“Easy. Malvathar is offering work. It isn’t technically a lie.” The man cackled happily, clearly pleased with himself.
“That’s enough.”
To Jarrett’s surprise, someone from the opposite side of the room pushed forward, yanking her arm free from a brunette who looked ready to spit nails. The woman who had spoken was younger than most of the other mercenaries in the warehouse but that did not seem to deter her as she stepped up to the two slavers.
Her hair was long, black, and pulled into a tie on the back of her head, though strands of it had escaped and were framing her face. It was paired with thick dark brows and piercing eyes. Add to it the Onyx Wyvern armor she wore bearing claw marks cutting down the ribs clean to her stomach, not deep enough to ruin the armor but still visibly present. It presented an intimidating look because if she was walking after something did that to her armor, what hope did a man with a blade have?
“Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?” she stated, her hands resting on the hilts of her daggers.
“What? What are you doing? Get away. Brisen!” the woman snapped.
The assertive one drew her blade and pointed it at the brunette, who started to come toward them only to stop. “No. Not a chance. Do you understand me? You ask me to step in line for this, you will be feeling what that manticore felt.”
There was a moment, a heartbeat before the brunette pressed her lips together in a thin line and raised her head haughtily. It wasn’t surrender but it was an acceptance.
The black haired one turned back to the slavers, the weapon now at her side but clenched tightly in her fist. “I gave you a choice. Easy way, you forget your little… plan and come with me to make your case to the Guard-Captain on why you shouldn’t get arrested for plotting to enslave innocent people. The hard way is I make you.”
Jarrett could actually see her grip tighten on her daggers as soon as she spoke.
“You’re insane!” screeched the woman.
“You dare threaten us?” sneered the man.
“You dare start a slave trade?” she shot back. “Decision. Now.”
“We’ll pay you!” the woman suddenly exclaimed frantically. It earned her an annoyed look from her partner but she didn’t appear to care. “We’ll cut you in. A fair deal. Think about it, with that wealth you can do anything you want.”
The raven-haired woman just stood there, her expression blank. Jarrett reached for his weapons. He knew all too well how this would go. Morals could be bought and sold. He had seen it hundreds of times. Whatever qualms she had thought she had would be washed away in a river of silver at the cost of peoples’ lives.
“How much?”
There it was. The truth that was down deep in every person’s heart.
“How much do you think a life is worth? Thirty silver? Forty? Fifty? I will tell you that nothing is ever enough. The hold you planned to fill with people you’ve betrayed, the coin you would have gotten would never fill the hole that is in your souls.” The woman spat at their feet. “Fuck you.”
“You should have taken that offer, girl. You must realize, we can’t let you live long enough to squeal,” the man said in a simpering tone before snapping his fingers.
Quick as a flash, the woman bashed the pommel of her dagger across the man’s head. He stumbled and then collapsed, unconscious.
“Shove your offer.”
Payton looked up just in time to see the Foxes react, dividing themselves up and running straight at them. Peachy. She flexed her grip on her daggers. If it was a fight they wanted, then she would damn well show them one. Fucking slaver sympathizing bastards.
“Great idea, Clark! Attack the client!” Ioannu shouted from across the warehouse.
Dodging out of the onslaught of blades, Payton fought back with a flurry of her own. The two attackers advancing on her had a look of stunned horror on their faces when they realized that she was holding them off. Ducking beneath a sweep of one of their longswords, she lunged forward and found the sweet spot between armor plates and stabbed one of them clean through. In a spinning motion, still crouched, she pivoted, cutting at another’s calves and causing him to topple. Then Payton drove one dagger into his throat.
Another attacker was racing toward her, determined to down her for what she just did. Swiftly she ducked under the first swing and used the unexpected moment of an explosion of magic on the other side of the room to bury her dagger hilt deep into the first man’s gut. Twisting out of reach, she got to her feet. There was a look of surprise on the now bleeding man’s face when he realized his armor had been compromised and his vital organ punctured. Refusing to let him suffer she swiped her blade at him. He fell to his knees and then collapsed. There was a gurgling sound as he struggled to hold onto the last vestiges of life that was draining from his slit throat.
