by Jami Gray
Sloppy behaviour to have come back to get that. ‘Which doesn’t make sense.’
Boden grunted but didn’t disagree. ‘Hits are not standard Raider behaviour.’
‘True, so why the change?’ He remained silent, but she wasn’t expecting an answer. Tucking the question away for later, she turned and headed for the door. There was nothing more left to learn here.
‘Little hard to question the dead,’ Boden called after her.
She didn’t bother with a response, just kept going until she was back outside. In an effort to drive out the sourness left behind from the miasma of spilt blood and guts, she sucked in crisp air.
Boden stepped up next to her. ‘What the hell is going on, Charity?’ He shifted until he blocked her way, his gaze dark and hard. ‘What kind of trouble did you bring me?’
If anyone else was asking, she could resort to the tried and true batting of eyelashes and clueless demeanour, but on him, it was a wasted effort. She rubbed the back of her neck. Since the moment she arrived, nothing had gone as planned. For someone in her position, that wasn’t good.
Yeah, there were multiple reasons behind her impromptu visit, some she couldn’t share with Boden, not unless he stepped into Crane’s still warm boots. And they weren’t easy boots to fill. Crane’s stabilising presence was all that kept the two biggest west coast power players in line. Without Crane? It didn’t bear thinking about it. She just couldn’t wrap her head around her old mentor playing that tricky role. ‘Whatever trouble killed Crane, wasn’t mine.’ So far as she knew. If she was wrong, well, that would make things … interesting.
Voices from those who survived the Raiders’ attack called back and forth, the sound drifting in the air as background noise. Meanwhile, her one-time trainer studied her, his face an implacable mask as her tension rose. ‘You’re sure?’
‘As much as I can be.’ She wanted to say more, but couldn’t. Not yet.
He finally shifted to the side with a muttered curse.
‘Based on what happened in there—’ she indicated the building behind them with her head, ‘—the Raiders weren’t jacking around. That list you mentioned earlier, want to share a name?’
He grimaced. ‘It could be any damn one, so long as they could pay the asking price.’
Together they moved towards the building normally used for social gatherings, but currently doing duty as a makeshift medical ward. Once upon a time, it served some other, less serious purpose. Maybe to watch those movie things old timers sometimes mentioned. Who knew? She fell in step behind him.
He slanted her a glance. ‘Or it could be someone new crawling out of the pits.’
Considering how fast the tides of influence shifted, his answer wasn’t a surprise. She wanted to dig for more, get the gist of what Crane was messing around with, but first things first. As they drew closer to the main social hall, the clamour of those trying to help the wounded was interspersed with broken moans and sobs from the injured and dying.
Stepping inside, she blinked, trying to adjust to the dimness. Even the sunlight pouring through the windows and the thrown open exterior doors couldn’t lighten the sombre atmosphere. Her gaze was riveted on the rows of the wounded, neatly laid in the centre of the room. ‘How many?’
Boden heard her soft question and answered as quietly, ‘At last count, we lost four to their fifteen. Three more could go either way. The rest should make it.’
Hidden deep where no eyes would ever witness, she flinched. Humanity’s numbers were nothing like before, and in a mid-size rural community like this, that seemingly low number carried high implications. ‘You have enough antibiotics on hand?’
‘Lucky for us we just got a recent resupply.’ His spine straightened, and he worked his way across the floor, aiming for a reed-thin woman currently directing the chaos. ‘Mandy.’
At the sound of her name, the woman turned, light glinting off her glasses. The brown hair pulled back into a severe bun only emphasised the exhaustion carving her face into sharp angles. ‘Boden.’ Her gaze flicked to the entryway before coming back to the big man in front of her. ‘Crane?’
‘Will wait until later,’ Boden answered.
‘Dammit.’ Her mouth pulled down as her fist came up to rub at her chest and genuine grief shadowed her eyes.
‘Updates?’
‘The bastards took out one of the supply sheds with a Molotov cocktail. We lost a couple of shipments awaiting transport to the border, a couple of mechanicals in the midst of repairs, and overflow foodstuffs,’ she listed the damage in a hard voice, then shook her head and frowned. ‘Their timing was shit for them, but good for us. Since it wasn’t a market day, most of our people were tucked away on their homesteads or deeper inside the town, away from the gates.’
