Tomb Raider: In Ruins 2 (Patreon)

Sam panted for air. “Oh, I let them fist me—you fucking menace!”

“And you roll over and get buggered, slag… making me jealous… I should be making my peace with the universe, not sorting out your sex drive!”

“Can’t the great Lara Croft multitask?” Sam quipped.

“I’ll multitask you,” Lara promised, pulling Sam’s trousers and panties down both at once, getting complete access to her holes. “Pinky in your bum, fingers in your fanny, thumb on your clit, how’s that sound? Enough to make you forget all about—"

“Howdy! Anyone in there? Because this tomb is four thousand years old, but this place surely smells of some damn fine perfume!”

Lara rolled her eyes and pushed Sam off to the side, out of the view that the spyhole gave into the chamber. She’d wanted a rescue—even prayed for one—but a loving God couldn’t possibly have interpreted her wish that broadly…

She wiped her glossy wet hand on her shorts. At this point, it was Larson or death.

Lara was still hard-pressed to decide.

She signaled for Sam to be quiet and stay out of sight—no reason to bring her into this and it might prove advantageous for Larson not to know about her. Besides, since they’d both learned the sign language of the Krovosos tribe, they might as well use it.

“I’m in here!” Lara called. Followed by a mutter: “But the perfume is all in your head, wanker… I’ve barely even any deodorant left…”

Larson knelt down—Lara heard his knees pop—and his face appeared at the hole in the gate. Seeing Lara, his eyes narrowed, his recognition not exactly gleeful. Surely realizing that her presence might cost him his prize, as it had so many times before.

He was a big man, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, his skin tanned and his beard weathered. His hair was shaggy, not that he’d let it go without clipping long enough to approximate a hippie’s, and his eyes were somehow insouciant in their very coloring, set in a raw-boned face given to smirks and glances, any kind of expression that got under her skin.

Larson examined her circumstances, all while keeping an eye on her—no doubt enjoying the tanktop and shorts Lara wore for comfort in the sweaty, sweltering confines of the tropics. “Now how’d you get yourself in there, little lady? That ain’t no place for a female lovely as you, cooped up with no sun to speak of.”

“Can we save the pleasantries for later?” Lara asked, crossing her arms over her breasts to spare them Larson’s appraisal. “I’ve been in here far too long already. Whatever you have to say to me can be said face to face, not through a hole in the wall.”

Larson’s thick eyebrows popped. “You really are stuck in there, ain’t ya? I’m not much for no Brit talk, so you are asking me to get you out, right?”

Lara sighed. “There’s a control over there, approximately twelve feet to your right. You can’t miss it. It’s a simple crank. If you’ll just turn it clockwise…”

“Now hold your horses, Lady Croft. That voice is right pretty—no need to waste it giving me instructions ‘fore I’m ready. See, I wasn’t asking no real question when I wanted to know what you was asking me. What I was getting at, in my own humble way, was that it’s hard for a simple man like me to know that you’re asking for help, you seeming so… ungracious to a savior and rescuer type person.”

Lara resisted the urge to snarl. She could see Sam out of the corner of her eye… and out of Larson’s line of sight… gesturing with her palms downward, pleading with Lara to keep her temper in check.

“Please, Larson, could you… save me?” Lara asked. She knew Larson would want her to say it anyway—there was no dignity in making him pull it out of her like a rotten tooth. And she was running frightfully low on dignity as is. “I’m in trouble and I need your help.”

“Shucks, Lady Croft, now that’s all you had to say. You being so smart and all, I was just worried I might be interfering myself with one of your master plans. You might be like one of those cinematical characters, getting yourself caught on purpose because it’s just one more of your clever devisings.”

Lara sucked in the sound she’d like to make. “No, Larson, I’m caught. Trapped. I need your help. Please—help me.”

“You’re very welcome,” Larson said, turning towards the control. “Only… wait a minute now… how thankful do you plan on being?”

“Larson,” Lara snarled, trying not to look at Sam, knowing the disappointed expression she’d see on her face…

“I only ask because you’ve been known to be a mite ungracious in the past. Even brusque. Not unladylike, mind… just forgetful. It seems to me that your present gratitude could get lost in the press and proceedings of events, were you to be freed just this moment.”

“So you want payment in advance?” Lara asked, rolling her eyes.

Larson parked his ass on the ground, giving him a comfortable seat to look through the hole that let him see her. “It seems my best bet on collecting.”

“Well, Larson, I’m afraid you’ve caught me with only so many pesos on my person and no ATM in sight. Would you take an IOU?”

Larson affected a hurt expression. “Now Lady Croft, I thought we knew each other better than that. The money’s just a way of keepin’ score. We’re in this for the game. The thrill of the hunt and the chase, the adrenaline of it all.”

“You want adrenaline? Let me out of here and put your dukes up. You’ll have adrenaline to spare,” Lara promised him, eyes narrowed.

“I sense a dwindling of patience that might drive you to be uncouth, so allow me to spare you the coarse indignity of lowering yourself to language you might regret and simply tell you what coin I’d prefer my payment in.”

“That would be appreciated,” Lara said through tightly coiled lips.

It was all bloody irritating. However sweetly he presented himself, the chap was still a caveman. Lara resolved that whatever gratitude she was required to give him, by her birth and breeding, she wouldn’t give him an ounce more.

This was luck, nothing more. He hadn’t even intended to rescue her; just been in the right place at the right time and actually he was worse at archaeology than her. If he were better, then he would’ve gotten to the tomb first and she would be the one saving him.

And God knew she wouldn’t lord it over him the way he was about to over her.

“Lady Croft, I notice you’ve managed some fashion in your function. Teal tanktop. Fingerless gloves. Khaki shorts. Even those hiking books look far more stylish than mine. Hope you won’t think me fruity if I say that I’d love to steal your look. So why don’t you take off some of those linens and give them here so I can take a closer look? I’ll hand ‘em back presently, you have my word on that.”

Lara was so stunned at his audacity that all she could manage was a flat “You want me to take my clothes off?”

“Why, I suppose you’d have to, Lady Croft. I reckon you don’t have anything you might change into—ah, hell, it’s just us, you and me. You haven’t got anything you wouldn’t want your old friend Larson to see, now would ya?”

Lara’s jaw clenched, seeing the expectant look on his face. She felt pangs of inevitability and nervousness began to creep between the layers of fuzzy wool the marijuana had swathed her brain in. “You rotten wanker!”

He grinned lewdly, the sight of his smile actually petrifying Lara for a moment. “Now, hold up, I thought being so plain-spoken would help you keep your usual grace and poise. But if you’re feeling ornery, I could always excuse myself and come back later, what’s say a day or two, after I’ve found the treasure, and I’ll turn ya loose then. I think I’ve got a power bar in one of these pockets—you’re welcome to it. I know it can be hard to get yourself a DoorDash all the way out here…”

“I won’t do it!” Lara insisted, the words clinging to her throat as her mind screamed that this was her only way out of the current predicament.

“Suit yourself,” Larson said, and tossed a power bar through the hole before turning his back on her.

“Wait!”

Lara swiped at her eyes before he could turn around, removing the welling tears from her eyes. Unless she gave herself over to this depraved game Larson wanted to play, that was it. For her and Sam. Even if Larson wasn’t quite nasty enough to leave her for dead, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t fall prey to a trap of his own, leaving Lara and Sam doomed.

The safest bet—the smartest course of action—was to give him what he wanted right this minute.