Mayhem and Mutiny

by Charissa Dufour

  She limped forward, her pack and wet clothing in hand. Wic reached out for her gear, and she quickly pulled back.

  “Okay, just let me hang up your clothing so they dry.”

  Hesitantly, she relinquished her clothing, keeping a firm hold on her pack. Wic wondered what was in it, but doubted she would give him a chance to search.

  “Get on the bed,” he ordered when he finished with their clothing. He looked back to find her staring wide-eyed at him. “So I can elevate that leg. Jeeze!”

  She ignored his momentary outburst, limping to the bed and tucking her pack under her injured leg. Wic went to the tiny refrigerator in search of ice. The freezer was empty of everything except for a bag of breadfruit, frozen solid. He grabbed it and turned back toward her.

  “Mind thawing dinner for us?” he asked as he gently set the solid chunk on her swollen knee.

  He caught a faint hiss from her, but otherwise, she held still for the treatment. Wic sat on the corner of the bed and stared at her for a moment, his eyes running up and down her body hidden by the folds of his clothing. From what he could tell, and what he had seen before she changed, the girl had not lived an easy life. Aside from her current injuries, he had seen scars on her body, and she held a certain wariness that came from a defensive life.

  Wic knew; he had the same look in his eyes.

  “So what did you do to Rudy?”

  She licked her chapped lips. “I gave him a black eye.”

  Wic rolled his eyes. “Yes, I saw that. What caused the fight?”

  She seemed to consider his question, as though she thought she might actually be able to stay silent on the topic. After a moment, she let out a long sigh and adjusted her seat on the bed.

  “I was visiting Bernice.”

  “And he mistook you for a whore.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Not many people can take on Rudy and live to talk about it.”

  “He had a friend.”

  Wic frowned at her. “You mean Dimitri?”

  The girl nodded.

  Wic felt his brows rise on his forehead. She was comparatively unscathed for a petite woman taking on two men. Wic eyed her again, forcing himself to rethink his first impression and wondering who had trained her.

  “So you were at Bernice’s and he picked a fight.”

  “He had expectations… ones I wouldn’t meet.”

  Wic felt a smile pull on his lips. He knew what she meant, and he felt his respect for the tiny woman increase.

  “Well, I like you, kid. I really do. But I told Rudy I’d bring you in, and I have a business to run. If I let every pretty face sway my business choices…”

  He never finished his sentence. The little thing was suddenly moving, flinging her pack into his face and jumping off the creaking bed. She showed no signs of favoring her leg, though he knew by the sight of it that it had to be hurting her. Before he could tackle her, she grabbed the small lamp off the bedside table and flung that at him, too.

  Wic raised his arms to protect his head from the projectile. As he lowered his arms to catch her, she swung around with her leg, nailing him in the back of the knee. To his disgust, Wic dropped to his knees. With the fall, his anger grew. That little brat!

  From his knees, he fell towards her, slamming into her waist and taking her to the ground. He scrambled on top of her, pinning her arms above her head.

  “Baby, all you had to do was ask,” he teased to cover his anger.

  She squirmed under him until he couldn’t help but notice the slight curve of her hips.

  “Ha. I’d break you, little boy.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  She smiled demurely. “More of a promise.”

  Wic felt all the pleasure of their play slip from his body. She was threatening him, and he knew from what he had seen of her that he shouldn’t underestimate her. Wic climbed to his feet, dragging her up by her wrists. She gave him a little trouble, working to free her wrists from his large hands and trying to knee him in the kidney, but he twisted her around until her back was to his chest and her arms were wrapped around her chest like a strait jacket.

  “Settle down,” he said as her heel connected with thigh—she had been aiming for something much more precious.

  “Bite me!”

  Before he could stop himself, Wic bent towards her shoulder and clamped his teeth over her neck. They both froze, surprised by his action. After a second, he released her flesh, happy to see subtle bite marks. He ran his lips over the red mark, dragging his tongue up her neck towards the back of her ear.

