Primal Bond (Warlords of Vasz #4)

26. Chapter 26

Chapter twenty-six

Z anik leaned back in his seat, his fingers drumming against the table. The air in the club was thick with anticipation. The earlier exchange between the rival smugglers had left everyone on edge, and Zanik could feel the eyes of other Borraq boring into him, waiting for the inevitable clash.

Rivek was across the room, surrounded by his sycophants, guzzling down another drink. Zanik watched him through half-lidded eyes, feigning drunkenness himself. It was a plan he and Finn had crafted. He needed to appear vulnerable, baiting Rivek into making the first move.

"You handle the cargo runs so efficiently, Zanik," a particularly obsequious Borraq said, leaning in closer than Zanik liked. "What’s your secret?"

Zanik's lip curled in disdain, but he kept his voice measured. "Discipline. Something most lack." His tone was as cold as the space outside.

The sycophant laughed, a grating sound that made Zanik's horns itch. "Indeed, indeed. Discipline is key. That's very insightful."

Zanik felt a flicker of amusement from Finn at his feet. The human's shoulders shook slightly, probably stifling a laugh at the absurd flattery. Zanik couldn’t blame him. The fawning was almost unbearable.

"Your slave looks well-behaved," another Borraq commented, eyeing Finn with interest.

Zanik's gaze sharpened. "He knows his place." The words came out harsher than intended, but it served the purpose. The other Borraq backed off, cowed by the implied threat.

Inside, Zanik’s thoughts churned. He loathed the pretense, the necessity of playing along with these sycophants. He'd never loved this. He didn't do what he did for attention or notoriety.

Each interaction felt like swallowing bile, but it was crucial. Every second he held their attention, he edged closer to the spark that would set his plan aflame.

He turned his attention back to the room, surveying the tense atmosphere. Rivek’s laughter boomed, drawing the attention of the club’s patrons.

It was almost time.

He leaned back further, letting his eyelids half-lid as if succumbing to inebriation. Inside, he was a coiled spring, ready to snap. The pieces were in place. All he needed now was the right moment to strike…

The sycophants around him continued their mindless chatter, oblivious to the storm brewing. A lanky Borraq with a penchant for empty compliments leaned closer. “You really know what you're doing, Zanik. Rivek’s just been lucky lately. It’s all luck. Without that, he’s nothing.”

The words cut through the chatter, and Zanik felt the tension ripple across the room. He kept his expression neutral, though he suppressed a smirk.

A Borraq from Rivek's entourage bristled at the comment. “Lucky? Rivek’s got true skill.”

“Skill?” the lanky Borraq sneered. “What a joke — much like you, Tariak!”

Laughter erupted from both sides, the atmosphere heating up as the two groups began hurling insults.

Zanik watched the exchange, a bemused smile creeping onto his face. The pettiness of it all amused him. “No, it's true. Luck is important," he declared, raising his voice enough to cut through the din. "And when it comes to luck, I have it in spades. Fortune eternally smiles upon me.”

Across the room, Rivek narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint flickering in them. “Oh, really? You think you can back that up?”

Zanik leaned back in his seat, pretending to fumble with the drink in his hand, swaying slightly. “Always. Luck has her favorites, after all.”

“Prove it,” Rivek challenged, his voice slicing through the laughter. “Let’s see where your luck can take you.”

The crowd buzzed with excitement. Zanik’s heart raced, but it was the thrill of the game that fueled him. This was what he lived for, the rush of confrontation. He rose slowly, his movements deliberate as he made his way toward Rivek's table, Finn trailing wordlessly behind him.

Zanik's mind whirred. This was what he wanted — but it could go sideways quickly. As he approached, he felt the weight of the eyes in the room, all anticipating a spectacle.

But as Zanik approached Rivek’s table, the Borraq around them faded into the background, their voices becoming indistinct as the rivalry between him and Rivek flared to life. Zanik held Rivek’s murderous gaze, feeling the weight of the challenge hanging between them.

“I was the lucky one to find you here, Rivek,” Zanik drawled, forcing a casual tone into his voice. “Been meaning to have a word in person.”

Rivek leaned back, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “Really? Because it feels like you’ve been dodging me like a coward, Zanik. Hiding behind your smuggling routes and making small deals while I’m out here running the show.”

“Running the show? You mean throwing money around like a drunken fool? That’s not skill or luck — that’s desperation.”

