I checked my flintlock. The barrel was still warm. I had just finished a job in the lower pits of the Thonburi dungeons. A stray beast—too many eyes, not enough brains—had tried to bite my head off. I put a bullet between its eyes. It was exciting for a second. The flash, the recoil, the way the skull just... vanished. But that high never lasts.
I'm Chaiyo. I'm a mercenary. People say I'm jobless because I spend more time in noble bedrooms than in the mud. They aren't wrong.
I stood in the dim corridor of the Governor's estate. My boots were dirty, but my shirt was clean enough. I didn't care about the architecture. I didn't care about the history of this place. I only cared about the woman behind the heavy oak door. Malai. The Governor's wife.
I pushed the door open. No knocking. I don't knock.
She was sitting by the vanity. She didn't scream. She didn't even flinch. She just looked at me through the mirror. Her skin was the color of cream, flawless and tight against her bones. She was wearing a robe made of silk so thin it was practically a suggestion.
"You're late," Malai said. Her voice was like smooth honey with a drop of poison in it.
"The monster was stubborn," I replied. I walked over and put my hand on her shoulder. Her skin was hot. "Blasting a beast's head is a good rush, Malai. But I can never get enough of this. Of you."
I watched her expression in the glass. Her lips parted. A small, shaky breath escaped her. She wasn't scared of me. She was hungry.
"My husband is at the council," she whispered. She turned around, her eyes dark and heavy. "He won't be back until the sun hits the spires."
"I don't care about your husband," I said. I pulled her up. I wasn't gentle. I'm a mercenary, not a poet. My fingers dug into her waist, and she let out a soft groan that sounded like a plea.
I looked at her body. It was a masterpiece of indulgence. Every curve was designed to ruin a man. I felt that familiar heat rising in my chest—the same one I get when I pull the trigger, but deeper. Darker.
"Show me," I commanded.
I didn't wait for her to move. I moved for her. I reached out and undid the silk tie at her waist. The fabric slid off her shoulders without a sound, pooling at her feet like spilled milk.
She stood there, completely bare in the dim light. Her breasts rose and fell with her quickening breath. Her nipples were hard, peaking against the cool air of the room. I felt a smirk tugging at my lips.
"The Governor is a fool," I said, my voice dropping to a low growl. I stepped closer until my chest was brushing against her. "He has a treasure like this, and he spends his time talking about taxes and trade routes."
Malai reached up, her damp palms cupping my face. Her eyes were searching mine, looking for that darkness she knew I carried. "He doesn't know how to handle a weapon, Chaiyo. Not like you do."
I laughed. It wasn't a kind sound. I grabbed her hair, pulling her head back just enough so she had to look up at me. Her neck was long, pale, and inviting. I wanted to leave marks. I wanted everyone to know who had been here.
"I'm going to make you forget his name," I muttered.
I leaned down and bit the skin where her neck met her shoulder. She gasped, her back arching, her fingers digging into my leather vest. She didn't pull away. She pushed closer.
I picked her up. She was light, but her body felt solid, real. I carried her toward the large, canopied bed. The dungeon felt a thousand miles away. The blood on my boots didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the way she looked at me—like I was the only man in Thonburi who knew exactly what to do with a woman like her.
I tossed her onto the furs. She landed with a soft thud, her hair spreading out like a dark fan. She looked up at me, waiting. I started unbuckling my belt.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
"I haven't even started," I replied.