  He felt her muscles tense against him and he pulled away.

  “Now are you ready to obey?” he asked.

  “Touch me again and I’ll cut off your balls.”

  “You’re not the first woman to make that threat,” he whispered in her ear.

  “But I’ll be the first to actually do it.”

  Wic forced himself not to react, though he heard the truth of it in her voice—she wouldn’t hesitate to castrate him.

  “You’re a special kind of crazy,” he said as he shoved her toward the little closet. “Get in there.”

  He slammed the door shut before she could even turn around and locked the door. For good measure, he pushed the little bedside table against the door. It wasn’t heavy enough to hold her in should the lock break, but she would likely knock it over if she tried to escape—and that would wake him up.

  “You’ll just stay in there until the rain passes.”

  Oden watched as Jack squirmed under the stares of the locals. In the few hours since they took out the street gang that tolled the road, the news spread and the locals gave them a whispering respect. The crowds parted for their small group, the wonton women waved, and the mothers pushed their children behind their skirts. Oden recognized the looks they received even if his captain didn’t: Power had shifted.

  Whether they liked it or not, the locals looked to them as the informal leaders of the suburb. Little did the locals know, they weren’t looking to take over any territory.

  “We didn’t do anything that spectacular,” Jack mumbled under his breath.

  Oden grinned sheepishly at his captain. “Don’t like the popularity?”

  “Is that what this is?”

  “It might prove useful. We could get the word spreading that we are looking for a blonde girl with dreadlocks.”

  “And how many people would get hurt when Bit defended herself from this new team?” Randal asked from behind Jack and Oden.

  “Yeah… I hadn’t thought of that. We could tell them not to approach, just to tell us if they see her.”

  Jack shrugged. “Can’t hurt, but we will have to admit she is dangerous.”

  “Agreed,” replied Randal.

  “But first, let’s get to this address.”

  It didn’t take them long to find a narrow apartment building wedged between two larger structures. They entered the door next to the small first-floor shop, leading up a flight of narrow stairs. The first landing had an old, splintered door.

  Jack knocked, and a moment later a man with a beer belly and a shiny white head opened the door.

  “Hi,” said Jack, struggling not to gag on the smell. “We’re looking for the manager of these apartments.”

  “That’s me. You interested in one? I got two available.”

  “No,” replied Jack, instantly regretting it as the man’s shoulders noticeably dropped. “We’re looking for a tenant of yours. Douglas Zandri.”

  The man shrugged with a pouty frown. “Never heard of him.”

  “He would have been living here just a few months ago.”

  “I say I never heard of him!”

  The round man slammed the door in Jack’s face, leaving them standing silently on the landing.

  “Maybe next time, say you’re interested in an apartment,” suggested Reese from halfway down the stairs.

  Calen and Oden shushed him.

  Is he nuts?
Oden wondered as he glared at Reese.

  “What now, Captain?” asked Randal.

  Jack let out a long, exhausted sigh before turning to look at his team. “I guess we go start asking the locals.”

  They left the building and fanned out, agreeing to meet back at the apartment building in an hour.

  Oden wandered away from the others, who had quickly stopped workers or families on their way to dinner. Alberton was a nicer neighborhood than most of Johannesburg. He was used to the slums, much like Bit. Still, he knew the average pedestrian wouldn’t have noticed Bit.

  He stopped in front one of the grimier buildings, his eyes running up to the second of many stories. An elderly woman sat on her deck, watching the street. Her eyes finally landed on Oden and she gave him a toothless grin.

  “You need somefin, cutie?” she called down to him.

  He gave her his best smile. “You see pretty much everything, don’t you?”

  “What were you hopin’ I’d have seen?”

  “A girl. ‘bout this tall.” He gestured with his hand. “With long, blonde dreadlocks.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed until they nearly disappeared into the folds of her sagging face. “Nope. Ain’t seen her.”

