by Travis Brett
Roman needed a better view. He withdrew from the corner and clamoured up the wall, using the bars over a window for handholds, then footholds, as he pulled himself to the roof. He helped pull Ruby up behind him, then they lay prone and watched the scene below.
When the thugs reached Gavin, most shuffled aside to make room for two men dragging a limp body. They dumped the man at Gavin’s feet.
Roman focused on the captive. Blood trickled from his nose, mouth, and forehead. His jet-black hair probably would have reached his waist if he stood. It was matted with blood. Gavin kicked him in the gut, and again, and spat in his face. The thugs cheered as the beating continued.
If Gavin had sent this many of his thugs after this man, then he had to be someone important. And there’s one person Gavin just offered me ten thousand credits for: Candle.
Roman raised his gun, judging the distance.
Another power cut struck. The floodlights died, and the yard fell into darkness. Roman lost his shot.
“Wait for me.” Roman took off at a sprint across the roof. He hoped the men below were too distracted to be watching. Without knowing when the power would return, Roman didn’t have time to climb back to the ground.
He threw himself into the air.
The fall took just long enough for him to regret his choice.
He landed, transformed his momentum into a roll, concrete jarring against his legs and back. Staggering to his feet, he took off across the quad, stooped low. If anyone had heard or seen him, they weren’t shouting about it. Pain stabbed in his left hip with each stride, nearly making him stumble.
He knew his destination: on one side of the quad was a ruined building. Not only had it collapsed, but the ground around it had fallen in, leaving a pit of debris — shallow at the edges, deep in the middle. The perfect hiding place. If he could just get to it.
The fifty-yard sprint felt like a mile. He glanced at the nearest floodlight. It watched over him ominously, threatening to expose him at any second. For the little it would have done against fifty men, Roman desperately wished Ruby had her bow with her.
He threw himself to the ground and rolled the last couple of steps into the shadow of a fallen wall. Breathing as shallowly as he could, Roman crawled deeper into cover.
From behind a pile of bricks, he watched Gavin attack his prisoner.
“—my little birds.” Roman could just make out Gavin’s words. “They’re mine! My children!”
“Candle—”
“Don’t talk to me about that fucker! I’ll talk to him personally when he comes.”
Roman stifled a groan. If that wasn’t Candle, it left only one option: Ashton Spencer.
“You don’t . . .” Spencer mumbled.
Gavin silenced him with a boot to the face. “I know he’s coming. And when he arrives, I will personally rip his fucking dick off and feed it to you.” He stormed off.
Two thugs dragged Spencer away, leaving a trail of blood. Chunks of Spencer’s long hair had been ripped out, and several of his teeth were left behind. Roman suspected his treatment wasn’t likely to improve.
Crawling further back into cover, Roman considered the situation. Assessment: pretty shit. He waited until the quad was clear before climbing out of the rubble and limping back to Ruby. She stepped out of the shadows to meet him, arms folded.
“Are you trying to get killed?” she demanded.
“Not yet, at least.”
“We need to leave, now.”
She led the way, sneaking between shadows and checking for guards behind every corner. The compound was eerily empty. The barbed wire fence encircling the Haven tore at Roman’s clothes, slicing through his trousers and cutting his legs. It wasn’t until they were two blocks away that Ruby spoke again.
“That was Ashton Spencer, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Gavin’s using him as bait to provoke Candle into attacking the Haven.”
“If we’re lucky, he will, and they’ll both kill each other.”
Roman shook his head. “We’re never lucky. And we can’t risk Spencer dying in the crossfire. That’s why we’re going to break in first and abduct him.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“We do. You just always make the worst one.”
Roman winced. “Come on, let’s get home. We’ve got planning to do.”
“Planning for a suicide mission.”
“Yeah. Our specialty.”
09
Leaving the Gentleman’s Den, Sparks decided that if he ever did go rogue he would return here and destroy the whole damn building. It would be easy.
