fight, have sex, then fight some more. Jecis was never afraid to use physical force, but he must have avoided the girl’s face, because she never emerged with visible bruises.
He wasn’t sure what he would have done if he’d heard Jecis beating Vika.
Vika, the contradiction. She’d sprung from the loins of the heartless Jecis, and yet she was kind. She’d helped Solo even though he’d heard Jecis order her to stay away, placing herself in danger.
Danger. From her own father. That wasn’t supposed to be the way of things. Especially with a female like her, handicapped by deafness, unable to hear her destruction coming, and as tiny as a fairy princess, unable to withstand very much abuse before breaking.
Even the thought of a single strike to any part of her body filled Solo with one of the darkest rages he’d ever experienced.
He wanted, needed, to talk with her. He could help her, and she could help him. She could be his biggest ally—he wanted her to be his biggest ally. But though she visited him three times a day, she never looked at him to read his lips.
Every morning she appeared mere minutes after Jecis’s departure, as if she was hiding somewhere close, watching and waiting. She returned in the afternoon, though never at the same time, and then again in the evening. She would give Solo food and water, and even rags and enzyme spray to clean himself, but she wouldn’t speak a word.
So many times Solo had almost grabbed her arm. If she wouldn’t talk to him, he couldn’t get her to help him. If he couldn’t get her to help him, he would have to force her. He would have to remove her thumb with his fangs or his claws, as he’d planned the first time he’d met her. Then he could hijack the trailer and drive her to a hospital, where the thumb could be reattached. But . . . he could never get past the image of her blood running down her arm as she clutched the wound to her chest. Could never get past the horror of hearing her scream from the pain. Could never get past the idea that she would cry.
Oh, if she cried, he would be a goner.
He was disgusted with himself. Freedom should come before anything, especially a woman partly responsible for his circumstances. Yet he’d come to accept two startling facts. With or without the vow, he wouldn’t be able to so much as scratch her and he had to include “keeping Vika safe from everyone else” in his plans.
“Feeling better, I see,” a female voice said, jerking him out of his head. “You’re even sitting up like a big boy. You must be so proud.”
He focused on the here and now. Audra was propped against the corner of his cage. She wore a black, bra-like top, with multicolored sequins sewn along the edges, a mix of yellow, blue, green, and red. Those same sequins were pasted to her bare shoulders and down her arms, along her—
One of the spider tattoos had moved from the inside of her elbow to her wrist.
Temporary tattoos, then. Though he’d never seen any that looked so real. He finished his study of her. Her middle was utterly bare. A pair of black panties covered her essentials, and a pair of fishnet stockings clung to her legs, though they were only visible to her knees. High-heeled boots looked painted to her lower calves and feet. A peacock tail rose from behind her, fanning up and out.
Her slick of dark, pink-striped hair was pinned into a bun, and her makeup was so thick and wild she almost appeared inhuman. Her eyes did appear inhuman. Contacts dusted the green with glitter. Her lashes were the color of the feathers, blue and green and black, fanning out over her brows and temples.
“Still have nothing to say to me?” she asked, and sucked a lollipop into her mouth.
One of the spiders popped its legs from her skin and walked down her arm.
No way. Just no way. Had to be the drugs, messing with his mind. He had to be hallucinating. “What would you like me to say?”
Lick. A slow, sensuous grin curled the corners of her lips, and she hummed her approval. “Why don’t you start with how beautiful I am?” Liiick.
She was beautiful, there was no denying that, but Solo knew better than most how deceptive appearances could be. He’d never been one to judge by exterior.
The