Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) Rebecca Grey (first e reader txt) 📖

Mica sits behind the desk reading letters he pulls from long envelopes. My eyes start to flutter closed, the very least I can do right now is rest them. Maybe then I can forget about the discomfort of my full bladder.

A knock sounds against the door. I snap my eyes open. Mica lifts his head, setting the papers in his hand down on the desk. A smile teases at the edges of his lips as he answers, "Come in."

The door cracks open and another man, with the same dark curly hair, pokes his head in. He pushes glasses up his nose before they slip from his face. As soon as he speaks, I recognize the voice. "I've gathered up the money from all the patrons except one. I think I'll need your help, he's being rather rough with one of the girls too."

"Fuck." Mica pushes out of his chair. He opens a drawer in his desk, one that rattles as the contents roll about. He pulls a short knife from the drawer and slips it into a small sheath that dangles from his belt. "I'm sick of this shit."

Mica would no doubt use that blade on me should the occasion arise. I hold my breath as he gets up and moves toward the door. His steps slow as the man holds it open for him. He inhales and his brows pull together.

My skin goes cold, a nervous sweat building in my palms. I don't move. I don't breathe. I don't even dare to truly think. Sometimes my thoughts alone are so loud I swear they draw the attention of Hybrids.

The Vampire runs a hand over his chest, settling it against his abdomen. He looks around the room then squints at the man in his doorway. "Do you smell cigarette smoke?"

Oh, Saints. Oh, no!

The man with the glasses sniffs the air, then gives a slight shake of his head. This small action relaxes Mica. It relaxes me too, as the Vampire takes another step toward the door, his hand reaching for the light switch.

"If I find out one of these Elves is smoking around any of our whores, I'll kill ‘em," He growls. “Also, this reminds me, we need to ready a few rooms to host the meeting of the Resistance. I’d hate to start our challenge for the crown off on the wrong foot.” The light flicks off and the door closes firmly behind him.

My ears practically pull away from my head at the small line of information I’d just gotten. Spying often comes with the job and I’m not complaining because I can usually sell the information when necessary. And this is new information. Is Mica somehow connected to Genovese, Parlakey, and Spects? Are they all a part of this ‘Resistance’? Or perhaps more than one person is trying to take down the king? Either way, I tuck his words back in my mind for safe keeping.

With another door between him and I, I let go of a long exhale and push aside the closet door. Static clings the coat sleeves to my back as I take a step out and their arms follow me like hands that mean to snatch me back into hiding. I'm not sure how long Mica intends to be gone, but I'm not likely to hang about and find out.

I close the closet door and make my way to the only exit that leads to the rest of the building. Pressing my ear against the wood, I listen for anyone on the other side. The general music and disturbingly cheerful Elfish jolliness greet me. None of it near enough for concern. My hand skims the knob, my palm still damp. I grab it and twist, thrusting myself out in the hallway in one quick step.

No one waits outside, but the hall abruptly turns, hiding me from anyone's view. Voices carry, a general conversation and nothing more. I pull the door closed behind me and sulk forward to avoid getting caught lingering by Mica's door.

I round the corner to find a couple kissing against their room, not yet ready to enter. They don't come up for air even as I pass. A few rooms down two girls whisper to one another, their gazes lift to me, but they don't stop their conversations. I lower my chin, praying to the Saints that my features are shadowed enough. Both the girls are Elves themselves, and their sharp pointed ears stick out from elaborate updos. Skin tight dresses hug their curves and press their breasts up to their chins.

Beyond the women selling their bodies, the upper level opens up, just as Hedda's had. A wide staircase curves down to the first floor, its railings built with hand carved supports made to look like large shapely beetles. An odd statement to have in a place like this. Beetles are often the symbol for the Saint of Self-Control, and there’s hardly any of that going on here.

I head for the stairs. At the top of the staircase I can see to the arrangement below. Booths are pressed into every wall with curtains strung up from the ceiling, some are open and some are closed. Half-naked women of a variety of races giggle and dance in front of their customers. I scan the floor, looking for someone who may be easiest to take with me.

Mica's voice interrupts my thoughts. "If you can't pay, then you can't stay." And his words are followed by the scuff of boots being dragged across the floor.

For my own safety, I don't look back as I start down the stairs. My steps beat as fast as my racing heart. When I come to the bottom step, I try to control the annoying uptick in emotions. Fear. Like many of the jobs I'd taken before, I have myself a moment