“Hey kid.” Caleb laid a hand on his shoulder. “I reckon it’s time to stitch up that bloody arm of yours, eh?”
“Piss off.” Sparks pushed him away and kept walking. He had hastily wrapped his shirt around the wound; it held back the bleeding, mostly. He knew it needed stitching, but right now, he didn’t give a damn.
He wished he could relive the moment of punching Mole in his ugly face. How dare that bastard think he could judge him! Mole had got what he deserved.
“So . . .” Caleb said slowly. “You’re angry.”
“No shit.”
“I thought you loved fighting?”
“I do! It’s just that—” Sparks paused. Did he really want to share how he felt with Caleb? Well, Caleb had saved his life today. If that didn’t earn him Sparks’ trust, then Sparks was as much of an asshole as Roman.
“When you’re an Adrenalite,” he said, “you can only trust other Adrenalites. Everyone else is either scared of you, or they hate you. It’s just the way it is. But now? Well, you saw that dick try to kill me — now even other fighters hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. Can you trust me?”
Sparks shrugged. “You’re okay. I guess.”
“Don’t get sappy on me, kid.”
“Go screw yourself.”
“Thanks,” Caleb said with a low chuckle. “Now, let’s get you stitched up.”
They sat under a streetlight while Caleb unwrapped the wound. Sparks’ stomach churned at the sight of it. He had seen worse — had inflicted far worse on others — but it was different when it was his own body coated in blood. Caleb grabbed a rag out of his satchel and wiped the wound clean, then pulled out a needle and thread.
Sparks raised an eyebrow. “Were you expecting me to get ripped up?”
“Just prepared, is all.”
“You’re a crap liar.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Sparks winced as the needle bit at his skin. Caleb’s hands worked with a care that defied their size as he slowly knotted the wound together.
“You should activate me,” Sparks said.
“Eh?”
“It’ll make the wound heal faster.”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never heard that before.”
“It’s true! Whenever a fighter at the Haven got injured, Gavin would leave them activated in cells. It helped us recover in time for the next fight.”
Caleb tied a knot at the end of the thread.
“Sometimes,” Sparks said, “We used to let each other get hurt on purpose, just so he’d have to activate us later.”
“You’re a weird kid.”
“So . . . will you do it?”
“I reckon you’ll heal up fine without extra help.”
“You don’t trust me either, do you?” Sparks asked, struggling to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
Caleb was silent as he ripped the sleeve off his shirt and wrapped it around Sparks’ arm. When he was finished, he stood and extended a hand.
Sparks scowled and climbed to his feet by himself. Neither of them spoke as they walked the rest of the way to the seventh district, back home.
Sparks remembered when Caleb first brought him here. He had asked why a man of Caleb’s size chose to live in such a small, cramped shed. The only answer he ever got was a few grunts and a no
n-committal shrug. Sparks had suggested that they move to the block of abandoned apartments across the street which had a bathroom with running water; Caleb had given him a blunt, angry stare that said the matter wasn’t up for discussion. Sparks never mentioned it again.
Caleb released the six steel locks on the door and they went inside. Sparks stomach growled at the sight of the beef jerky and stale bread on the table. He snatched a handful of jerky and sat against the wall on his side of the room, pushing aside the rusty chain and manacle to make space.
Caleb sat across from him, munching on the bread. Even his enormous jaw seemed to struggle chewing it.
Sparks tore through the jerky. Fighting always left him starving. The meat was hard and over-salted, but delicious. He admitted grudgingly to himself that, since Roman had brought him, the quality of his meals had definitely improved.
After the meal, he let out an exhausted yawn and strapped his ankle into the manacle, ready for Caleb to lock him in for the night. He collapsed against the hard floor, drained of all energy, but sure that he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon.
The manacle clicked as Caleb locked it. Then there was the familiar rustle of the giant laying his head on his straw pillow, the other pillow next to him unused, as always.