“I need back up! Now!” Zoe’s gruff cry caught her attention.
Darting across the space between them, Payton drove her daggers into the back of one of the two Zoe was struggling with, appearing there to help before Brisen could. It gave the woman the chance she needed to take down the other one. Once he fell, Zoe gave them a smile of relief but neither woman returned it. Brisen instead scowled at Payton and Payton could only imagine what was going through her mind. But they both knew this was not the time.
Together they turned back to the room, ready for the rest of them. But the rest had already fallen. It was an utter mess of bodies and blood. Hitchens was missing, neither one of the few remaining standing nor a body on the floor but Brisen did not appear concerned. Ioannu, now that his opponent was dead, had slid down, holding his gut, his face pale and his hands drenched in his own blood. The worst of it was Anthony was face down on the ground, unmoving.
But they were not alone in the warehouse.
If the fact he had just cut down the last of the merchant’s men wasn’t clue enough that he was not one of those stupid Black Foxes, the guard’s plate armor was another giveaway. It was different than the normal guardsman armor, dark gray rather than the standard steel-silver. Chainmail protected the spots the plate did not and leather straps buckled it together.
He turned sharply, his sword and shield at the ready, scanning the room just as she had done, looking for any further enemy. He had striking features. A strong face and sharply angled jawline. His cheekbones cut down his face like they were carved there and, coupled with the furrow of his brow, it gave his face a deep and brooding intensity. And that floppy black hair dangled in the way of his monolid deep brown eyes as if he was half hiding his field of vision, peering out at the world.
He met her gaze with a heated look, those fierce eyes judging and assessing her threat level.
“Right… um… so this is totally not what it looks like,” she said holding up her hands in surrender as best she could without actually dropping her weapons. “Those guys were the bad guys. Honest.” She gestured towards the corpses and the unconscious merchant. Where had the woman gone? Probably run when the fighting started. Great.
He did not say anything. Just kept… staring at her.
“Not buying it?” Sighing in defeat, Payton wiped the blood off her daggers and then slid them into her sheaths. “Fine. Is Takara on duty tonight?” she asked, resigning herself to being arrested. Takara was going to have a field day with this mess.
“I caught her,” the announcement came from someone coming in the side door Herenus had entered through. Payton was surprised to see Darcy marching the female merchant into the warehouse in handcuffs.
The statuesque man suddenly moved. He marched toward the blubbering woman. “Sit down and shut up,” he growled in the most sinfully rich voice that Payton had ever heard.
“They’ll kill me. I hired them to help me and they turned on me! I want them arrested! They tricked me!” Foscari was crying hysterically but one darkly heated glare from the strong silent mystery man and she snapped her mouth shut, clearly afraid to continue.
“We’re not associ
ated with her,” Payton said quickly.
“Are you not?” Darcy questioned. “There is some pretty strong evidence that you were here to guard her while she met with…” her brother’s friend gestured to the unconscious man on the ground where Payton had left him.
“You have no proof that we did anything illicit.” Brisen took over. “We were invited here by the owner of the warehouse, said woman under arrest there. We never participated in any illegal dealings. When such things happened we immediately tried to remove ourselves from the situation.”
“Looked more like you planted yourself in the middle of the situation,” Darcy said pointedly, looking at Payton.
Brisen had come up alongside her and had grabbed her by the forearm just above her bracer. The brunette was digging her nails into Payton’s arm. The message was clear. Shut up. She had caused enough trouble.
“What else was my employee to do? We could have left to fetch the guard but odds were the meeting would have disbanded and denial would have spread from all parts. And who would believe us over them? After all, we were in her employ. All she had to claim was disgruntled job and our reputation is ruined and they move their new enterprise elsewhere.”
