Reckless (The Powerless Trilogy Book 2)
Chapter 27

Water spews from my mouth.

I’m retching onto the crumbling alley street I’ve crawled onto. Panting, I roll onto my back, blinking into the dying sunlight.

I’m alive.

I’m alive.

I’m coughing and spitting and drenched in Plague knows what, but I’m alive.

I laugh up at the sky, my whole body shaking with the action.

I can practically hear Death cursing my name. My ears ring, and I’m trembling from head to toe. Just pulling myself out of the tunnel was—

My heart skips a beat, stuttering in my chest.

He saved me. He practically lifted me through that grate. He…

I kissed him. Again.

And now he’s dying at the bottom of a sewer.

I scramble to the edge of the grate, frantically scanning the cloudy water. I can just make out the faint outline of his body as it sinks toward the floor of the tunnel.

My mind races, my heart following.

I could leave him. I could leave him and be done with this. Because no one but him could catch me, no one but him could replace me again once I disappear.

This is my escape. This is my freedom.

This is wrong.

I pull at my hair, my frustration taking a physical form. If I save him, I may be damning myself. And yet, that is exactly what he did. Saving me has him sinking to his death.

I shake my head at my reflection in the murky water.

And then I dive into it.

It’s anything but graceful. My face meets the surface right as I remember that I haven’t swam a day in my life. Panic pulses through me, but I push it aside and force my legs to propel me forward. With flailing arms and feet, I manage to swim deeper.

I scan the water, replaceing him drifting a few feet from me. I kick hard, forcing myself forward as I reach for him. I wrap an arm around his chest, my lungs screaming at me for air. When my feet replace the tunnel floor, I push off it with shaking legs.

We cut through the water, heading for the open grate above. I kick with every bit of fight I can replace, keeping my eyes on the sky above. My hand reaches blindly for the lip of the grate, fumbling for something to hold on to. With lungs burning in silent protest, I’m tempted to drop the Enforcer and climb to freedom.

But my slippery fingers curl around the ledge before I heave us upward. My head breaks through the surface, and I don’t waste a second before gulping down air. With one hand now clutching his arm, I use the other to pull myself onto the street. Then I lie on my stomach, hooking both arms under his shoulders, and pull him upward.

His head bobs above the surface, his eyes closed and hair tousled like running ink. I grunt with the effort of trying to lift his upper body onto the street. Only now can I see what it was he brought with him into the sewer. A chain jangles around his neck, practically choking him. I pull it off, not giving it another thought as I toss it aside to continue pulling him up, inch by inch.

I’m panting before half his body is even lying on the cobblestones, the other half still soaking in the sewer. It’s a struggle to flip him onto his back, but I somehow manage to roll him over. His head lolls to the side, eyes closed against the setting sun. I wait for something to happen, anything at all.

But he’s not breathing.

He’s doing nothing but dying.

Is that not what I’ve wanted?

“No,” I mutter. “No. I didn’t dive back in there for you to die.” I pat his face. I pat harder. Then I’m slapping him like I’ve always said I would. Nothing. “No. No.”

My hands replace the center of his chest and begin pumping, begin trying to purge him of the water he’s swallowed. “Come on, Azer,” I whisper. My vision has gone blurry, but I don’t bother to recognize the tears welling in my eyes. “Don’t be dramatic,” I order. “Open your damn eyes.”

I’m pushing hard on his chest, pleading with him. How pathetic. I don’t know why I care. This is exactly what I should want. To have tried my best and still be free of him. This is the ideal situation. I can walk away from this moment without guilt dragging me back to it for the rest of my life.

So why am I fighting back tears?

“Come on,” I whisper, continuing my rhythmic pumping. “Come on, you stubborn bastard.”

His eyelids flutter open.

I jump away from him, giving him room to turn and wretch. A tear rolls down my face as I laugh shakily, relief flooding every bit of my strained body. “I almost gave up on you.”

He drags himself fully over the grate, breathing heavily at the sky. His head turns to the side, eyes studying me intensely. He coughs before choking out, “I’m shocked you even bothered to try.”

I nod slowly, allowing what I’ve done to settle in. “It’s a regret I’ll have to live with.”

We watch each other, his gray eyes unwavering. It feels different, this look. The look of two people who now share another secret. Nothing has changed between us, and yet, nothing will ever be the same again. The things Death made us say, the kiss we shared thinking it was our last, can never be undone.

I’ve already failed twice at resisting him, and I won’t let it happen again.

Hopefully.

He is my enemy, my captor, my escort toward death. I will not let him also be my weakness. Not again.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice gruff. “You never cease to surprise me.”

“Apparently, neither do you,” I say softly, fingers brushing my lips subconsciously. His smile is swift, distracting one moment, then gone the next.

I look away, feeling annoyingly bashful. Wet hair is plastered across my face, and I take my time wringing out the strands. I ignore the very tangible feel of his gaze on me and focus instead on calming my breathing, stilling my shaking body.

I hesitate before lying down beside him. “Thank you, too.” My voice is quiet. I fold my hands over my stomach, feeling suddenly conscious of the fact that I could easily reach out and touch him. “You saved me first.”

He gives me a weak laugh. “I’m shocked you even admitted that.”

I roll my eyes at the pink clouds above us. Then I sigh, spinning the slippery ring on my thumb. “Lenny would be calling me a cockroach if he were here.”

“A cockroach?” He turns his head to look at me. “I mean, I’ve been called far worse, but—”

“I’m sure you have,” I cut in. “Specifically by me.”

