used to that,I think as my pulse leaps in my throat, my fingers still wrapped around his arm.

“Thanks for the advice,” Levin says coolly, taking the drinks and handing the man a folded bill. He passes the wine to me, and I look at it, unsure if I should actually drink it. It doesn’t look very appetizing.

“Stayveryclose to me,” Levin warns as we walk towards the steps. “There’ll probably be a less formal bar down there.” He slips a few folded bills into my hand. “Bring me a drink if you see I’m getting low, otherwise, stay near the bar and away from any other women. You don’t want anyone to think you’re a prostitute. At least once, come up and give me a kiss on the cheek or some other kind of affection, just to show you’re spoken for.”

I know it’s just a strategy on his part, but I still feel another thrill at Levin actuallyaskingme to touch him, to be affectionate with him, instead of fighting it as he so often does.If this is the gameIhave to play to be here, I hope we have to do this again.

The stairs down to the basement room are rickety, and I can smell the haze of cigarettes even more thickly down there. I know it’s going to cling to me to the point that I’ll have to shower immediately when we get back to the motel in order to avoid making everything in the room smell like it. There’s a low hum of male voices and bright female chatter, and as we step into the room, I see that it’s even more roughly furnished than the upstairs.

There’s a circular table where a number of rough-looking men are sitting at. The makeshift bar that Levin mentioned is in one corner—just a plywood bar with a man leaning against the wall behind it and a variety of liquor bottles and glasses scattered atop it. I see the women Levin mentioned too—all dressed in very little clothing and moving through the room, speaking to some of the men as they pass. A few are already situated in the laps of men at the table, and I have a flash of what might happen if Levin asked me to dothat. I don’t know if the idea terrifies or arouses me, but I also know it doesn’t matter.

Levin won’t go that far.

He gives me a meaningful glance that I know is meant to remind me of what we discussed, and then walks toward the table. “Room for one more, boys?” he asks as he sits down in an empty chair, adding money to the pot in the center of the table as the dealer starts to flick cards in his direction.

I have no idea how these games are played, no real idea if Levin is winning or losing. I caught glimpses of my father playing poker with his friends occasionally, but I have no understanding of what any of it means. Levin’s face is so utterly impassive that he could be either winning big or losing everything, and I wouldn’t have the slightest clue.

Which, I think, from the little Idoknow, is a good thing.

I keep an eye on his glass as I stand near the bar and sip at my wine. It’s sickly sweet and turns my already-anxious stomach, but I take tiny sips of it, not wanting to look out of place. By the time I see that Levin needs a drink, my glass is still mostly full.

Peeling off one of the bills he handed me, I pass it to the bartender. “Vodka, neat,” I tell him with an entirely unearned confidence—I’ve never ordered a drink at a bar in my life. I’m eternally glad at that moment that Levin’s drink of choice is something so simple.

The bartender glances at me with interest as he pours a healthy slug of vodka into the cloudy glass, more than what the bartender upstairs gave Levin. “This for you?” he asks with a smirk. “Cheap, neat vodka is no easy thing to swallow, little lady.”

There’s a leering note to the way he saysswallowthat tells me he’s thinking of something else entirely. I have to struggle to hide my distaste as I hand over the money and take the glass. “It’s not for me,” I say flatly. “It’s for my husband.”

His eyes instantly flick to my left hand, and I inwardly curse myself for that being the first thing I came up with. “No ring there,” he says, and I can hear the doubt in his voice, as if it should really matter whether I’m wearing a ring or not.

I don’t think many of the men in this place subscribe to the idea thatno means no, however.

“Hard times,” I tell him archly. “A ring doesn’t make a marriage.”

He glances at me, his expression suddenly changing, as if something about what I said struck a chord with him. “Well then,” he says finally. “You might be onto something there, little lady.” He nods towards the table. “Take your husband his vodka before I start thinking too hard about what a lucky man he is.”

Fingers trembling and heart pounding, I walk quickly towards the card table. Levin glances sideways at me as I approach, nudging his empty glass out of the way as I set the fresh drink down, and before I can lose my nerve, I swoop down and kiss his stubbled cheek.

He’s been inside of me in any number of ways, made me scream his name while he told me the filthiest things, and yet somehow the small act of bringing him a drink and kissing his cheek feels so intimate that it makes my chest clench with longing for more.

“Just something from yourwife,” I murmur, wanting to let him know the ruse that I’ve started. I can feel the eyes of the other men at the table, and I touch his arm lightly, straightening just as I see Levin’s face go taut. There’s a flash of pain in his eyes, a deep hurt, and I realize that I might have chosen the worst gambit to go with tonight.

Of course, Levin doesn’t want to be reminded of having a wife. A lover, sure. But awife, when his is dead?

I feel a wave of guilt as I back away from the table, looking for somewhere to wait as Levin continues his game.

What I do notice, as the game continues on, is that since I came to the table to deliver Levin’s drink, there are a lot more eyes on me. The men seem distracted, glancing over at me, a few even neglecting to pay attention to the girls on their laps. It makes me horribly uncomfortable, my skin crawling at the feeling of so many men undressing me with their eyes, but even I can’t fail to realize the advantage.

If they’re paying attention to me, they’re not paying as much attention to the cards in their hands. And that might mean the difference between Levin winning and losing, if someone else has been dealt an equally good hand.

When I see the cards being dealt out again, I cross back over to the table, gently resting my hands on Levin’s shoulders as I lean down to brush my lips over his cheek. “Do you need anything?” I ask quietly, making sure to lean forward enough that the draped neckline of my dress falls open just a little, enough to show the tops of my breasts. It’s a little bit of a dangerous game, considering the kind of place we’re in, but I trust Levin to take care of me.

“I’m fine.” He twists a little, though, meeting my lips with his so briefly that I could have almost imagined it. Still, it’s enough to solidify to anyone watching that I’m with him. I can feel the temperature in the room rise a little, the tension around the table thickening. Levin’s money now isn’t the only thing he has that they want—and they’re paying more attention to me than ever.

A knot of anxiety forms in my stomach, but I wait it out, sipping at the same glass of wine as I watch Levin play. I still have no idea if he’s winning or losing, and the suspense is driving me insane, twisted up with the thrill of this new adventure with him.

I know it’s dangerous. All of this is. But I’m not so sure that I care. With him, even the danger is just a different kind of excitement.

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