  “But you’d tell me if you did, right?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But what I will tell you is I hear the boys on the street. They say Rudy’s looking for a girl looks just what’n you described.”

  “Who’s Rudy?” Oden asked.

  “You ain’t from ‘round here, are you?”

  Oden shook his head.

  “Rudy runs Soweto. If he wants that girl, you best let him have her. It’d be stupid to go up against Rudy.”

  Oden’s smile grew sad as he considered how to respond to her.

  “’Course,” she continued, “sometimes love makes us do stupid stuff.”

  Oden didn’t respond, but turned away, his smile faltering once again.

  He continued to wander for the rest of the hour, talking to bar keepers, the hidden strippers, and even a woman walking her dog. The dog-walker knew nothing, the bar keepers looked nervous, and the stripper fled when he brought up a blonde woman with dreadlocks.

  At just the right moment, the group formed outside the apartment building.

  “Well?” asked Jack.

  Forrest shrugged. “Everyone I asked just laughed at the idea of dreadlocks.”

  “I couldn’t find anything, either,” agreed Randal.

  “I learned something interesting,” offered Oden. “Evidently a man named Rudy who runs Soweto, a suburb to the west, is looking for a girl with the same description.”

  “And you trust this information?” asked Jack, his expression growing concerned.

  Oden nodded. “Aye. And based on other people’s reactions, I suspect it is true.”

  “Time to go see this Rudy,” Jack announced just as his comm. device beeped at him. “This is Jack.”

  They all heard the feminine hum of Katrina’s voice.

  “What?” asked Jack, glancing up at Randal. “Right. I’ll take care of it.”

  Randal crossed his burly arms over his chest. “She confirmed our suspicions?”

  Jack nodded. “What in the world is Blaine doing?

  Chapter Eleven

  Blaine emerged from the office, wiping his hands on a scrap of cloth that had fallen from the woman’s suit. He tried to think back and remember when her blouse had been torn, but it escaped him. Glancing around the hallway, he found Forrest and Jeremiah sitting in the hall, their shoulders showing their tension even through their thick shirts.

  Nathyn paced the floor, the side of his face already swelling from Blaine’s elbow.

  He had to learn, Blaine told himself when guilt began to trickle up into his consciousness.

  Early on in his interrogation, the others had questioned his techniques. Jeremiah not as much as the others, but Nathyn and Forrest were against him even threatening the woman. Nathyn had come at him.

  “Blaine, this isn’t how we work.”

  Blaine had pushed him back, determined to get the information out of the secretary.

  When Nathyn tried again to drag Blaine away from her, he had slammed his elbow into the other man’s face. Nathyn stumbled back, landing on his rump with a shocked expression flitting across his features. Forrest and Jeremiah—both considerably smaller than the two security guards—stepped back, out of Blaine’s reach.

  “Try it again, Nathyn, and I’ll kill you. I’m finding Bit, no matter what it takes.”

  To his astonishment, Nathyn went at him again. Blaine took the first swing in the gut before pinning Nathyn’s arm behind his back. He manhandled the smaller security guard out of the office and into the hall. Forrest and Jeremiah followed silently.

  Blaine left them to pout in the hallway and returned to the office, where he did what was necessary.

  Now, Blaine ignored the looks of the men in the hallway. Tossing the bloodstained rag back into the office, he pulled the door shut and locked it, pocketing the woman’s key.

  “Is she even alive?” Nathyn growled.

  Blaine shrugged. “She wasn’t strong enough.”

  “You mean she wasn’t strong enough to endure hours of torture,” whispered Jeremiah, suddenly gaining a backbone.

  “You say something to me, boy?” demanded Blaine, preparing to kick him.

  Forrest and Nathyn stepped between him and the young engineer.

  “Did you learn anything useful?” asked Forrest, changing the topic.

  Blaine shrugged again. “Turns out she didn’t know anything.”

  He saw the other men pale at his words, and he ignored them. He was doing what was necessary to save the woman he loved. They couldn’t understand that sort of drive. Nathyn and Forrest glanced between each other, clearly at loss for words.

