Lying In Ruins

by Jami Gray

  As Ruin entered the front room, the whimpers cut off. He deliberately ignored the pathetic being huddled on the floor in the corner. Knowing Simon was in bad shape kept Ruin on point. He almost made it to the door before the piece of shit decided to speak.

  ‘How do you like our home improvements, asshole?’ The question was wheezy, but audible, as was the phlegmy cough that followed.

  Ruin froze in place. Fury broke through his self-imposed lock burning everything, including logic, to ashes. Taking his time, he slowly pivoted, his gaze zeroing in on the sweat-glazed face of the man on the floor. Cruel pleasure curled through him when the fool failed to hide the fear crawling underneath his pain, even as he tried to maintain his snarling defiance. A stupid pretence as he was weaponless and his lifespan could be measured in a handful of hours. With a deliberate stalk, Ruin crossed the room and withdrew one of his knives to play it through his fingers with deceptively casual ease. The fevered gaze of the wounded Raider darted between his face and his hand, a small wavering flame of hope flickered under his growing fear. Oh yeah, the dumbass was betting a quick end against Ruin’s temper. Too bad his temper was made of much colder, crueller things. As each of Ruin’s steps brought him closer, the Raider tried to back further away. Difficult to do with a wall at his back.

  When Ruin’s boots brushed the mud-covered soles of the Raider’s, he dropped into a slow crouch, knife still twirling in a mesmerising dance of metal. Flickers of fear and panic chased each other across the Raider’s face and pleased the vengeful beast pacing inside Ruin. Like waving fresh meat before a hungry vulture. A distant part of him found the image amusing. He kept his voice low. ‘Now, see, when it comes to home improvement projects, most people are all about the end results. They follow the step-by-step directions, believing that’s the only way to get the desired results. But I’m not one for rules.’ His lips curled into a lethal grin. ‘I’m more apt to try my hand at unusual techniques. The end results are amazingly more exciting that way.’

  The blade came to a stop, the point resting just under the Raider’s chin. He jerked his head back, even though the sudden movement caused an emergence of a new red stain lower down. Undeterred, Ruin traced the blade’s sharp point over the bobbing Adam’s apple, ignored the seeping gunshot wound up near the collarbone, and continued down the chest, leaving a thin red line in his wake. He didn’t stop until it rested just above the crimson-stained hand trying to keep the Raider’s innards in place.

  ‘Home improvement is a tiring endeavour, and I’m sure you want to call it a day, but I have a better idea.’ He drove the point of his knife into the back of the Raider’s hand, twisted, then pulled it free, all in the space of a blink.

  The Raider’s pained cry was choked off when Ruin slammed his other hand over his mouth. The Raider’s eyes bugged out as he tried to breathe around the tightly clamped hand. Ruin leant in and growled, ‘You sit here and decide if you prefer a tried and true approach before we chat, or we can try out a few of my more ‘unusual’ techniques.’ He yanked his hand back, wiping it on his thigh.

  ‘Play with your chew toy later.’ The feminine drawl came from behind him.

  Ruin stood and turned, watching as Charity moved into the pathetic excuse for a kitchen, her bloodstained hands holding the plastic basin of water. ‘Chew toy?’

  She continued to the sink, tipped the container, and emptied the stained water. ‘Did I stutter?’ She pulled up the handle on the faucet causing the pipes to groan before spitting out water. A minor miracle that meant the cabin must have access to a well. She quickly rinsed and refilled the basin. ‘I need that kit. More to the point, he needs that kit.’ She tilted her head in the general direction where Simon lay, suffering.

  Bossy little thing, but she was right. ‘I’m going.’

  Basin in hand, she turned from the sink and began to head back. She stopped at the beginning of the hall, her gaze falling on the Raider. An implacable hardness set her delicate features into a cold mask before she turned back to Ruin. ‘When you come back, make sure he talks. We need answers.’ Without waiting for his response, she continued down the hall.

  We? Now wasn’t that an interesting twist? What kind of answers was she expecting to hear?

  He turned back to the now silent Raider and wasn’t the least little bit surprised to find him staring back, all signs of his earlier defiance gone. ‘You heard the lady,’ Ruin murmured as he pivoted on his heel to retrieve the first-aid kit and firewood. ‘Better make your decision fast, or I’ll make it for you.’ He stormed out of the cabin.

