By Colleen Foley
Sunitra had left me to wait for Seth with a bottle of whiskey and an altruistic smile. Her parting shot had been whispered, almost sadly, against my temple.
“Go see one of the pretty ones.”
Seth had come and gone. He’d stunk of herbs, and a need darker than anything any of the “pretty ones” was going to fix.
Sunitra opened the door, stared warily at me.
“What do you…?”
I stepped in, turned her around, and pinned her against the wall.
I stared at the bindings, considering.
“Let’s see if I can do it without pain, pretty one.”