Read Online The Outworlder by S.K. Valenzuela - Free Book Online Page B

ale for the whole place that I can
win.”
    “You don’t have any money!”
    “No,” she said, flashing him another smile,
“but you do.”
    She twirled around and started to make her
way through the tables, hearing Jared sigh and slide out of the
booth to follow her. She shrugged it off. Jared seemed to think she
needed almost constant supervision when she was around other
people. Sometimes things didn’t go well, she had to admit. But that
didn’t mean she couldn’t handle herself.
    She reached the men and stood there for a
moment, waiting for them to notice her. When they ignored her, she
cleared her throat.
    “I want in,” she said. “Let me play.”
    The men turned to face her finally, and Armon
looked her up and down and guffawed. Out of the corner of her eye,
Sahara saw Jared settle himself at the table beside her.
    “Look, girlie,” the other man said, “no
offense, but the ladies are at the bar. This is a man’s game. These
knives are sharp.” He drew a calloused thumb along the edge. “You
might cut your pretty fingers.”
    Sahara planted her hands on her hips. “If
it’s a man’s game, then you have nothing to worry about, do you?”
she asked. “But if I win, then everybody wins. Jared there—” she
jerked her head in his direction—“will buy a round for the whole
tavern.”
    “Not much incentive for us to beat you, then,
is there?” the man said, his eyes flickering at Jared.
    “No, I guess not. Just the shame of losing at
daggers to a woman.” She shrugged. “So am I in or what?”
    “What d’you think, Armon? Should we let her
play?”
    Armon looked her up and down again, rubbing
the jagged scar on his jaw thoughtfully.
    Sahara kicked off her thin black sandals, the
tiny amethyst anklet Jared had given her all those months ago
catching the uncertain light.
    “If you’re done looking,” she said, “I might
be able to teach you something about hitting a target. And then you
can pass it on to your troops at the firing range.”
    Armon’s eyes flickered up to rest on her own.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Didn’t Jared talk to you?” She glanced at
Jared, then back at Armon. “He was supposed to tell you. Your men
can’t hit a target to save their lives.”
    “Stay out of my business, girlie,” Armon
warned. “Unless you’ve got something to back up those words, I’m
done talking. Where’s your weapon?”
    Sahara heard Jared cough to cover a
chuckle.
    “Right here,” she said, drawing her dagger
from the sheath at the small of her back. “Let’s go!”
    The game was over quickly. Sahara’s first
throw was right on the mark, and in the six throws that followed,
neither of the men could dislodge her dagger.
    Armon turned around, his last throw spent,
his jaw working in frustration. Sahara watched him from where she
sat perched on the edge of Jared’s table, swinging her legs.
    “Do you yield?” she asked.
    “No,” Armon snapped.
    Sahara’s legs stopped swinging and a frown
gathered between her brows. “What do you mean, no ? I won
fairly. It’s not my fault you can’t throw a dagger worth a
damn.”
    “Watch your mouth,” Armon cautioned, his
voice a throaty growl. “No one talks to me that way.”
    “Oh, and that’s supposed to scare me, I
suppose?” Sahara sneered, slipping off the table.
    “It might if you knew what was good for
you.”
    “Come on, Armon, let it be,” the other man
said. “It’s not worth it!”
    “Stay out of this, Hrethel,” Armon
snapped.
    “She’s just a girl! No one will ever believe
that she won anyway. For all people know, we just let her win.”
    Sahara turned on Hrethel. “You did not just
let me win! I beat you with no handicap, and on my first throw
too!”
    Jared moved to stand next to the bristling
Sahara. “Come on,” he said. “If these louts don’t want a drink,
then let’s go.”
    “What business is this of yours, Jared?”
Armon said. “Is this your girl?”
    “I’m