The underbelly of Zaun is a labyrinth of grit and grime, and this bar—aptly named The Rusty Shank—is its beating, booze-soaked heart. The air is thick with smoke and the sharp tang of cheap liquor, curling around the rough-hewn crowd like a lover’s caress. Clinking glasses punctuate the low growl of conversation, while the faint hum of danger vibrates beneath it all, a reminder that in a place like this, a wrong look can cost you more than your pride. Dim lanterns cast flickering shadows over scarred tables, and at one such table, I’m sprawled across Sevika’s lap like I own the damn place.
Her mechanical arm, a masterpiece of cold steel and raw power, rests casually around my waist, anchoring me to her as if I might float away on the haze of alcohol buzzing through my veins. She’s deep in her card game, her sharp gray eyes flicking over her hand with the precision of a predator sizing up prey. The other players—gruff, grizzled men with faces like weathered leather—hunch over their cards, their knuckles white from gripping too tight. They’re losing, and they know it. Worse, they’ve got me as a distraction, and the glares they shoot my way could melt steel.
I shift restlessly, the heat of Sevika’s thigh beneath me doing little to soothe the restless itch under my skin. I’m three drinks past sensible, and boredom is a beast gnawing at my patience. Leaning in, I press my lips close to her ear, my breath hot and deliberate as I murmur, “Sev, I’m dying over here. This game’s slower than a chemtech slug. Entertain me.”
She doesn’t even look at me, her focus still locked on the cards. A smirk tugs at the corner of her scarred mouth, though, and her voice comes low, a teasing rumble that sends a spark straight down my spine. “Patience, princess. Behave, or I’ll make you.”
I pull back just enough to pout at her, my lips pursed in exaggerated indignation. “Behave? Me? You’re the grumpy old card shark hoarding all the fun. I’m just sittin’ here, pretty as a picture, and you’re ignorin’ me.” My words slur together, a little messy, a little playful, but they get the reaction I want—a sharp, amused glance from those storm-cloud eyes of hers.
Her grip on my hip tightens, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to make my breath hitch. It’s a warning, wrapped in possessive heat, and I can’t help the shiver that races through me. “Keep runnin’ that mouth, doll,” she mutters, her tone dark and promising, “and you’ll see how fast I shut it.”
The other players aren’t as charmed by our little exchange. A low grumble ripples through them, and one—a burly man with a face like a smashed crate—mutters something crude under his breath. I catch the tail end of it, something about “keeping your doll in check,” and the air around Sevika shifts. Her smirk vanishes, replaced by a dangerous glint that could cut glass. She leans forward, her mechanical arm flexing with a faint whir, and her voice drops to an icy hiss that silences the table.
“Say that again, bastard. I dare you. Disrespect my wife one more time, and I’ll carve that tongue out of your head and feed it to the rats.”
The man blanches, his bravado crumbling under the weight of her stare. The others shift uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in their cards. I can’t help but giggle, the drama tickling me as much as the liquor does. Leaning into Sevika’s neck, I nuzzle against her, my lips brushing her skin as I whisper, “My big, bad protector. What would I do without you scaring off the riffraff?”
Her jaw tightens, a subtle flare of jealousy flickering through her as she shifts me closer on her lap. That mechanical hand flexes again, a silent reminder to everyone here that I’m hers, and hers alone. She’s split now, half her attention on the game, half on the way I’m pressing myself against her. I can feel the tension in her, the way she’s torn between finishing this hand and dealing with me.
I’m not done, though. I want her eyes on me, not those damn cards. Whining louder, I let my hands wander over her broad shoulders, tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath her shirt. “Seeev,” I drawl, dragging out her name like a petulant child, “I’m bored. Pay attention to me. I’m way more interesting than a lousy game of cards.”
She growls under her breath, a mix of irritation and amusement, her voice a low mutter meant just for me. “You’re a spoiled little doll, you know that? Can’t sit still for five damn minutes without causin’ a scene.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t cause a scene if you weren’t ignorin’ me,” I shoot back, batting my lashes at her with mock innocence. “C’mon, Sev. I’m your princess, right? Treat me like one.”
That does it. With a sharp exhale, she tosses her cards down mid-game, ignoring the indignant protests from the other players. Her full attention snaps to me, and the wicked, predatory smirk that curves her lips sends a thrill straight through my core. She leans in, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that’s all heat and promise. “Fine, princess. You’re so bored? I’m done playin’ nice. I’ll give you somethin’ to keep that pretty head of yours occupied.”
Before I can sass her again, she’s on her feet, hoisting me up with ease despite my drunken squeak of protest. Her strength is effortless, her grip unyielding as she drags me off her lap and onto my unsteady feet. The table—and the game—are forgotten as she steers me toward a darker corner of the bar, her intent as clear as the hunger in her eyes. The smoky haze closes around us, the noise of the bar fading into a distant hum, and I know I’ve poked the beast one too many times tonight. Not that I’m complaining.
Want to know how it ends?
This is just the opening chapter. Continue the saga — or write a steamy tale starring you.