  As he made his way to the horses, he ignored the bodies and stopped to collect his discarded cap and blanket. Leading the horses back to the relative safety of the cabin gave him a moment to consider all that had happened.

  Things weren’t adding up. Crane had established a ruthless reputation with Raiders decades before and ruled with an unforgiving fist. What would drive the Raiders to attack now? They tended to hit targets that guaranteed a sweet haul. Targeting Pebble Creek was like playing Russian roulette, with the lone bullet being a successful hit. The only thing that could encourage the Raiders to take on Crane would be the promise of a huge payoff. And the only power players with enough resources to afford a big payoff would be Michael and Lilith.

  Crane created and held one of the most pivotal territories this side of the Mississippi. Between the rising oceans devouring the western coastlines while widening inland rivers, and the collapsing infrastructure, the majority of what used to be the western states was now held by three people: Michael, Lilith, and Crane. Michael’s reach extended from Washington to Oregon and most of California to the Tahoe Forest, while Lilith played queen over Colorado, and what remained unclaimed of New Mexico and Texas, which included Albuquerque and the now coastal town of Houston.

  That left Crane holding Idaho, Utah, and northern Arizona. Unfortunately, after the Collapse, the Mexican Cartels had moved in claiming Los Angeles, Phoenix, El Paso, and San Antonio, forcing the country’s borders to shift. When the dams failed, and the Free People reclaimed all water rights, Nevada was abandoned leaving the barren stretch of desert wide open for the Raiders to set up shop. The current territorial arrangement made any kind of travel treacherous, which played havoc on supply lines, something Crane took unfettered advantage of since he was the most secure bridge between Michael and Lilith.

  Ruin tethered the two horses to a post set to the side of the cabin, and dug through the saddlebags on the paint, unearthing a thick first-aid kit in tough canvas. Neither Michael nor Lilith would be stupid enough to upset the shaky peace by taking out Crane. Right? If they could gain a huge advantage, a cynical voice piped up, they might get desperate. But there weren’t any mutterings along those lines, not lately.

  Normally when shit was about to hit the fan, he and the other Vultures tended to hear about it as they continually moved between territories. He made a mental note to double check with Reaper, even as he walked back into the cabin and made his way to Charity.

  He found her bent over Simon, gently washing along his bruised ribs. She didn’t bother looking up as Ruin crouched next to her. ‘His ribs are cracked, not broken.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’ He reached around her and held out the kit so she could see it, not missing the sheen of sweat beading Simon’s ashy brow.

  ‘About damn time,’ she muttered, snatching his offering before crossing her legs tailor-style. She unzipped the case, and rummaged through it, pulling free a small paper packet. Finally, she looked at him as she tore the packet open with her teeth, and dumped two pills onto her palm. ‘I’m not a hundred percent sure, but he’s not bubbling up blood, which I’m hoping means he doesn’t have any internal punctures.’

  And if he did, with no equipment and limited supplies there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it here. It also meant getting him back down to Pebble Creek was tricky, if not out altogether.

  She turned her head and reminded him, ‘Fire.’

 
Tipping an imaginary hat, he dropped his relatively clean saddle blanket at the foot of the mattress, then made quick work of bringing in wood and setting a fire in the fireplace. Pulling out a well-worn silver lighter, one of the few things he managed to hold on to from his father, he crouched down and lit it. Arms dangling on his bent knees, he watched the flames devour the wood. Their mesmerising dance drew him away from the rage pacing inside him.

  When a soft touch on his shoulder brought his attention back to the here and now, he turned his head to find Charity holding out a slender needle. There was no need for her to put the question into words, he simply took it and held it in the nearest flame, letting the heat sterilise what it could. Here’s hoping the chimney wasn’t falling in on itself or they’d be smoked out. Thankfully, the growing tendrils of smoke wafted upwards, showing no signs of returning. He handed the needle back to her, then straightened, his gaze going straight to his friend. Simon’s chest rose and fell in a slow, barely-there pattern.

