by Jami Gray
Another rough scream rode along the night’s sky jerking Ruin’s attention to the cabin. Cold rage settled in to stay, and he glared down at the man at his feet. Adjusting his grip on his knife, he slammed one knee into the barrel chest causing the bone to snap audibly under the impact. Grabbing a handful of the Raider’s greasy, coarse hair he yanked the head up and ended the fight with one lethal, brutal swipe, carving a bloody slice from ear to ear.
Chapter 3
As the boy Raider died on Ruin’s knife, Charity wasted no time bringing her gun up on the shadow rushing in from the right. A bite of cordite followed the caress of the trigger, and the shadow stumbled and fell.
The stinging slice of fire across the top of her injured shoulder coincided with the harsh echoing cough of a rifle. Hissing in pain, a flurry of curses ringing through her skull, she dove behind the nearest tree stump. Unfortunately, it only stood about four feet high, which meant she was hugging the dirt. Shifting around the broad base to see, she scanned the night for the rifleman. She started with the cabin, where flickering light crept from the open door, but there were no more man-sized shadows. If she continued to stare at the light, she’d be left night blind, so her gaze slid past and began quartering the surrounding trees.
From somewhere to her right an enraged bellow erupted, bringing her attention back to Ruin. The Vulture was currently engaged in exchanging hits with a bear. Or that was her impression, thanks to the Raider’s bulk. Watching Ruin score three lightning fast cuts reassured her he’d be just fine on his own. She went back to her hunt.
Clearing her mind with a silent exhale, she ignored the sounds of fighting as her body and instincts settled into a well-honed stillness. Her gaze was the only thing to move. Remaining still for hours wasn’t a hardship, but she doubted she’d be waiting that long tonight. Raiders weren’t known for their patience. Sure enough, when the ground shook as the bigger Raider dropped, a piece of darkness shifted against the tree line. Moonlight glinted off the rifle’s barrel, giving her a target.
Inch by inch, she adjusted her aim, targeting just to the right of the creeping shadow. When a scream escaped from the cabin, the shadow jerked, and the rifle’s barrel began to swing around. Taking advantage of the distraction, she pulled the trigger. Without pausing, she added two more shots in close succession. Better safe than sorry. With the first bullet, the shadow took a step back, then when the next two projectiles hit, performed a jerky dance. The rifle gave one last cough, its bullet disappearing into the night, and then went mute. Movement registered on her periphery as Ruin raced towards the cabin. Charity was on her feet and in pursuit before the shadow dropped to the ground.
Dammit, Ruin was going to run right into death’s eager arms. The Vultures wouldn’t forgive her if one of theirs got hurt. Even as her feet pounded in his wake, she scanned their surroundings, on guard in case another Raider decided to pop up and join the party. Ruin wasn’t thinking clearly, too focused on his friend, which left it up to her to keep the vermin off their backs. Hard-earned instinct urged her to push harder until she was on his heels.
As they closed in on the cabin, she dared to reach out and grab the back of his t-shirt. Her injured shoulder protested as she pulled him up short with her free hand, yanking him off course with the door. He skidded to a halt and spun around with a furious growl, slamming out an arm and dislodging her hold. Undeterred by his ferocious anger, or the painful hit, she stepped in close and shoved her other hand, gun clutched in her fist, against his chest, hard, forcing him to the side and away from the door. When she had him trapped against the wall, she hissed in sotto voce, ‘Think, Ruin!’
He ran a hand through his hair, tugging viciously when his fingers tangled in the matted strands. Somewhere behind them his baseball cap and saddle blanket lay discarded. He glared, but she was relieved to see rationale replace his single-minded focus. His spine stayed against the cabin’s exterior wall, keeping clear of the window.
She rose on tiptoe to put her lips close to his ear. ‘Let me clear the cabin.’ Dropping back down, she flattened her empty palm against his chest for balance but didn’t dare break eye contact. Finally, he gave her a tiny nod, and she let loose a soft sigh of relief and stepped back. When she became the voice of reason, it was time to worry. Bracing the gun in her right hand with her left, she inched towards the opening. As quietly as possible, she slid down the wall until she was in a crouch. Blowing out a breath, she went in low and to the right, leading with her gun. It proved to be a solid decision because a deafening blast erupted from the direction of the window. If she’d been standing, she’d be sporting a gory hole about chest height. She spun and returned fire, automatically adjusting her aim based on the bullet’s trajectory.