The crowd shifted, excitement crackling in the air as they watched the exchange. Rivek’s grin widened, revealing sharp teeth. “Desperation? Is that what you think? Perhaps you’d like to test your luck in a game, then. High stakes, my friend.”

“Gambling? With what?” Zanik countered, arching an eyebrow. “Neither of us has anything of value on us right now but drink money and promises — not that I’d trust you to pay up, anyway.”

Rivek’s expression darkened for a moment, annoyance flickering across his features. But then, his eyes lit up, glinting with mischief. “I think we have a little more with us right now than mere drink money." His gaze slipped past Zanik. "What if we upped the ante? How about we wager our slaves?”

Rivek's eyes raked over Finn, lingering with a suggestive glint that made Zanik's blood boil. Finn shifted slightly, tense but keeping himself together, acting out his role.

This was it. This was exactly what Zanik wanted to arrange.

But that didn't make it feel any better.

Zanik's fingers itched to grab the hilt of his blade, to end Rivek's leering once and for all — but that would give the game away. Instead, he let out a snarky laugh. "Your slave looks half-dead, Rivek. Why would I want him?" Zanik's voice dripped with disdain, masking the possessive, primal fury bubbling beneath his surface.

Rivek's grin widened, savage and knowing. "Ah, but that's the beauty of it, Zanik. A properly broken-in pleasure slave knows their place. No backtalk, no resistance, just pure, obedient service." He grabbed Asher by the chin, forcing his head up for the crowd to see. "Look at him. Not a flicker of defiance. He knows his role: a beautifully-trained thing ."

The crowd murmured in approval, eyes gleaming with a sick fascination. Zanik's stomach churned. Asher's eyes remained hollow, as if he were staring through everyone and everything around him. The display was revolting, and Zanik's fists clenched under the table.

Rivek continued, his voice oozing with a twisted pride. "Humans all start off fighting like Kanrian wildcats, but you wouldn’t believe how compliant they can be. How easily they bend to your will, their bodies pliant and ready for whatever you desire. No fuss, no fight. Just complete and utter submission..."

Rivek's hand moved to Asher's shoulder, sliding down his arm in a mockery of affection. Asher didn't flinch, didn't react at all, a puppet devoid of strings. "Behold the work of a master."

"I get it, Rivek," Zanik cut him off, his voice sharp. "You've made your point." He forced himself to sit down at the table, leaning back with an air of casual interest. "I'm in."

The words tasted like ash, but he had to stop Rivek's vile display. Every second of Rivek's speech was a torment, and Zanik couldn't bear to hear another word of it. He had to play the game, had to act like he wanted Asher, even though the thought of leaving him in Rivek's hands made his skin crawl.

This was a game he had to win, not just for his own sake, but for theirs.

Zanik leaned back in his chair, his face a mask of casual indifference. "Stand over there," he barked at Finn and Asher, gesturing to the side of the table. "Let everyone see what's at stake."

As the two humans shuffled into place, standing posed by the side of the table, Zanik forced himself not to look at Finn. It was all part of the plan, he reminded himself.

Act like Finn means nothing. Make Rivek believe it.

But his chest tightened at the thought of if this went wrong.

Across the table, Rivek's smirk widened, oozing confidence. "Ready to lose it all, Zanik?" he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Zanik matched it with his own cocky grin, though inside his stomach churned. "In your dreams," Zanik shot back, leaning forward. "I've got luck on my side tonight."

Luck, and connections.

Kelara. He'd taken a quick break from the club after Finn had shared his plan — his stupid, dangerous, risky plan. Zanik had gone back to his shuttle, pretending to check in on a shipment in progress. In a quick, hushed exchange over the comms, he'd given Kelara some very unusual instructions, getting her to set certain things in motion.

Now all he could do was hope that she delivered.

It felt strange, this reliance on others. Zanik had clawed his way to the top by trusting no one, relying solely on his own cunning and strength. Yet here he was, at the most crucial moment, blindly putting his faith in someone who could possibly stab him in the back and take everything from him.

Because if this failed... Zanik's eyes flicked briefly to Finn, taking in his tense posture, the worry barely hidden beneath his submissive facade.

He couldn't lose him.

Not now, not ever.

"Well?" Rivek's impatient voice cut through Zanik's thoughts. "Are we playing or not?"

Zanik met Rivek's gaze, steeling himself. "Let's do this," he growled, reaching for the deck of cards on the table.