" Next time I expect you to act a little friendlier and remember that we would like to get out of here before we die.”
He rises to leave but I stand quickly as well, leaning over the table and shoving my finger in his face.
“And next time you try and remember that you’re not my pimp, I’m not one of your girls and if you want my help you’ll watch the way you talk to me. Understood?”
This is a moment in my life when I seriously wonder if I’m going to get slapped. I’m mouthing off to a Stable Boy from The Hive, a guy whose job it is to keep women in line, doing what they’re told and making the very testy, very violent men at the top of his food chain happy. He minds the coffers and the coins all have PMS. It can’t be an easy job. It could easily be one he manages with an iron fist.
His jaw works under the taught skin of his face. It clenches and releases as he chews on what I’ve said. He carefully, dispassionately considers me. His calm is freaking me out. I’d rather he was yelling. I’d almost rather he hit me. Eventually what he does is smile.
“Understood, Kitten.” he replies, his voice low and rough.
His eyes bore into me with a heat that I recognize. A hunger I’ve seen before. "

― Tracey Ward