The pained grunt indicating a hit penetrated the ringing of her ears. Dammit, gunfire in enclosed spaces not only sucked but left her hearing dulled. Her grip remained rock solid as she rose and began to move through the cabin.
There wasn’t much to it. The front room shared space with the kitchen and was decorated in empty bottles, trash, and haphazard furniture. Slumped in the far corner by the window was a moaning Raider, his gun lying on the floor within reach. She didn’t worry about him making a move towards it, he was too busy bleeding out. And not just from the chest wound she inflicted. There was a poorly bandaged gut wound as well. Probably from his run-in with Crane’s people.
Leaving him to Ruin, she continued down the short hall. She cleared the noxious bathroom, shoved open a warped door leading into what once was a bedroom, but was now missing parts of one log wall. Backing out, a soft groan drew her down the hall to the last partially closed door. Dread clutched at her, but she nudged the door open with the gun’s barrel.
‘Oh dear god,’ she breathed trying to make sense of the scene before her. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, but it was what hung on the opposite side highlighted by a couple of lanterns that had her yelling for Ruin. She tucked her gun in her waistband and rushed to the bloody man nailed to the heavy wooden beams.
Coarse rope wound around the man’s wrists and ankles. His neck was circled by a thick strand that looped over another, higher beam. A couple of cement bricks on the floor held the longer end in place, its intended usage clear. A makeshift hangman’s noose.
Gently pushing his chin aside, she could see the layered rope burns and cuts on his neck, indicators of repeated hanging. The faint brush of breath against her hand had her yanking her blade free. Since she couldn’t reach the rope above his lowered head, she began sawing through the tail end of it.
Dear god, how the hell was he still alive? But that wasn’t the worst of it. Thick nails ran in a haphazard line from palm to shoulder and foot to hip, impaling the tortured and nude body. One final hack and the rope split, the tail dropping to curl on the floor. Breath coming hard and fast, she turned back to the poor man and wrapped her shaking hand around the slick, blood-coated nail driven deep into his upper thigh. Hopefully, it wasn’t near anything vital. With her first tug, she realised it was deeply embedded in the wooden wall.
The hard thump of running feet had her turning, an ugly and unfamiliar sense of uselessness tearing through her. ‘I can’t get him down.’
In the doorway, Ruin rocked to a halt, his hands going bloodless as he gripped the doorframe. A mix of fury and horror paled his olive skin. ‘What the fuck?’
Ignoring him, because there was no answer she could give, Charity turned back and began searching for something to help get the man down. When she took a step, she stumbled over a pile of thick nails and a discarded nail gun, the grip of the long barrel smeared with blood. Kicking it out of the way, she kept searching. Shoved into one of the corners was a ratty mattress and a stained canvas bag.
Dashing to the corner, she dropped to her knees, hands frantically pawing through the bag’s contents. Knives, in all shapes and sizes, a couple of guns, a frickin’ blow torch, hammers, rope, and finally, at the bottom, a pair of heavy duty pliers, the kind that just migh
t cut through nails. The ends were deeply stained, and her stomach clenched at the whisper of evil as she finished digging through the Raiders’ torture bag.
Swallowing against her rising gorge, she clutched the heavy duty pliers, pushed to her feet and turned back. Ruin now stood next to the man, his voice low, soothing. The only sign of his carefully contained rage was the unearthly light in his eyes. Unable to hold his gaze, she handed him the pliers. ‘It’s the only thing that will work.’
Ruin didn’t say a thing as he took them. Instead, he moved in closer, cradling the man’s face with his free hand and whispered something in his ear. When he lifted his head, his gaze zeroed in on Charity. ‘Find something to use as bandages before we do this.’ This being the brutal task of cutting the nails from the walls because there was no way to pry each one out.
It was a relief to rush out of the room, but the image of what hung there would haunt her nightmares. She didn’t want to think about how long it would take to cut through each of those nails, or what it would mean to the barely breathing man. Or to the one determined to save him.