His laugh is tired. “That I have.”

I’m quiet for a moment, content to feel him watch me as I stare at the sky above. “He says I somehow always manage to survive. Lenny, that is. Though I’m still deciding whether that’s a gift or a curse.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “If I were a different man, a better man, I might tell you that surviving is always a gift. But”—he chuckles darkly—“you and I both know that I’m not. And that I know better than most that surviving is sometimes more painful than death.”

I nod slowly. Of course he would understand. He always does. “I am glad I survived this time, though. That was not how I’d planned on dying.”

There’s a serious sort of humor coating his voice. “You’ve planned your death?”

“I’ve planned my ideal death.” I shrug. “I was born to die. And when you spend your whole life running from the inevitable, you think a lot about the end. I guess you could say I have a preference.”

He’s silent for several heartbeats. “And what preference would that be?”

“What, taking notes for when the king orders you to kill me?” I laugh lightly as though the thought hasn’t kept me up at night. But I rush on, not waiting for his response. “I want an end like those I loved most. Stabbed through the chest with a smile on my face.”

“Paedyn…,” he starts softly.

“That’s what I want,” I say flatly. “I want to feel what they felt. I want to feel like I’m with them one last time while I’m still alive.”

“That’s… admirable, in its own, twisted way.” He’s quiet for a moment, contemplating something. “And I’m sorry I was the first to start that pattern.”

I’m suddenly sitting up, turning away from him. I wish he hadn’t said that, hadn’t apologized for being the first to stab someone I loved. I wish he had known it was my father who was his first mission. I wish he had lied. It would make hating him so much easier.

“Do you have a preference in how you die?” I ask, avoiding his apology.

“I’ve never thought about it.”

I snort. “Of course you haven’t. Because people like you don’t expect to die anytime soon.”

“Maybe,” he says softly. “Or maybe I’m just trying to ignore the fact that I’m not immortal.”

“How very wise of you, Enforcer.” I wring out my hair one last time as I scan the alleyway we’ve crawled into. It’s shadowy now, helping to hide us in the dying light. We’re tucked into the corner of a dead end, the sewer grate still open at our feet. But even with the streets being slowly abandoned for the evening, I still have no intention of sitting here in plain sight of anyone who happens by this alley.

“It’s not safe here,” I start. “Those guards will be looking for us.”

“Are we going to talk about it?” he asks, suddenly seeming much closer to me. He’s sitting up now, combing back damp hair with his fingers.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

A cocky laugh. “Is that so? I could remind you, if you like?”

“It was a mistake,” I huff, turning to look into his face that is far too close. “This one and the one before.”

“The only mistake was not making it sooner.”

“I… That’s…” I’m stuttering. He smiles in that way that makes me want to slap him. Then he’s inching closer, slowly stealing the small space that separates us.

“No”—his fingers trail up my neck to trace my jaw—“the mistake was tasting you now that you likely won’t let me do it again.”

I swallow. Shudder. Suck in a breath.

Plagues help me.

His face is close enough for me to make a bad decision with little effort. Rough fingers are tangled in my hair, brushing the sensitive skin on my neck. Water drips from the tips of his hair, clinging to thick lashes surrounding the eyes staring heatedly into mine.

“You’re right,” I say breathlessly. “I won’t let you kiss me again.”

Lie.

I’m leaning in with every word falling from the lips that desperately want to meet his again. The corner of his mouth lifts, drawing my attention. “Are you sure about that?” His breath is warm, filling me with heat. I nod absentmindedly, my thoughts on anything but keeping my word.

A calloused hand is cupping my face, rougher than the reverence in which he held me earlier. I melt into his touch, leaning closer as his eyes drift to my lips. It’s intoxicating, watching him drink me in.

He inches closer, his hand roaming down my neck.

My breath catches as his lips brush mine and—

Something clamps around my ankle with a click.

I pull away, looking down to see the metal chain he brought out of the sewer with him. A single ankle cuff occupies each end of the three-foot chain. And he’s just fastened one of them to me.

“What the hell—”

I haven’t even finished spewing the rest of my profanity before he’s clamping the other end of the chain to his own ankle. My eyes drift from his end to mine, blinking at the short length tethering us together.

When I replace my voice, it’s deceptively calm. “What did you do?”

“I just ensured that my mission makes it back to Ilya with me.”

I blink at him; at the blank expression he’s plastered onto his face. “You… you chained us together?!”

He shrugs. “It was the only way to ensure you’d stay with me.”

“And you…” My mind reels as I drag my fingers through my hair. “You planned this before we even left the prison. That’s why you took this chain from the wall.” I shake my head, scoffing as I turn away from him. “You bastard.”

I feel sick. I feel used. I feel at fault for this. Because I did this to myself. Not only did I save the Enforcer, but I also let myself want him. But it was nothing more than distraction to the prince. A means to an end. And I was stupid enough to think it could have meant anything more.

The pathetic are punished. And now I’m chained to my captor.

“Paedyn—”

“Don’t,” I cut in quietly. “Don’t say my name.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes; there one blink and gone the next. “It was the only way,” he repeats quietly.

“Your mission needs a bath,” I say flatly. “And a bed.”

He stares at me, seeming to search for something in my eyes. “Okay.”

I stand to my feet and walk on shaky legs until the chain grows taught. It tugs at my ankle, already tempting to tear skin. I strain to take another step, yanking at his leg.

I turn around, pulling on a mask of my own to smother my anger and hurt. “Try to keep up, Prince.”