Lawless (Lawless Saga Book 1)

by Tarah Benner

  Banished inmates were given no food, no shelter, and no protection from their prison family. Nobody was allowed to help or even speak to them. Banishment meant certain death, but it was a death without honor. Those who didn’t starve were usually killed for sport.

  “Oh god,” Soren murmured. “This is all my fault.”

  Bernie didn’t say anything, but he knew she agreed with him.

  “Is she . . .” he began, choking on his words. “Is she all right?”

  “She’ll live,” said Bernie. “If your plan doesn’t get us all killed.”

  Soren’s mind raced. “Lark got caught stealing?”

  “Relax,” said Bernie, turning around and rummaging in the bushes for something. “We got your stupid pitchfork.”

  She launched it over the fence like a javelin, narrowly missing Soren’s head.

  “Plan’s still the same,” he said, staring at the pitchfork. “I gave Lark my word.”

  “Yeah . . . a lot of good that’s done her so far.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Soren. “I never should have asked her to steal it. I wouldn’t have if I’d had any other choice.”

  “You did,” snapped Bernie. “You just chose to let Lark do your dirty work for you.”

  “No. It’s not like that. I didn’t want —” Soren broke off, his throat burning. “Where are they keeping her?”

  “They dumped her out in no-man’s land,” said Bernie. “She was in bad shape, so I dragged her into the abandoned shanty on the edge of the colony. She’ll be safe there for a while.”

  Soren didn’t respond to this. He was shaking out his bundle of clothes and tossing his jacket over his shoulder.

  “What’re you —” Bernie broke off, her face slack with shock.

  Soren was climbing over the tall chain-link fence, his hands clumsy and frozen on the cold metal wire. He’d never climbed the fence before, but he’d thought about it hundreds of times.

  He reached the top in less than two minutes and threw his jacket over the razor wire to protect his hands. Then he carefully shifted his weight to his arms and threw his legs over the top.

  “Don’t!” Bernie shrieked in alarm. But a few seconds later, Soren was touching down on the other side.

  “Why did you do that?” Bernie asked weakly. “You can’t help her. No one can.”

  Soren ignored her. “Take me to Lark.”

  Bernie scowled and let out an aggravated sigh, leading Soren up the bank and into the woods. She didn’t say a word the entire journey back to the colony.

  Soren knew what Bernie must think of him, and he didn’t blame her. He never should have gotten Lark involved in his plan — not when she was already in so much trouble.

  But thanks to her, they had what they needed. And as long as everything else went according to plan, their window of opportunity was about to open.

  Soren knew there was nothing he could say to Lark to make up for what she’d been through, but he still had to see her — if only to know that she was all right.

  Every nerve in his body tingled as they approached the ragged edge of the forest. From the shelter of the trees, Soren could see vast open space to his left — most likely the women’s fields — and tiny pinpricks of dying light.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Bernie asked.

  “Yeah.” Soren didn’t hesitate, but he read the layers of meaning in her question.

  If anyone saw him, he was a dead man. Soren didn’t know any jumpers who’d actually ventured into the women’s colony, but he had a feeling that Mercy would flay him alive.

  As they drew closer, Soren’s eyes detected the faint outline of a few shanties, and he realized that the lights he’d seen were campfires.

  Bernie led him around the northern edge of the colony along the fields, sticking to the shadows in case someone happened to glance out her window.

  From what Soren could tell, the women’s colony wasn’t all that different from the men’s. The shanties were smaller and better kept, but the mess hall, the square, and even the bathhouses looked nearly identical.

  Finally, they broke away from the colony and headed out toward the fringes of San Judas. Out there, the only light came from what little moonlight managed to sneak through the clouds, and the darkness seemed to thicken with every step they took.

  Half a mile outside the colony, Soren spotted a miserable-looking structure choked in sage and wild grass. The rough adobe walls had been repaired in several places, resulting in a choppy patchwork of different-colored clay. The canales poking out of the roof were clogged with debris, and the broken windows were boarded over.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” said Bernie. Her voice was heavy with disapproval, but she seemed to feel that climbing the fence had earned him a few minutes of alone time with Lark. Soren turned to thank her, but she’d already disappeared.

  He approached the cabin slowly, stopping just outside the door and bracing himself for the worst. Over the whisper of the wind, Soren could just make out the sound of ragged breathing coming from the other side of the door.

  He pushed it open and stepped over the threshold. It was so dark that he couldn’t see a foot in front of his face, but as soon as he took a step inside, something hard and metal bounced off his head.

  Soren reached up and felt a lantern hanging just inside the door. He twiddled with it for a few seconds, and a tiny spark of light appeared.

  He was standing inside a dilapidated two-person shanty with a single busted bed frame pushed against the wall. The earthen floor must have turned to mud and hardened again, because the legs of the bed had sunk several inches into the dirt. A small figure was lying on the floor, and Soren’s breath caught in his throat.

  Lark was curled up in a ball on her side, shivering under a thin woolen blanket. The bowl of food beside her looked completely untouched, and as soon as he sank down next to her, Soren saw why.