Payton had to hand it to Brisen. She was the master of bullshitting.
Darcy stared at them for a good long moment before finally nodding. “You aided in the takedown of two budding slavers and the city thanks you for that. Please make yourselves available for further investigation should the Captain deem it warranted.”
“Of course.”
“You are free to leave,” he said pleasantly. “We will release the dead within a day after we sort out the paperwork.”
Brisen would not let go of her arm as they turned to leave. Zoe was helping Ioannu bandage himself but an aloeroot potion and a helping shoulder later, they were limping out of the warehouse.
Jarrett watched them leave, his eyes on the unusual woman in the lead. There had been no hesitation, no temptation on her part to let the merchants – her clients – get away with their plan. No talk of taking their money and turning the other cheek. No schemes to blackmail them. Just… immediate reaction and threatening to turn them in.
She was a mercenary with… honor? Could such a thing really exist? The idea that anyone would not secretly be waiting in the background, scheming with ways to one-up everyone they met seemed ludicrous to him. That was how it always was in Malvathar. Everyone always planned, plotted, and backstabbed. It was the way of things. Friend or stranger, it did not matter. It was always about who had the upper hand, who could benefit the most. And that was how he thought everyone was.
People had not exactly proved him wrong. Imeryn was the first city he had ever felt a sense of security in and that was because Takara was the first honorable person he had met. She would never let slavers into the city.
But this new woman… she was an enigma and he did not know what to make of her.
Chapter Twenty
It was impressive that Brisen managed to keep her cool until the five of them made it back to the Wyverns’ base. All through the journey back, the tension was steadily rising. Payton was dreading the breaking point. Her actions had gotten their client arrested and one of their members killed. While she had guilt over one – Anthony –, she had no regrets over the other. And perhaps it was sensing that stubbornness in her that made the anger brewing in her boss all the hotter.
The moment the door of the Wyverns’ warehouse shut, an uppercut clipped Payton’s jaw. It caused her to stumble back. Payton touched the blood that was welling up in the corner of her lip as she looked at Brisen. The others in the group wisely scattered.
“Feel better now?” she asked sarcastically.
Clearly the wrong move.
Another fist flew through the air but this time Payton was ready for it. She dodged. She blocked another strike as she backed into the warehouse. While working at the bar had given her more experience in bare-knuckle brawling, Brisen was hardly a drunk who had gotten rowdy at the Pegasus. Even so, it was easy to stay on the balls of her feet, ducking and dodging the swinging fists that came her way.
“I’m sure there’s an actual punching bag in here you can use,” she tried.
This only seemed to enrage the woman further. Brisen launched herself across the space between them. There were only so many blows that Payton could deflect before some began to land. The first punch glanced Payton’s chin, barely grazing her. She realized only too late it had been a feint. The second hit was to her gut causing her to double over, the air forced from her lungs. Disabled, she found herself knocked to the ground, staring upward as Brisen straddled her, her fists raining down mercilessly.
Payton twisted on the floor, pain radiating through her. There was no defusing this situation. The only thing this crazy woman was going to listen to was fists and pain. Her knees locked around Brisen’s middle and she squeezed, pulling her back while shoving away. It was enough to dislodge the woman a few inches. Blocking another attack, Payton slammed her palm up. Blood squirted from Brisen’s now broken nose.
The two scrambled to their feet, each bleeding for different reasons, each now glaring at the other. Smearing the blood across her cheek like it was some sort of sick war paint, Brisen sneered and then came at her.
Payton’s first blow landed its mark across Brisen’s temple and her second struck her in the throat. Each in quick succession to each other. The woman let out a gruff and gurgling howl of rage before lunging at her. The impact was hard and had the two of them staggering back until they hit the wall.
A blade was pressing against Payton’s stomach. She could feel the sharp edge digging into the leather of her armor.
