The Rusty Nail wasn't the kind of pce dies of quality usually visited, which was precisely why Goldilocks and the goals were there.

  "This is *perfect*," Beatrice squealed, her diamond earrings catching the dim mplight as she surveyed the crowded tavern. "So... rustic."

  "It smells like sweat and cheap ale," Charlotte observed, wrinkling her nose. But she was smiling. They were all smiling. This was the game—slum it with the common folk, pretend to be regur girls for a night, maybe steal something small just for the thrill.

  Goldilocks adjusted her dress—expensive but not *obviously* expensive, the kind of thing a successful merchant's daughter might wear. Her blonde curls were artfully tousled. She looked good. She always looked good.

  "Drinks!" she announced, leading her girls toward the bar.

  The tavern was packed with working men—dock workers, merchants, a few mercenaries by the look of them. Rough types. Dangerous types. Exactly the kind of men her father would have a fit about her being near.

  Which made it even better.

  She ordered wine and paid with gold that made the bartender's eyebrows rise. The Goals clustered around a corner table, giggling and making loud observations about the "authentic atmosphere."

  That's when Goldilocks noticed him.

  Huge. Easily six and a half feet tall, shoulders like a bull, arms that looked like they could snap a man in half. Dark beard, rough hands nursing a pint. He was watching her with an expression that was pure male appreciation—direct, unapologetic, physical.

  *Oh, hello.*

  Goldilocks made eye contact and smiled. The kind of smile that said *I know exactly what you're thinking.*

  He drained his pint, set it down, and walked over.

  "You're a long way from wherever girls like you come from," he said. His voice was deep, rough-edged.

  "Maybe I like being far from home." Goldilocks tilted her head, letting her curls catch the light. "I'm Goldilocks."

  "Little John."

  She almost ughed. Little. This man was enormous. "That's ironic."

  "It is." He was still looking at her like she was something he wanted to bite. "You want to get out of here?"

  Beatrice gasped behind her. Charlotte giggled.

  Goldilocks kept her eyes on Little John's face. Bold. Direct. Not pying games or pretending to be a gentleman. She liked that.

  "Sure," she said.

  ---

  Little John's room was upstairs—small, clean, clearly rented by the month. Functional. No decoration except weapons propped against the wall.

  He didn't waste time with conversation. His hands were on her the moment the door closed, rough and confident, pulling her dress over her head with practiced efficiency. His mouth was on her neck, her colrbone, his beard scratching her skin in a way that made her gasp.

  Goldilocks had been with men before—wealthy sons of her father's friends, merchants' boys, a minor noble once. They'd all been careful with her. Gentle. Worried about hurting her or displeasing her.

  Little John wasn't gentle.

  He took what he wanted, and what he wanted was her. He bent her over the bed and fucked her like he meant it, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. She came twice before he finished, her face pressed into his pillow, gasping for air.

  When he pulled out and colpsed beside her, she was shaking.

  *Holy shit.*

  "That was—" she started, still trying to catch her breath.

  "Good," he agreed. Then he sat up. "You can head out whenever you're ready."

  Goldilocks blinked, her post-orgasm haze evaporating. "What?"

  "I said you can leave." He stood, completely unselfconscious in his nakedness, and grabbed a pitcher of water from the dresser. He drank directly from it.

  She stared at him. No one had ever told her to leave after sex. Men wanted her to stay. They begged her to stay. They brought her wine and asked about her dreams and tried to keep her attention for as long as possible.

  "I could stay," she offered, sitting up and letting the sheet fall strategically. "If you want."

  He gnced at her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why?"

  "I don't know. We could talk. Or..." She gestured at the bed meaningfully.

  "If you want to go again, sure. But I'm not much for talking." He got back into bed, stretching out on his back. "And I've got work early tomorrow, so you'll need to leave eventually anyway."

  Goldilocks felt something hot and uncomfortable twist in her chest. Embarrassment, maybe. Or anger. She wasn't used to this. Wasn't used to being treated like she was... disposable.

  "You're kind of an asshole," she said.

  "Probably." He didn't sound bothered by it.

  She should get dressed and leave. Maintain her dignity. Show him she didn't care.

  But something about his complete indifference made her want to prove herself. Made her want him to see that she was more than just another pretty girl passing through.

  "I'm not just some bored rich girl, you know," she said.

  He gnced at her. "Okay."

  "I have a crew. We pull jobs." The words were coming out before she could stop them. "Real jobs. We're called the Goals. We've hit six estates in the past two months."

