Free The Outworlder by S.K. Valenzuela

nobody’s girl,” Sahara retorted.
    “That explains a lot.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”
    Armon grinned at her suddenly, a wolfish
expression in his eyes. “You need a man who can handle those high
spirits of yours.”
    Jared took a breath to speak, but Sahara
laughed in Armon’s face. “And I suppose you think that should be
you, right?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she laughed even
harder. “You can’t even handle your dagger well enough to strike a
target at ten feet, even with three throws!”
    Jared took Sahara by the arm. “Let’s go,” he
murmured in her ear. “Before—”
    She yanked her arm out of his grasp. “You
know,” she continued, the heat rising in her voice, “you sit around
here in your lousy little bar and play your lousy little dagger
game and you dream you’re man enough to handle any woman who walks
through that door. Well, maybe you are man enough for women like
them!” She jabbed her finger at the three women at the bar, who
were now goggling at Sahara. “Well, I’ve got news for you. I’m not like them!”
    “Let’s go!” Jared said, making another
attempt at her arm.
    “No!” She jerked away from him again and gave
Armon a shove. As he reeled back a step or two, she got right in
his face. “What do you think now? You still want to take me
on?”
    Armon turned to Hrethel with a short laugh.
“Is she for real?”
    “Yes, she’s for real,” said Jared, his voice
resigned. “And I’d be careful, if I were you.”
    “You want to know something else?” Sahara
climbed up on Jared’s chair and addressed everyone in the tavern.
“You’re all a bunch of cowards! Every one of you! You sit in this
hell-hole and drink, and you let your fear of a power you don’t
ever see drive your whole lives! Am I right? Am I? You think I
don’t know what’s going on here?”
    “Sahara!” Jared hissed. “Get down and let’s
go!”
    “Is she drunk?” Armon asked Jared, wonder in
his voice.
    “No. I wish to God she were, but she’s
not.”
    Sahara raised her voice. “You’re scared to
death of the Dragon-Lords, aren’t you?”
    At the mention of that name, everyone in the
tavern began murmuring, looking at each other with uneasy eyes and
at her with something between awe and anger. Even Armon drew away
from her.
    “Why are you afraid?” she asked. “You have a
chance to take back everything that was once yours! Why don’t you
use it?”
    “What chance is that?” Hrethel called.
    Sahara jumped down from the table and faced
the two men again. “This chance. Me. I can show you how to fight
them. And I can show you how to win.”
    “You know,” Armon said slowly, rage rumbling
in his chest, “you really had me there for a minute. You and your
cute little self, all mad over losing a game.”
    “I didn’t lose, you lying, cheating son of
a—”
    “You better get something straight right now,
little woman,” Armon interrupted. “We live the best life we can
here. So why don’t you just go back to wherever the hell you’re
from and mind your own business?”
    Sahara walked over to the target and pulled
out her dagger, slipping it back into its sheath. Then she stepped
so close to Armon that his breath ruffled her hair.
    “And that’s why I won,” she told him quietly,
planting her finger in the middle of his brawny chest. “Because
you’re scared to lose.”
    Armon shoved her so hard that she hurtled
backward into the table, breaking the chair on her way down.
    “Who’s afraid of losing now?” Armon jeered as
she struggled to sit up.
    Without warming, Jared laid him out flat on
his back with a stunning right hook.
    “Only cowards hit women,” Jared said, tossing
a small wad of bills onto Armon’s chest. Then he turned, grabbed
Sahara’s sandals in one hand and pulled her to her feet with the
other.
    “Come on,” he said roughly, propelling her
outside.
    Once out in the open, Sahara breathed deeply,
coughing a little and