  Lark was in bad shape. Both of her eye sockets were bruised, blackened pits. Her top lip was split, and her nose was crusted over with blood. She had her left arm drawn protectively over her chest, which made Soren think she must be nursing several cracked ribs.

  Seeing Lark like that gave Soren a strange feeling. For weeks he’d wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her. Now, when he was inches away, he worried that the slightest brush of his fingers could break her in two.

  “Lark?” he croaked, stretching out a hand and stopping just short of her cheek.

  Lark jerked violently, and her amber eyes snapped open in alarm.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, bending closer so she could see his face. “It’s me.”

  Her brows crinkled in confusion and then horror. “Soren?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lark swallowed, and it looked as though she were about to cry. “What happened to you?”

  At first Soren didn’t understand what she was asking, but then he realized that he probably looked like hell after Hudson’s beating.

  “Hudson and I talked,” he said. “I’m okay.”

  “He beat you up?”

  Soren shrugged. “It was a small price to pay.”

  Lark frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  “Bernie said Mercy caught you stealing.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “God, Lark . . .” he murmured. “I am so, so sorry.”

  Lark didn’t say anything, but her mouth tightened into a thin line.

  “I never should have asked you to steal that.”

  “You didn’t,” she croaked.

  “I know, but . . . I should have found another way.”

  Lark shook her head but wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  Soren didn’t know what to say. He’d come there prepared for her fury, but instead Lark sounded dead to the world.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Her gaze fell off into space, and a lone tear rolled down her cheek. “A girl might be dead because of me.”

  Soren’s eyeb
rows shot up, but he just waited for her to continue.

  “One of Mercy’s daughters caught me stealing, and I ratted her out.”

  “Oh.”

  “She was the one Zachariah was seeing,” said Lark. “She was pregnant.”

  “Wow,” said Soren, shaking his head in disbelief.

  He could only imagine what Mercy Peters would do with that information. He didn’t know what to say to Lark, so he reached out carefully to stroke her hair. It was soft and smooth, and it seemed to calm her. But then he let the side of his hand brush against her cheek, and she jerked away as if she’d been burned.

  “You never asked me what I was in for,” she said suddenly, turning to look at him with a harsh gaze.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” snapped Lark. “I killed someone, Soren. That’s why I’m in here.”

  Soren’s stomach gave a funny jolt. He hadn’t expected that.

  “Yeah,” said Lark, correctly interpreting his shocked expression. “It matters now, doesn’t it?”

  In truth, Soren had never spent much time wondering what Lark might have done to land herself in San Judas. He knew better than anyone that a conviction didn’t always tell the full story. But murder? It just didn’t fit.

  “A man tried to rape me, and I killed him,” she said in a rough voice. “I didn’t mean to kill him. It just happened. But Portia . . . She tried to throw me under the bus, and I told Mercy what she’d done. I didn’t even care what happened to her. I was so angry, I just . . .”

  She trailed off, and Soren continued to stare at her. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that somebody had tried to rape Lark. She’d fought and she’d won, but the cost had been high. Lark had never forgiven herself for killing that man, no matter how justified she’d been.

  “I deserve this,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I deserve to be here.”

  In that moment, a bitter surge of anger rose up inside Soren. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve any of it.

  No matter what she said, Lark wasn’t a murderer. She’d just gotten caught up in a bad situation and defended herself the only way she knew how. It didn’t make him want her any less. If anything, hearing her story had awoken a familiar urge inside him — an urge to protect her at all costs.

  “Everybody has to make choices,” he said finally. “Most people are in here because they made the wrong ones.”

  Lark’s bottom lip trembled, and his heart ached for her.

  “But you didn’t,” he added. “You did what you had to do. You didn’t have a choice.”

  “I had a choice with Portia,” she said. “And I chose wrong. That’s the kind of person I am.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Soren. “I know you, Lark.”

  She gave him a watery smile. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know what kind of person you are,” he said. “And you’re not a killer.”

  Lark’s eyes swiveled around to look at him, and Soren could tell that those few words had meant the world to her. It was as if Lark had been waiting for someone to forgive her for what she’d done, even if she couldn’t forgive herself.

  “You could have told me or not told me,” Soren whispered. “It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

  For a second, Lark didn’t move or speak. She was staring at him with an appraising look, as if trying to decide if he was telling the truth.

  Then her eyes softened, and he knew that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

  A fire ignited somewhere in the region of Soren’s stomach. His breathing sped up, and his face flushed with heat.

  It had been such a long time since Soren had been this close to anyone, and his body was responding as though he’d been starving himself for years.

  On impulse, Soren bent over and brushed his lips against Lark’s. She was so soft and so perfect that Soren half wondered if he was dreaming. He’d thought about this moment hundreds of times, and now here he was kissing Lark.

  He nibbled lightly on her bottom lip, teasing and tasting her with delight.