  Despite knowing Simon’s chances of making it through the next few hours were slight, it was enough to keep the ember of hope Ruin hoarded alive. Staying with him while Charity sewed him up wouldn’t get Ruin the answers he needed, but he still asked, ‘Do you need me?’

  She shook her head, the lantern light deepening the lines on her face. ‘No, I’ve got this.’ She studied Simon, her brow furrowed. ‘This will take some time.’ Her gaze slid sideways to him. ‘You’ll get plenty of quality alone time with your chew toy.’

  He folded his arms across his chest and drawled, ‘Won’t need much.’

  A delicate snort sounded as she shook her head and resumed her spot next to Simon, taking a moment to sort out the makeshift bandages, lines of thread, and a rare tube of antibiotic cream, arranging them with meticulous precision. Ruin was grateful that Boden packed a hell of a first-aid kit, considering Simon’s continued existence may depend on what the woman could accomplish with it.

  She didn’t look at him as she warned, ‘If you don’t get to it, there’ll be nothing left to work with.’

  Since that wasn’t an option, he turned to leave. At the door, he stopped, hands gripping the doorjamb, and turned his head to the side. ‘Keep him alive.’

  With his back to the room, he couldn’t see her face, but he heard her soft reply, ‘No promises, but I’ll do my best.’

  Nodding, despite the lump in his throat, he left his brother in the hands of an unknown woman so he could rip the truth from the dying piece of shit in the front room.

  Chapter 5

  Charity let out a long, quiet breath as Ruin’s overwhelming presence moved down the hall. She clenched her fists, trying to still the tremors running through them. Her shoulder ached like a bitch, but taking one of the painkillers was out of the question. The man on the floor needed them much more than she did. Despite nausea invading her throat as she took in his numerous wounds, pity welled. That he was still breathing said a great deal about Ruin’s friend and his will to live, none of which surprised her.

  Based on Ruin’s warning as he left, it was obvious Simon meant a great deal to him. Something she found intriguing since the stories surrounding Fate’s Vultures portrayed them as fiercely loyal to one another and beholden to no-one, not even Crane, which made for an interesting conundrum. What had Crane offered that kept them at his side, even after his death? Perhaps the answer lay with the man in front of her? Not that it mattered right now, especially if she failed to save him.

  Unclenching her fist, she noted her hands were now steady. Good. She threaded the needle and went to work. Knowing there was no way Simon would stay under during the whole process, she began talking out loud, hoping if he knew the hands causing him pain were now trying to help, it would keep him from striking out. Plus, it gave her something else to think about instead of the fact she was setting tiny stitches into human flesh with the barest of medical supplies.

  ‘You’re a lucky man, Simon. Loyalty like Ruin’s is hard to find. Not to say it doesn’t happen, but I can count those who have mine on one hand. You even know one of them. Boden.’ When Simon’s breathing hitched, she looked up and caught his wince. She tied off the stitch she was setting, then grabbed the wet cloth on the side of the basin and wiped his face. ‘Sorry. I know it hurts, but we can’t leave you leaking. Just hang in there for me, yeah?’ She set the cloth aside and picked up the needle. ‘Okay, here we go again.’ With that, she bent over Simon’s arm and began stitching again. ‘How about I tell you how I met Boden? Maybe it’ll give you some blackmail material for when you’re back in Pebble Creek.’ Besides, it was one of the few things she could share without giving everything away.

  ‘I was living in New Seattle. Correction, surviving in New Seattle.’ A place guaranteed to chew you up and spit you out if you didn’t have the right connections. Something she learned damn fast when her parents made a serious mistake and ran a grift on the wrong person. Memories crowded close, but with the ease of long practice, she shuffled them back to the dusty confines where they belonged. ‘Anyway, I was heading back home—’ home being a tucked away space in a crumbling building one good shake of the earth away from collapse, ‘—minding my own business, when this giant stumbles out of an alleyway. The fool was bouncing off the walls like a drunk rubber ball.