  Let them be lost. I know what I’m doing. That’s why I’ve got to take charge.

  “Blaine, I think we should go to the ship like Cap ordered,” said Nathyn. “We could be fired for this.”

  “You go right ahead, I’m not leaving this planet without Bit.”

  Nathyn and Forrest gave each other significant looks again.

  Finally, Forrest shook his head. “No, we’ll stay with you.”

  “Whatever.” Blaine double checked the office door. “Let’s go back to that cantina we went to with Jack. I bet that man knows more than he let on.”

  Nathyn watched Blaine’s wide back as he led them down the crowded street. They were heading in the general direction of the cantina, a few suburbs away, but were keeping an eye open for a hotel. Even an hour after leaving the office building, Nathyn’s heart hadn’t calmed.

  He had tried to prevent Blaine from killing the poor woman, but the larger security guard had easily manhandled him right into the hallway, locking the door behind him. Nathyn and Forrest had discussed calling the peace keepers, or whatever they called them on Earth, but they didn’t want to bring Bit’s Indentured Servant status into it. Besides, they had both believed Blaine would never actually hurt the secretary.

  Guilt weighed on Nathyn’s shoulders. Between him, Forrest, and Jeremiah they could have wrangled Blaine. Instead, they had been passive. They had convinced themselves Blaine wasn’t lost to amore—or his version of it. Nathyn wondered where Randal had found Blaine, and how he hadn’t known about Blaine’s psychosis.

  I didn’t kill her, he thought to himself; his conscious knew better. He might as well have dealt the death blow.

  Nathyn glanced at Forrest and Jeremiah. Jer looked worried, but in a vague “I don’t understand what is happening” way. Forrest, on the other hand, looked as sick as Nathyn felt.

  Suddenly, Blaine stopped. “There’s a hotel.”

  They went and paid for one room, which they would all share. Inside, Blaine announced he was going to go get them food. When he ordered them all to stay put, Nathyn worked to look submissive. He waited a few seconds after Blaine’s exit to spea
k.

  “We have to do something.”

  “Like what?” asked Forrest. “You gonna call the police? Bring Bit into all this?”

  “We need to at least tell them about the body,” interjected Jer.

  “They’d trace the call back to us,” replied Nathyn.

  Forrest leaned forward as he spoke. “But we didn’t kill that woman.”

  “No, but we were in the room for a time, and in the hallway when she did die. I’m certain they could find evidence of our involvement. Besides, we might as well have killed her.”

  Forrest dropped his eyes to the ugly carpet. “Yeah. True.”

  “Truth is, guys, we’re in this, too.”

  “What are we gonna do if he wants to torture that guy at the cantina?” asked Jeremiah.

  “We stop him,” Forrest and Nathyn said in unison.

  Bit tried to hold still in her cramped quarters, waiting for the large man—Wic—to go to sleep. It had been nearly thirty minutes, by her guess, since she last heard the bed creak. If he was anything like the men on the Lenore, he would already be asleep. Careful not to disturb the piles of junk surrounding her, Bit removed her heavy boots and shifted to her knees. She began groping in the dark, searching for just the right tool.

  After an exhaustingly slow search, she found what felt like a stack of printed magazines. Bit could only imagine how expensive the sheets of paper had been to buy. Paper was a precious commodity, and only the rich enjoyed printed books or magazines. Bit wondered what a “prince of the slums” wanted with such a treasure.

  Either way, the stack of magazines was her salvation. She picked one up, made sure the spine was as flat as it could be and began pressing it between the door and the doorjamb, right where the latch bolt extended into the doorjamb. Most doorknobs worried about keeping people out but never considered the need to keep people in.

  It was already unusual for the closet to have a lock in the first place. Bit guessed Wic had installed it to better protect the supplies in this safe house. And like her men before him, Wic had no idea how easy it was to escape a locked door knob from the inside. Had there been a deadbolt, she would have been stuck.