Even in the darkness, Sparks kept his eyes open. Mole’s words repeated in his ears.
You fucking traitor.
He recalled the memory of Roman at Lady Luck, reaching for his gun, ready to shoot Sparks.
Why did he give a rat’s arse about what either of them thought? He had beaten Mole in the fight and could do the same with Roman at any time. They were nothing compared to him.
“Hey.” Caleb’s voice tore him from his thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“I do trust you.”
Sparks gave his leg a shake, rattling the chain that held him to the wall.
“You’re a good kid,” Caleb continued.
“I’m not a kid.”
“What are you then?”
“A fighter.”
Caleb gave a long sigh. “I reckon we’re all fighters.”
“Not as good as me.”
They fell back into silence, long enough for Sparks to judge the conversation was over. He shuffled against the cold concrete floor. No matter how he lay, his shoulder still throbbed painfully.
Caleb interrupted the silence again. “Why do you fight?”
“That’s a stupid question. Fighting feels good.”
“That’s a stupid answer. And I reckon I know why Roman hates you.”
“Because he’s an asshole?”
“No. He’s a stubborn fool, but he’s also the best man that you’re likely to ever find in Legacy. Not many people around here want to hunt rogues. I do it for the money. But Roman? He’s got passion. He does it because he thinks it’s right.”
Sparks snorted. “What makes anything right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not, but at least he has a reason for doing what he does. What reasons do you have? None.”
“I don’t need a reason.”
“Then you don’t need his trust.”
“I don’t need it. I shouldn’t. But, um . . .” Sparks stumbled over his next words. “Thanks, Caleb. For putting that arrow within my reach. Without it, I might have . . . Well, died.”
“No problem. Whatever happens to us, I’ve got your back. You don’t need to thank me, all you need to do in return is to have my back. Deal?”
“Deal.”
The conversation died, and soon Caleb’s snoring filled the room. Sparks lay awake. His jaw was clenched so tight it hurt — but the pain helped distract from the dozen other aches across his body. He was still angry. Angry at Mole for calling him a traitor, angry at himself for nearly losing the fight. But mostly, he was angry at Roman. Why the fuck did Roman hate him, even after he saved Roman’s life at Lady Luck?
Well, he wasn’t going to put up with anymore. It didn’t matter if Roman trusted him or not, next time he saw the old man, Sparks was going to demand to carry his own activation needles.
Then he could come alive whenever he wanted, and he could fight whoever he wanted.
He would be free.
10
It was a busy night at the Mutt’s Tail. The small establishment was crammed with rowdy punters, each acting as if they were trying to be the most insufferable drunk there. Congratulations, you’re all winners, Roman thought as he pushed away his plate of boiled potatoes. It was hard to find an appetite amongst the smell of sweat, booze, and smoke.
Ruby sat beside him, calmly fletching an arrow while they waited. Her fingers placed each feather with careful precision. It was a shame such patiently crafted arrows would inevitably end up bloody.
“You look worried, Boss,” Tan said through a mouthful of steak.
“I’m fine,” Roman said, though Tan was right. “You’re the one who should be concerned — I don’t think steak is meant to be that black.”
“Just well-cooked, is all.”
The pub doors swung open, and Caleb entered. The crowd made way for him as he approached Roman’s booth. He sat. “Uh . . . You aren’t going to like this.”
Sparks stepped inside. His face was purple with bruises and his arm was wrapped in rags. He limped over, ungraciously taking the seat next to Tan, scowling.
“What the hell happened?” Roman asked.
Caleb refused to meet Roman’s eye. “Well, you said to get Sparks in contact with other Adrenalites. I reckoned the easiest way would be to—”
“You let him fight,” Roman cut him off. “Damn it, Caleb. Tell me you didn’t do this just to earn easy credits, or I’ll nail your feet to the floor with your own jawbone.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you did let Sparks fight! I didn’t buy the boy just so he could—”
Sparks grabbed Tan’s half-eaten steak and threw it in Roman’s face. “Then why the fuck did you buy me at all?” he spat.