  When Lark responded, a surge of desire streaked through his body, and he slipped his tongue between her lips. Lark dragged in a strangled breath, and Soren felt himself lose the battle that had been waging inside him.

  Lark threaded her fingers through his hair, and he let out an involuntary groan of pleasure. Her hands traveled slowly up his chest, and before either one of them could come to their senses, Soren had pulled her blanket aside.

  He rolled himself on top of her, careful to keep his weight on his arms. Lark’s chest fluttered briefly, and she sucked in a tiny gasp of pain.

  Soren hesitated, gently tracing her jaw with his fingertips. He knew he should get up and leave to avoid aggravating her injuries, but then Lark let out a moan of pleasure and ground her hips into his.

  Soren waited for another beat, trying to talk himself out of what he was about to do. But when Lark pulled him closer, everything inside him broke free.

  Soren surrendered to his desire and buried his face in Lark’s chest. Goosebumps erupted all over her skin, following the trail of Soren’s lips.

  His fingers became clumsy and frantic when they reached Lark’s waistband. It took him several seconds to undo the top button, and they both expelled a burst of air when it finally popped free.

  Soren plunged his hand into her pants, and Lark gave a soft gasp. But then a high-pitched caw! shattered the moment, and they both froze.

  Soren waited, breathing very hard and fast. He knew he’d just heard some kind of bird call, but it sounded as though it had come from a human.

  “That’s Bernie,” whispered Lark.

  Soren suppressed a groan, and Lark gently pushed him away.

  “You have to go,” she breathed, wincing as she sat up to fix her shirt and pants.

  Letting out a low, pained sigh, Soren pulled away and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. It was warm and soft, and it was doing nothing to dampen the raging lust inside him.

  “Thanks,” he breathed. “I’ve been wanting to do that for . . . a long time.”

  Lark grinned, but the sound of footsteps drawing nearer was enough to force Soren to his feet.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  “Tomorrow night,” he said, crossing to the window and peering through a crack in the boards. “Meet me at the river with Bernie. Bring as much food and water as you can.”

  “What about Denali?” she asked.

  Soren couldn’t help it. He grinned. “Yeah. Him, too.”

  eighteen

  Lark

  Soren’s look of adoration stayed with Lark long after he set off into the darkness. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could still feel his lips on hers — his hands all over her body.

  She hardly knew Soren, and yet she felt as though he understood her. Ever since he’d left her that first message, she’d felt an irresistible pull toward him that she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was because it had been such a long time since she’d had anybody to feel something for; maybe it was just the power of attraction. But whatever it was, Lark didn’t want to fight it.

  As she lay there on the dirt floor of the shanty, cool mountain air whistled through the cracks in the walls. It raised goosebumps all over her body and made her pull the blanket back over her torso. Lark shivered and wrapped her arms around her chest, dreaming of climbing over the fence with Soren and escaping San Judas for good.

  Her fantasy was interrupted by the shrill creak of the door. Lark froze.

  “Bernie?” she called uncertainly.

  “It’s me.”

  Lark let out a sigh of relief.

  The lamp hanging from the ceiling flickered back to life, and Bernie’s pale, distressed face came into view. Her eyes were red and bloodshot from crying, and her usual carefree expression had been replaced by devastation.

  Lark knew Bernie had been the one to drag her to
the cabin and cover her with the blanket, but she’d been half-unconscious at the time.

  “Anyone out there?” she asked.

  “Just me,” choked Bernie. “I didn’t want to interrupt whatever you guys were up to.”

  When Bernie came close enough to see Lark’s bruised and battered face, her eyes filled with tears, and she hung her head in shame.

  “I’m so sorry, Lark,” she blubbered. “I never should have left you there alone.”

  “Bernie, don’t —”

  “I should have stayed and fought Portia off.”

  “No,” said Lark firmly.

  “Look at you!” Bernie cried. “This is all my fault.”

  “No, it isn’t,” said Lark. “Listen . . . If you would have stayed, we’d both be lying out in a field somewhere with our faces bashed in.”

  Bernie sniffed and crawled toward Lark on her hands and knees. Lark tried to pull her into a hug, but her shoulder screamed in protest.

  “Fuuuuuck,” she moaned as Bernie helped her into a seated position. It felt as though the daughters had shattered her ribs. “Did you — at least — get the pitchfork?”

  “Yeah,” said Bernie. “I gave it to Soren.”

  “That’s good,” said Lark. “The daughters will definitely be paying us a visit to make sure you aren’t helping me.”

  “Did Portia rat me out?” Bernie asked.

  Lark shook her head. “She never got the chance.”

  “I guess she still might, though, right?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Lark. “I told Mercy that Portia was the one Zachariah had been seeing . . . and that she was pregnant with his child.”

  Bernie’s eyes bugged out so far that they appeared to be in danger of falling out of her head. “What?”

  “Yeah. I figured it out when I saw Portia in the woods the other night.”

  “What did Mercy do?”

  “She —” Lark broke off, haunted by the image of Portia lying on the ground. “Let’s just say she’s probably in worse shape than I am right now.”