Charity added another strange thing to her list of shit that didn’t make sense. Raiders attacked when maximum damage could be inflicted, which made market days the perfect lure. Most settlements upped their guardsmen during those times. ‘Maybe they thought today was market day?’
Boden shook his head, even as his jawbone pressed white against his weathered skin. Despite the bandage wrapped around his chest, he folded his arms and kept focused on Mandy. ‘Nothing critical?’
The other woman rolled her shoulders. ‘Not to us. But I’m not sure how understanding those waiting on the border shipments will be.’
Charity’s mind spun with possible scenarios, some more paranoid than others, but that was the curse of experience. Her mental acrobats were about to leap into the ramifications of Crane’s sudden demise when Boden asked the older woman, ‘Anyone missing?’
Mandy took off her glasses, rubbed her red eyes, and then carefully resettled her frames, her careful movements tweaking Charity’s curiosity. ‘Simon took off after two Raiders who bolted when it became obvious their friends weren’t getting out alive.’
‘Simon?’ Charity tried to put a name to a face and came up blank.
‘Did the hot-headed fool take any backup?’ A cloud of worry settled over Boden’s face as his question chased the heels of hers.
Picking up on his uneasiness, Mandy’s tired gaze sharpened. ‘Not that I know of, why?’
Boden spun on his heel and headed towards the main door without answering her. Charity kept pace. ‘Boden, who’s Simon?’
He spared her a brief, undecipherable look. ‘Besides me? The only man stupid enough to be convinced to take Crane’s place.’
The pit in her stomach roiled. ‘You think the runaway Raiders are leading him into a trap?’
‘Don’t think it, little girl, know it.’
His response left her mentally spewing every nasty word she knew. They rushed outside only to be met by the distinctive rumble of motorcycles. Stepping to Boden’s side, she watched two unmistakable bikes roar into the open space. It took a moment for her to place why they seemed familiar, and when she did, she wanted to kick something.
Trouble, with a capital T, pulled to a stop in a cloud of dust, the low thunder of their engines drifting away as the two men dismounted. One was tall and whipcord lean, while the other could give Boden a run for his money on the brawler front. The taller one took point, pulling down his dust-covered bandana to reveal a short dark beard. He stalked forward with a loose-hipped swagger, which might be interesting under different circumstances, before doing a manly arm grasp with Boden.
‘Ruin,’ Boden greeted as he pulled the lighter man in and bumped shoulders.
‘Bo-man.’ When Ruin stepped back, his friend came in and repeated the moves.
‘Havoc.’ Boden added a solid slap on the second man’s back and got a silent nod in return.
Hearing the names cinched it for Charity. Ruin and Havoc, one-half of Fate’s Vultures, a nomadic band of vigilantes with an ever expanding notorious reputation for brutal justice. Fan-freaking-tastic. She definitely picked the wrong damn day to visit Pebble Creek. Feeling the weight of a stare, she took her sweet ass time acknowledging it.
&nbs
p; Ruin was staring, maybe. Hard to tell since his eyes were still hidden behind dark lenses. ‘I know you.’
That deep voice sank under her skin, igniting a series of quakes. Temptation raised its troublesome head and licked its lips in anticipation. Determined to maintain control, she cocked her head to the side and used a finger to motion for him to remove the glasses. His lips twitched, then he pushed them up over the barely restrained, wild tangle of hair streaked with burnished copper to reveal the startling colour of amber. Every nerve ending came alive, and that bitch temptation began to laugh. Oh yeah, she was in trouble. Years and years of practice allowed her to speak without revealing a damn thing as she slowly shook her head. ‘Nope. Never met.’
Her answer got a long slow blink, and a speculative gleam, but no response. A little disappointed, she shoved a gag in temptation’s mouth and tossed her ass into a locked room.
Ruin turned back to Boden. ‘What happened here?’
‘Raider hit.’ Boden didn’t bother elaborating, didn’t need to. A couple of the walking wounded were dragging the last of the dead Raiders off.
‘Where’s Simon?’
