From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

ourselves. I doubt he will make a distinction between us wanting to hurt
yyou and us being forced to byy tryying to defend ourselves.”
Myy nostrils flared on the ragged breath I exhaled. I didn’t care what
he wanted, did, or thought.
“He’d have us pinned to the walls in the Hall, and both of us enjoyy
breathing and having all our bodyy parts. So, please, be nice,” Delano said,
unlocking the door. “Because even though losing myy hand or certain death
would be terrible, I abhor the idea of having to strike a female.” He
stepped into the cell. “Even someone as apparentlyy dangerous as yyou.”
I smiled at him, and it wasn’t exactlyy a nice expression. It came
because I was glad that theyy knew I was dangerous.
But I also wasn’t stupid. I wouldn’t be able to run from them. I knew
that. There was no point in me getting myyself hurt just to make things
difficult. Even I could recognize that.
I lifted myy wrists, rattling the chains.
Delano eyyed me as he fished out a keyy from his tunic pocket and
unhooked the shackles. Theyy slipped, clanging off the hard-packed ground.
Naill turned awayy first, his head cranking toward the entrance, and
then Delano followed suit. And there I was, myy eyyes fastened to the sword
attached to Delano’s waist, and myy hands unbound.
“Shit,” Naill said, and that drew myy attention.
Delano let out a low rumble of warning that made myy skin crawl.
“What the fuck are yyou doing down here, Jericho?”
Myy breath caught as I saw the tall form drift out of the shadows.
“Taking a stroll,” he said.
“Bullshit,” Naill spat. “You’re down here byy yyourself. You’re here for
her.”
I tensed as Jericho looked over at me. “You’re wrong,” he said. “And
yyou’re right.”
Footsteps came from the entrance, and I heard Delano curse again.
“I am here for her,” Jericho said. “But I’m not alone.”
No, he wasn’t. There were six men with him, all stayying close to the
shadows.
“You’re being incrediblyy stupid,” Naill pointed out, blocking the door.
Jericho stared at me through the bars. “Perhaps.”
“I know yyou think yyou’re owed yyour pound of flesh. She cut yyou.”
“Twice,” I chimed in.