Chapter 4
As Charity left him alone with Simon, Ruin choked back his rage. He was going to gut the asshole out front. Slowly, inch by incremental inch. First, he needed to get Simon down. The ropes were buried in the torn skin at his wrists and ankles and would need to be cut last, otherwise, Simon’s body weight would tear free of each nail. That left Ruin with two choices. Cut each nail close to the skin, then pull Simon free, or cut the nail close to the wall, and then dig out each one. Both options intensified the sickness roiling in his gut but didn’t make a dent in his determination.
There were very few individuals Ruin considered his—Vex, Havoc, Reaper, and Simon. No way in hell was he giving up. Eyeing the nail driven through the centre of Simon’s palm, he positioned the pliers as close to Simon’s skin as possible and clipped the end. Simon’s fingers jerked, and his head lolled to the side, a low groan cutting through the room. ‘You hang on, Si,’ Ruin whispered.
Blood streaked Simon’s dark skin, highlighting the cuts and bruises inflicted by bare knuckles. One eye was swollen shut, the other fluttered open, awareness flickering through the bloodshot eye. ‘Ruin?’
At the sound of his name, relief threatened to drop him to his knees. ‘Who else would chase your sorry ass, Si?’
The split and swollen lips twitched, as Simon drew in breath to reply, except words never came, drowned out by a harsh, wheezing cough. The abrasive sound indicated internal injuries. Ruin gritted his teeth, knowing Simon was in an agonising hell. He found an unmarred spot on Simon’s shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. Lame ass comfort, but all he could offer. ‘Don’t speak, just hold on a bit longer.’
Simon’s eye fluttered shut as awareness slipped away just as Charity came back with an assortment of cloths, and a water-filled container. Taking advantage of Simon’s unconscious state, Ruin shared his plan as she tugged the ratty-ass mattress in front of the empty fireplace. As she set up the cloths, he focused on cutting the nail heads off, doing his best not to think about what was coming.
Despite Simon’s occasional moans, Ruin kept a steady pace. As the last piece of metal dropped to the floor, he threw away the heavy pliers and stepped back. His chest heaved as he considered his next step, his hand opening and closing in useless fists. The barest touch on his arm snapped his attention to the silent woman beside him.
Her face was pale with a slight sheen of sweat but resolute. ‘Ready?’
The denial lodged in his throat, but he gave a jerky nod.
Her eyes were a dark, stormy blue, so different from their earlier electric colour. ‘You brace his body, I’ll pull him free.’
Her logic made sense. Simon was almost as tall as him, no way could she keep Simon high enough not to put added pressure on the nails. Charity took her position to his left, and Ruin stepped in close to Simon using his body to brace Simon’s against the stone. Simon’s head rested on Ruin’s shoulder, his breath a faint tickle against his neck.
‘Okay.’ Her answer came out soft as if she was psyching herself up to move. She stepped into place next to him, feet braced as she slid one hand between the wall and Simon’s hand, and used the other to brace his wrist. ‘On two. One. Two.’ She pulled.
Simon jerked with a short scream. Ruin held his friend’s head in place between his shoulder and neck with one hand. ‘Si, it’s alright. Don’t fight, let me get you free.’ He continued his muttered reassurances as Charity relentlessly continued her grisly work, her jaw tight and hard. By the time both of Simon’s arms were free, Ruin was more than happy to leave him in the minor reprieve of unconsciousness.
Charity wiped her bloody hands on her jeans, then pulled her knife free to work on the rope at Simon’s wrists. She turned her head enough to confirm she had Ruin’s attention. Silent tear tracks left trails in the grime covering her face, but her hand was steady. ‘Brace.’ The harsh one-word warning was all he got before she cut through the last of the rope.
He crowded close as Simon’s torso slumped against his. Wrapping his arms around his friend’s bruised and battered chest, Ruin couldn’t ignore the warm blood seeping through his t-shirt. His voice was hoarse as he continued to murmur to Simon. Didn’t matter if he wasn’t awake, no way was he letting Simon think he was alone in this.