Not the question she expected, but Boden didn’t even bat an eyelash. ‘Chasing a couple of escapees. We were just getting ready to track his ass down.’
Ruin frowned. His attention drifted to her, lingered, darkened, and then went back to the bigger man. ‘Mind if I tag along?’
‘The more, the merrier.’ Boden turned to her. ‘Charity, catch them up on shit, I need to grab a couple of things before we head out.’ He didn’t wait for her answer, but moved away, shouting at one of the men on the far end of the yard.
Her gaze collided with Ruin’s and the merciless speculation she saw brought her earlier unease back with a vengeance. Unable to stop herself, she arched a brow in silent question.
His lips curved, but there was nothing friendly in it. ‘That shit include why no-one’s answering Crane’s phone?’
Ruin’s drawled question sent her uneasiness straight into the dread category. ‘Crane called you?’ Needing an outlet for the nerve-shredding energy coursing through her, she turned from him and his silent behemoth partner and headed to where her bike was stashed. She wasn’t walking into a possible trap without a bit more backup.
‘Not directly, he called Holden.’ It didn’t surprise her when Ruin kept pace with her, leaving Havoc behind with their bikes. ‘We were there mediating—’ the word carried a sneer, ‘—when it came in.’
Holden ran a meeting place just north of what used to be Salt Lake City. It was considered neutral ground, the perfect place for mediations. If Crane called the Vultures in, it was because he knew he was in trouble. ‘Crane’s dead.’ She wouldn’t go into details, not her place. If Boden wanted to share, that was on him.
‘Dead?’
Hard to read his voice, there wasn’t much in it. ‘Yep.’
They reached her bike, and she crouched down to unlock the custom storage compartment holding an old-style Glock 19. Ammunition was a bitch to get, but she made a point to have connections. Normally, her blades were more than enough, but considering the amount of brass littering the ground and the still stinging graze on her shoulder, the need for something more than a knife was obvious. Problem was she didn’t know if the Raiders the missing Simon was chasing were carrying or not. She belted the leather holster around her waist, propping her foot on her bike’s back tire as she tightened the thigh strap that would hold it in place. Tucking the Glock home, she made sure to grab the extra magazine as well. She felt Ruin watching her, his gaze taking on a tactile weight. Unsettling, but not unexpected.
She turned and found him very much inside her personal space. Used to the posturing alpha male routine, she folded her arms over her chest and cocked her head to the side, not giving an inch. Despite what her body wanted, she wasn’t here to play. ‘What did Crane say that sent you rushing up here?’
‘Didn’t talk to him.’ The predatory light in his eyes made a lie of his lazy demeanour. ‘Holden answered, got an earful of screams before the line went out. That generally means trouble.’
‘So you just raced hell-bent for leather to dive right into that trouble?’ Despite the temptation he presented, his arrogance crawled under her skin and nibbled, irritating enough that she couldn’t stop picking at him.
‘Wanted to be sure that trouble didn’t include Simon.’
Simon? Not Crane? Interesting. ‘Why? Is he one of you?’
‘One of me?’
She waved a hand. ‘Fate’s Vultures.’
‘So we have met.’
Shaking her head, she pressed her palm against his chest and gave him a light shove, a silent indication to back off. Despite his t-shirt, heat met her palm and her fingers flexed, enough, so her nails bit into his chest. ‘Your reputation precedes you.’
He held firm long enough to ensure she knew when he stepped back it was his choice. ‘Nope, Simon’s not part of us, but he is Crane’s.’
His heat still seared her palm after he stepped away. Half-hidden by her side, her fingers curled into a fist. ‘And just like the Vultures, he answers to Crane.’ She shook her head. ‘Correction, answered to Crane.’
His expression didn’t change, but she didn’t miss the rise of temper flaring in his eyes. ‘We don’t answer to anyone.’
Behind him, Boden approached catching her attention, a short handled axe strapped to his back, the blade’s head rising behind his shoulder. Ruin turned and moved to stand beside her. When he leant down, his breath tickled her ear, and she fought her body’s instinctive shiver. ‘Simon might not be part of the Vultures, but he is a well-valued friend.’
She didn’t bother to look away from Boden’s approach, not ready to meet those sharp eyes. ‘Must be a hell of a friend.’