“Are you kidding me?” Payton hissed.
Stomping down on Brisen’s foot she shoved the woman away from her. With a swift and powerful kick to the gut, it was the brunette’s turn to double over. Grabbing her wrist and slamming her hand on the woman’s forearm force Brisen to drop the stiletto. An uppercut to the chin made her topple backward.
“Enough, Brisen. No more,” she exclaimed, stepping on the woman’s hand as it fumbled for her other dagger.
“I say when it’s done, bitch.”
Kneeling down, Payton pulled her own blade out and pointed it at Brisen. “That “client” was making plans to become a slaver. If those are the type of people you are willing to associate with, then your moment of taking advantage of my dumb luck while under your employ is over.”
Brisen’s eyes were burning with rage as she stared at Payton, blood still pouring out of her nose and drenching her face. “I am in charge of the Wyverns, you upstart Vaelornian cunt. You can’t threaten me. One pathetic little worm like you won’t make a difference. You’ll be forgotten in a week.”
“I don’t care if I am. But I bet you will. You see, if I walk out of here, I will let everyone know exactly what sort of people the Onyx Wyverns are willing to do business with.” Payton watched horror flicker across the woman’s face. “I’m fairly certain they would be willing to listen to me since you’ve been the one hyping up my importance. So let’s get one thing very clear,” she slid the blade under Brisen’s throat, “no slavers. Not now. Not ever. If there is ever even a hint that a client is doing such activities you will cut that contract and turn them in. You will not decide that coin is more important than lives.”
The brunette looked like she wanted nothing more than to bury a blade into Payton’s heart if she had a chance. Payton knew from now on she would have to watch her back with the woman. The days of her amusing Brisen were over.
“Fine,” Brisen bit.
Payton held the dagger under her chin a moment longer before nodding and taking it away. She pushed to her feet, ignoring the aches and pains of the many bruises Brisen’s punches had left behind. When her eyes shifted off of Brisen she was confronted with an unexpected crowd. A dozen or more Wyverns just… staring at her.
Shit. Were they going to attack her to? Payton’s hands rested
on her hilts just to be safe.
“You’re… you’re not taking over?” a voice from the side called. She didn’t recognize the person.
“What?” she nearly squeaked in disbelief.
“You won.” Zoe gestured to Brisen who was batting away Hitchens’ help to get to her feet. “The guild… it can be yours now.”
Bewildered, Payton looked from the crowd to Brisen. There was a very wary look in Brisen’s eyes, her fingers twitching over her one remaining stiletto.
Payton wondered if she had been hit one too many times on the head. Because she won the fight somehow she inherits a guild? That… made no sense.
“The guild will be hers over my dead body,” Brisen snarled.
Payton gave an awkward nod. “Right… erm… so… no body, no guild. Brisen is still alive and punching.” She made a stupid joke that got no reaction. “Seriously, I have no intentions of taking over.” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince the crowd or Brisen at this point.
“Just get out of my sight,” the woman snapped.
Not waiting to be told twice, Payton hurried out of the warehouse. The walk home was agonizing. Every movement hurt. She wondered if Brisen had managed to crack a rib or two when she had rained punches down upon her. It certainly felt like it.
Damn Brisen. Damn those slavers. Damn this night.
Chapter Twenty-One
Surprisingly things had gone back to normal in the Wyverns since the sparring match between her and Brisen. The woman always glared at her when they crossed paths but other than that there had been no repercussions. Payton wasn’t certain if was because Brisen was biding her time or if something else was going on.
There had been a distinctive shift in power after the fight. The mercenaries – even ones who had never met Payton before – suddenly were looking to her for leadership and advice. Even though she had not killed Brisen and taken her place, Brisen had been shown as weak and Payton’s position had somehow been reinforced as strong. It was not what Payton intended but she wondered if it did give her a layer of protection from the woman given that the only person who remained completely loyal to her was, of course, Hitchens.
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