  ‘Since it was the end of a craptastic week, I figured the appearance of an easy mark was the universe’s way of ending on a high note. So I made sure we ran into each other. Unfortunately for me, he wasn’t drunk, he was quick. He managed to snag my wrist as I snagged my haul. Then something small darted from the shadows at his feet and jumped between us. Next thing I know, I’ve got an armful of squalling fur while trying to keep hold of my handful of city credits, and the giant is standing there glaring at me. Then he rumbles—,’ she dropped her voice to mimic Boden’s deep tones and tied off another wound, ‘—‘Hand ‘em over, missy.’’

  Shaking her head, she snorted as she set another stitch. ‘Missy. What a way to piss off a teenage female. I refused, of course. Not very politely. No way was I handing over the credits or a defenceless cat when it was obviously running from him.’ Discounting an animal’s reaction to a human was a sure-fire way of getting your ass in trouble. Animals were spot on when it came to humans and their intentions. ‘That’s when the poor, abused cat decided to decorate my arms with her claws.’ Years later she still carried the thin white scars from that little hellcat. ‘Boden went to help, me or the cat, I’m still not sure, but all I saw was a big man making a move. Instincts kicked in. The cat was on her own, and I managed to nail Boden in the balls.’ Her lips curved a bit as the memory replayed. It soon faded as she kept working. ‘Life on the streets teaches you to expect the worst and never hesitate.’ Noting old scars decorating Simon’s skin, she added softly, ‘Something I’m thinking isn’t news to you.’

  She fell silent as she manoeuvred around a particularly deep tear. Simon’s soft groan drew her attention. His eyes moved under his lids, but he stayed under. Barely. ‘Shh, I know. I’ll be as gentle as I can,’ she murmured. A tense minute or two passed before she moved to the next wound and picked up her story. ‘It was raining—’ because it was always raining in New Seattle, ‘—and despite my well-aimed kick, Boden managed to snag my leg even as he tried not to puke. That’s when this crazy-assed woman decided to join our little party. She came out of the alley, practically nude, yelling at Boden about letting her precious Maddy-girl out in the horrible weather.’

  It was one of the most surreal situations she’d ever experienced. Boden’s hold on her ankle had been firm, but not cruel. He hadn’t twisted to take her to the ground in retaliation for picking his pocket or kicking him, and it left her off balance, literally and figuratively. ‘When Boden let me go, I was so caught up in the drama that I stayed to watch this itty-bitty thing, she couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, in a wet, transparent robe, verbally rip a giant of a man to pieces.’ Actually, she was stunned that the man stood there and took the verba
l abuse, never once raising his voice or his fist in retaliation. Looking back she wondered if Boden had been the first one to find her after her parents’ death, who would she be now? Not that it mattered anymore.

  Simon shifted restlessly, causing her to pause until he settled. ‘You should’ve seen it. You would’ve laughed your ass off.’ She went back to her painstaking work. ‘Her rant was cut short when the little fur menace decided to step up and get busy wrapping around its mistress’s ankles. Boden’s woman of the moment went from bitch to angel in seconds. She grabbed her pet, gave Boden one more accusing glare and left.’ Years later the whole thing still left Charity shaking her head. ‘Me being me, I told Boden his skills with the ladies and their pussy cats was liable to get him killed.’ That night, teenage bravado and the need to disappear was all she had, and she used it. Except Boden was far from a fool, and under the violence-hardened exterior existed a cautious vein of compassion. Something she surprisingly managed to tap into. ‘Instead of being pissed, he laughed. Standing in a stinking alley, rain pouring down, his chances of getting laid walking away, he laughed.’

  Her voice softened as she tied off another stitch. ‘Old man takes pride in flaunting expectations, makes him hard to predict, even back then. Instead of demanding his credits back and kicking my ass, he fed me. He even offered to train me in hand to hand and if I showed potential, a job, but I had other promises to keep first.’ She fell quiet as she continued her work, her mind caught in the past.

  Consumed by grief and anger, her single-minded focus on getting revenge put her feet on the road that brought her to the current situation. Luckily, Boden wasn’t one to give up easily. His offer—come train with him—didn’t come with an expiration date. Two weeks later, when she’d finished her devil’s bargain, she tracked him down and for the next three-and-a-half years trained, honing her innate skills and strengthening their unusual friendship. In her deepest heart, she acknowledged that Boden stepped into the empty space left behind from her parents’ violent death. Not that she ever told him.