His answer was unexpected. ‘Closer than a brother.’
Well hell, the situation just graduated from complicated to completely fucked.
Chapter 2
It took Ruin just over an hour to hit an isolated spot tucked in the mountains behind Pebble Creek and the end of Simon’s trail. His horse blew out a soft huff. Motorcycles were useless on these narrow trails, which meant the slower option of horseback. He studied the glaring clues of the blood coating the trunk of a nearby tree and the brown drops decorating the surrounding bushes. Then there was the scuffed dirt, broken twigs, torn leaves, and gouges where boots and blades had dug into the ground. He crouched, one hand on the reins of the horse he led for the last twenty minutes, the other curled into a fist as he tried to choke back the frustration edged with dread gnawing at his gut. This was the steepest and narrowest part of the trail, the perfect pinch point for an ambush, and it looked as if Simon had waltzed right in.
‘You stupid fuck,’ he muttered. How many damn times had he warned Simon that his tendency to rush in would get him killed? Ruin flexed his fingers as he tried to think. Strangely, the well-armed, blonde bundle of trouble behind him remained quiet as she watched from her seat on the back of the sturdy paint. A distant part of his mind, not running through possible scenarios, was grateful she stayed the hell back.
Despite Boden’s obvious determination to track down the gutless Raiders, it was left to him and Charity to ride to the rescue after a kid stumbled across their path when they first headed out. Pale and scared out of his damn mind, the boy dropped to his knees, and despite his heaving chest, tried to speak. Surprisingly, it was Charity who managed to calm him enough to get the story.
Seemed on their way into Crane’s, the Raiders decided to use the kid’s family as a pre-party appetiser, leaving behind the injured and dying, certain no-one would raise the alarm before they hit the main settlement. The boy’s homestead lay just outside of Pebble Creek and served as a home to multiple generations of the same family. The boy hid with his younger siblings and cousins while the older family members tried to fight. When the Raiders left, the boy waited to be sure they wouldn’t return and then headed out on foot for help
.
After the boy’s story, a short conversation ensued. Havoc and a couple of medics headed to the boy’s home in search of survivors. When it became clear that leaving Pebble Creek without a de facto leader was just asking for more trouble, Boden agreed to remain behind. While Boden’s decision calmed the rattled residents of Pebble Creek, Ruin ended up with the woman, two horses, a hunting rifle, and a growing pile of rocks in his gut. Crouched next to the torn up grass, he scanned the surrounding area carefully.
‘Someone put up a fight.’ Charity was no longer on her horse, but next to him. Guess she was done with being quiet. A simple shift in his position and his shoulder would brush her thigh. She was close enough her body heat lifted the hairs on his arm. And that wasn’t the only part of him that came to attention. Lust was an inconvenient bitch.
Her ability to move so quietly spoke to a specific skill set he was innately familiar with and raised a red flag about her sudden appearance at Pebble Creek. While his list of questions grew by the hour, something warned him getting answers would require a creative approach. Good thing for her he didn’t have the time to indulge in an interrogation session. Frustration and anger crowded close, shoving his unwanted attraction to the backburner. Later, though … He rose to his feet. ‘Not a surprise. Simon’s not the type to go quietly.’
A breeze tangled through the surrounding trees and danced through the sunlit strands of her hair, whipping them across her eyes. Lifting her hand, she hooked the flyaway strands and tucked them behind her ear, as she continued to scan their surroundings. ‘Where did they go?’
Standing side-by- side, he couldn’t miss her muttered question. It echoed his. He slowly rotated on his heel, his mind working as he took in the knee-high grass and wind-tested trees. He hadn’t been here in years. The narrow pass guarded by Pebble Creek was caught between the sprawling stretch of Lolo Forest to the west and treacherous terrain of Yellowstone to the east, and served as the only route between the two, with a straight shot to the Northland border. The Collapse reconfigured the terrain of what used to be Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana until forests and lakes dominated the area. The mountain chain they were currently in consisted of several high peaks. Harsh and unforgiving, they weren’t the best option for hiding but, as history proved, a determined individual, or the occasional lone hunter, determined to remain isolated from what remained of the world, could make do.