At his side, Charity crouched down, her voice coming out rough, ‘I’ve got to start at his feet and move up because I’ll need your help with the ones in his hips and thighs.’
With Simon in his arms, he couldn’t see her, but he could feel her. He positioned himself so Simon’s legs were outside his. He could feel Charity’s movements, her muscles bunching before each tug, and then she braced against his leg before pulling Simon free. He dropped his head against the wooden wall and kept track of her as she moved to his other side to repeat the process.
Finally, she rose and met his gaze, concern evident in the lines around her eyes and mouth. ‘There are two nails on each side, high up on his thigh. I’m worried they’re too close to the major arteries. If we pull him free, we could nick one.’
Ruin lifted his head and shifted enough to ease the protest of his stiff muscles. ‘Can you cut between the wall and Simon?’
Shaking her head, she grimaced. ‘I don’t think I have enough strength to cut through the metal at that angle.’
‘Then we trade places.’
She nodded absently, her gaze roaming the room, then coming back to him. ‘Hold him for just another minute. I think there was an old crate I can stand on. It should put me high enough to take your place.’
Not waiting for his response, she darted out of the room. Soon after, the sharp clatter of heavy objects spilling across the floor sounded. Then she was back, a weathered crate in hand. Awkward though it was, he shifted back enough so she could place it directly between him and Simon. Then she climbed on.
Despite the gruesome situation, Ruin couldn’t ignore the faint scent of wildflowers buried under the sweat and dirt, or the warmth of her body inching its way through the tense chill of his. Standing on the crate put her almost even with Ruin. She braced her feet apart, and slid her arms under his, preparing to take Simon’s weight.
Pressed so close together he could feel each bump of her spine and the shift of muscle as she got ready. He kept his arms above hers, waiting until he was sure she was steady. Once she seemed in position, he asked, ‘You good?’
‘Yeah.’ Her reply was a bit strained but solid.
Taking her at her word Ruin inched his arms away. The wooden crate creaked ominously but held. If he moved too fast, or Charity slipped, Simon’s weight would cause his body to rip away from the remaining nails, causing catastrophic damage. Something Ruin wanted to avoid since the Raiders managed to do a fuck-tacular job all on their own.
Once he was certain she was good, he grabbed the pliers and crouched down, adjusting one of the lanterns, so there was enough light to work by. ‘We need to angle him, ot
herwise this won’t work.’
Charity inched her feet, shifting her and Simon at an angle. The move caused her and the crate to wobble. Ruin shot up, stepping in right behind her, ready to brace them both. ‘Got him?’
‘Yeah, move fast.’
Heeding her warning, he crouched back down and carefully positioned the pliers before snipping the two remaining nails. Before repeating his actions on Simon’s other side, he braced Charity as she shifted. Despite his occasional pained sounds, Simon remained blessedly unconscious.
Finally finished with his grisly task, Ruin dropped the pliers and helped Charity move Simon’s battered body to the nearby mattress. Together they laid him out. The water and a pile of neatly stacked cloth bandages, the material nothing more than cut pieces of clothing and bedding scoured from the cabin, sat within reach.
‘We’re going to need a fire,’ she murmured. ‘And the first-aid kit.’ She didn’t wait to begin cleaning the multiple wounds decorating Simon’s shuddering body. ‘The kit’s in the saddlebag Boden gave us. There was a wood pile out around to the side of the cabin.’
‘On it.’ He stood up and moved to the doorway.
‘Ruin?’
He pulled up short and looked back.
‘Don’t kill him.’ The fact she was warning him off the piece of shit in the front room, made him wonder how much of his rage was leaking into his face. Then she went and added, ‘Not yet.’
Taking in the fragile movements of Simon’s chest, he clenched his fist. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep him around.’ The fact his answer skated the edge of a threat and only rated a sigh from her was a clear indication Charity understood exactly where he was coming from. Good, because he wasn’t one to waste time on pointless explanations.
He strode out of the room, his focus narrowed on the muffled whimpers coming from the front room. Each step he took was a scrape against the flint of his rage, striking the tender fuel of revenge. Nope, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let the mangy excuse escape by dying easily. Not until he got the answers he wanted on why his brother in all but blood lay dying in the other room.