  Little John propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her. For a moment, Goldilocks thought she'd gotten his attention. That he was impressed.

  Then he ughed.

  Not a friendly ugh. A short, dismissive bark of amusement.

  "What?" Goldilocks demanded.

  "Rich girls pying thief," he said, still smiling. "That's cute."

  "It's not *cute*. We're good at it." She heard the defensive edge in her voice and hated it. "We've stolen thousands in jewelry and coin. Never been caught once."

  "Because you're picking easy targets." He said it like it was obvious. "Empty estates. Minimal security. Small things that won't be missed right away. And if you did get caught, daddy's money would make it all go away."

  Goldilocks' face was burning. "That's not—"

  "That's exactly what it is." He wasn't smiling anymore. "Look, I'm not saying it's not fun for you. But don't pretend you're a real thief. Real thieves do this because they have to. Because they've got no other choice. You're doing it because you're bored."

  "You don't know anything about me," Goldilocks said, her voice defensive.

  "I know enough." He y back down, closing his eyes. "You're gorgeous and the sex was good. That's all I need to know."

  She wanted to scream at him. Tell him he was wrong. That she was more than just a pretty face with daddy's money.

  But before she could, he reached for her, pulling her down against him. His mouth found hers, rough and demanding, and suddenly they were going again—harder this time, angry almost, but god it was good.

  She came so hard she saw stars.

  Afterwards, she y boneless and satisfied, her head on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat under her cheek, steady and strong.

  Maybe he'd want to talk now. Maybe—

  The huge man was already asleep.

  Goldilocks y there for a moment, listening to his breathing. Then, exhausted and still buzzing from the sex, she let herself drift off.

  ---

  The next morning, Goldilocks was walking through the market district with Charlotte, half-listening to her friend chatter about some merchant's son while nursing a strange mix of satisfaction and annoyance.

  The sex had been incredible. The way Little John had dismissed her afterwards was infuriating.

  She'd left his room before he woke up, taking back some control of the situation. But she couldn't stop thinking about him. About the way he'd looked at her like she was nothing special.

  "Goldie, are you even listening?" Charlotte asked.

  "What? Yes. The merchant's son. Very exciting."

  Charlotte frowned. "You're thinking about that mercenary, aren't you?"

  "No."

  "You are. You've got that look."

  "What look?"

  "The look you get when you're obsessing over something."

  "I'm not obsessing. I'm just—"

  Goldilocks stopped mid-sentence.

  There. Across the square.

  Little John, talking with another man. The other man was smaller, lean, wearing a green cloak and gesturing animatedly while Little John listened.

  Before she could think better of it, Goldilocks was walking toward them.

  "Goldie, wait—" Charlotte called, but she was already moving.

  She reached them just as the man in green was saying something about supply routes. They both looked up as she approached.

  "Hey," Goldilocks said, smiling at Little John. "Remember me?"

  Little John looked at her bnkly.

  The moment stretched. Goldilocks' smile faltered.

  "Should I?" he asked.

  Her face went hot. "We—st night. At the Rusty Nail. We went to your room."

  "Oh." Recognition flickered across his face. "Right. Yeah. You."

  *You.*

  Not even her name. Just *you.*

  "I'm Goldilocks," she said, hating how small her voice sounded.

  "Right." He gnced at his companion, then back at her. "This is kind of a bad time. We're talking business."

  "I could wait," Goldilocks offered. "Or maybe I could—"

  "Look, not to be rude," Little John said, in a tone that was absolutely being rude, "but me and my friend here have things to handle. Maybe we'll run into each other ter."

  The dismissal was clear. Final.

  The man in the green cloak was watching the exchange with poorly concealed amusement.

  "Sure," Goldilocks managed. "Later."

  She turned and walked away, her face burning, her hands shaking with humiliation and rage.

  Charlotte was waiting a few feet away, eyes wide. "What happened?"

  "He doesn't remember me." The words came out strangled.

  "Oh, Goldie..."

  "He fucked me twice and he doesn't even remember my name."

  No one had ever treated her like this. Ever. Men fell over themselves for her attention. They remembered everything she said. They sent her flowers and jewelry and love letters.

  Little John had looked at her like she was an interruption.

  Goldilocks gnced back. He and the man in green were already walking away, deep in conversation, completely unconcerned with her.

  Like she'd never existed at all.

  "Let's just go," Charlotte said gently.

  But Goldilocks couldn't move. She stood in the market square, watching Little John disappear into the crowd, and felt something dark and obsessive take root in her chest.

  *Who the hell is he? What does he do that makes him so fucking confident?*