Stunned, Roman slowly wiped his face with his sleeve. His other hand shifted beneath the table, preparing to grab his pistol if necessary. “Sparks,” he began. “I think—”
“No! You listen to me.” Sparks pointed a finger at Roman. “All of you need to listen to me.”
Around them, the clamour of the punters sounded distant, as if the sound couldn’t pierce the cloud of tension hanging over their table.
“I’m a pit fighter,” Sparks said. “It’s what I do. It’s the only thing I do. I’m not pretending to be some righteous protector of the city like you are, Roman. And if you wanted me to be anything different than what I am, then you wasted your money.” Sparks turned his finger to point at his battered face. “Do you want to know why this happened to me? The other Adrenalites wanted to kill me because I work for you. They called me a traitor. That is what you made me, old man. This is your fault.”
Roman scowled. “I saved you from your worthless life and gave you a chance to help this city. And you’re going to whine because you got hurt one time? Grow up, kid.”
“I’m not a kid!”
“Then stop acting like—”
A hand slapped Roman’s cheek. Ruby’s. Then she backhanded Sparks.
“Shut up. Both of you,” she said.
Roman rubbed his stinging face, suppressing his anger. Ruby was right — starting a fight with Sparks wasn’t going to help him capture Spencer. He needed a different approach.
“Now,” Ruby said, “if you two stop being jackasses, we can talk this out. Like adults.” She went back to fletching her arrow as if nothing had happened.
“Fine.” Roman leaned forward, meeting Sparks’ eyes. “What do you want?”
“I told you last time. I want to carry my own activation needle.”
“I understand.” Roman forced his voice to stay calm. “But if that’s going to happen, I need discuss it with the rest of the team first, without you. Go wait outside.”
Sparks’ eye’s narrowed. “You’ll actually talk
about it? You swear?”
“Yes. Now go.”
Sparks stood and limped away through the crowd. Watching him leave, Roman felt a pang of guilt, but he pushed the feeling away. He was doing what he needed to do.
“Well . . . damn.” Tan reached across the table and picked up the steak. He frowned at it. “Waste of a good dinner. It’ll taste like a pig’s arse now that it’s touched your filthy face.”
“Don’t give me too much credit,” Roman said absently, his mind still on the boy. “It tasted like that before.”
“Too true,” Tan said. “Now, I reckon you need my opinion, so I’ll give it to ya.” He started shoveling Roman’s discarded potatoes onto his own plate. “If we do this, it’ll be the same as if we freed him. And that will send a clear message to this whole city — it will be us announcing that we condone freeing Adrenalites. Is that something we wanna do? I don’t think so.”
“But maybe it’s something we need to do,” Ruby said. “Maybe it’s time someone challenged this city’s idea of how to treat Adrenalites.”
Roman bit back his reply. How could she think that? She, of all people, should know why Adrenalites couldn’t be trusted.
“Listen,” Ruby said, “We trusted the boy enough to bring him into the team, and we trusted him enough to activate him at Lady Luck. Compared to that, would this be anything new?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Roman said. “Because it’s never going to happen.”
“Damn it!” Ruby slammed her arrow into the table, tip first. “Then why didn’t you tell Sparks that to his face.”
“Because if he doesn’t believe that we’ll trust him with his own needle, then he won’t help us with this mission.”
“Does anyone want to know my opinion?” Caleb asked.
“Depends,” Tan said.
“On what?”
“On whether your opinion agrees with mine or not.”
“It doesn’t.” Caleb pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Sparks is a good kid. And giving him his own needle might be a risk, but we’d be taking an even bigger risk if we turned him against us. If we refuse him this, he might seriously consider going rogue. And if he does . . . Well, you’ve all seen him fight.”
