by Jami Gray
A harsh, guttural scream from the front room froze her hand and snapped her head up. Another pain-filled scream erupted, only to be cut short. Turning back to her task, she concentrated on tying off the thread. ‘Sounds like someone’s having fun,’ she muttered. Reaching for her knife to cut the thread, she was unprepared for the fist that nailed her. In a well-practised move, she dropped to roll out of range, forgetting her injured shoulder until she hit the floor. Hissing at the sharp crease of fire, she came up to find Simon awake, but not so aware.
Half-turned on his side, despite his wounds, his non-swollen eye glared at her, while unintelligible noises came from his abused throat. He tried to get to her, his jerky movements knocking the water basin over and scattering the supplies.
‘Dammit.’ She scrambled to her knees, capturing his flailing arms and laid across his torso forcing his back to the floor. ‘Simon! Stop! Ruin’s here!’ She gritted her teeth and put everything she had into holding him in place without causing further damage. She was breathing hard as she pinned his wrists to the floor, her chest pressed against his, and her face inches away.
Under her, Simon bucked, his head snapping up. She jerked her head back to avoid a broken nose. ‘Calm, Simon!’ Warm wetness met her palms as they shackled his wrists, and her heart began to race. He couldn’t afford to lose more blood, and if he reopened her stitches, they were screwed. ‘If you don’t calm down, I’ll call Ruin in to knock your ass out. Do you hear me? Do you want Ruin to hit you?’
Whether it was the repeated use of Ruin’s name or Simon’s sudden burst of strength disappearing, his movements slowed, then stilled. Unwilling to take a chance on another black eye, she stayed where she was as awareness began to filter through the mindless fury in the injured man’s eye.
A moan drifted from the other room, and Simon’s gaze went to the door, then back to her. It wasn’t hard to read his silent question. ‘Ruin’s questioning the last breathing Raider, while I try to patch your sorry hide before you bleed out. Now, will you behave?’
She waited until he gave her the barest of nods before slowly uncurling her fingers and pushing off of him. ‘You need to lie still so I can see what damage you did.’ Thankfully her stitches held, so there wasn’t any work to re-do. Turning, she ran a hand through her hair, forgetting about the blood on her hands until it was too late. Another curse muttered under breath, and then she began gathering up the supplies. ‘You managed to dump out all the water.’ Grabbing a couple of cloth strips that managed not to get caught in the spill, she quickly bound his wrists to stop the bleeding. ‘Now sit tight while I go refill this, and we’ll get back to sewing you up.’
Putting her hand on the mattress, she went to push up to her feet. Simon grabbed her wrist, bringing her to a stop. Giving him her attention, she waited. Finally, he managed one croaked word. ‘Ruin?’
Giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and a gentle pat on his hand, she answered, ‘He’s pissed but otherwise fine. He’ll be back in a few minutes.’ As if to emphasise her answer, a teeth-gritting whimper drifted down the hall.
Simon’s eye went to the door, then came back.
Carefully disengaging from his hold, she rescued what supplies she could. ‘Don’t worry. Ruin’s got it under control.’ Hopefully, better than she did. Once things were safely set up again, she gathered the now empty bin and stood, trying not to wince as her head protested the move. Between Simon’s right hook and her shoulder, she was going to be feeling it for a while. She looked down and met Simon’s gaze. ‘Do me a favour and don’t try anything until I get back. I’m not sure we have enough supplies to re-do our Frankenstein work if you break open my stitches, understood?’
She waited until he nodded before turning away to go refill the basin. God, she really picked the worst day to visit Crane.
Chapter 6
Ruin wiped away one last rivulet of cold creek water from his neck with his stained t-shirt. He pulled on a clean shirt and walked back to the cabin. Stopping at the dozing horses, he balled up the trashed shirt and tucked it deep in the bottom of the bag strapped to the back of his quarter horse. He took one last survey of the quiet darkness, then headed in, stopping just outside the open door. The sickly sour stench of sweat-laced fear and stale copper hit his nose. Evidently leaving the door open as he cleaned up wasn’t enough to air out the interior. His back and shoulders ached from hauling the dead bodies of the Raiders into one of the abandoned basement rooms in what used to be the main building. As difficult as it was to drag their dead weight through the collapsed passageways, it was easier than trying to dig a hole in the forest. Safer too. Didn’t take much to send disease on a rampage anymore. The world being what it was, utilising unusual dumping sites created by the Collapse was a necessary skill he often practised.
Blowing out a tired breath, he moved inside, heading straight to the kitchen. Scouring the surviving cabinets, he finally found an empty gallon tin can and brought it to the sink. A couple minutes later, all that was left of what Charity termed his chew toy was a wet spot on the wood. With the Raider’s gun tucked into the small of his back, the spent shell casings and remaining bullets stashed in his pocket, he finally went to Simon.
As he made his way down the hall, the silence crawled under his skin and raked merciless claws over his nerves. He kept his steps soft and stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of the fireplace. Charity’s dirty blonde head rested on the mattress, one hand resting on Simon’s chest just above what Ruin recognised as his saddle blanket. Her hand and his friend’s chest rose and fell in a steady pattern. The mismatched cloth pieces she used as bandages decorated Simon’s dark skin here and there, a few bearing a brownish stain but not so big as to cause Ruin concern. Muscles tight with anxiety and tension loosened, letting exhaustion take its place. ‘He’s still breathing.’
Charity’s blonde head nodded without lifting. ‘Yep.’ Her response was muffled.
Judging there was enough space between the fireplace and the mattress for him, he went over and dropped into a crouch, only to straighten at the shift of metal against the base of his spine. He rose, removed the Raider’s gun and set it on the roughly hewn mantle before resuming his position at Simon’s side. Not all of the wounds were bandaged. Neat stitches sat under the gleam of antibiotic cream, the tiny sutures surprising him. ‘You have a careful hand at this.’
‘Practice makes perfect.’ Even with her head buried in an arm, he was able to make out her words.
‘Must have been a hell of a lot of practice, sugar.’
The hand on Simon’s chest twitched, rose, and gave him the finger. Despite the grim situation, her unexpected reaction surprised a rusty chuckle from him. The sound made her shift, and she finally looked up. His brief spurt of humour disappeared when he caught sight of the purpling bruise decorating her cheekbone and puffing the edges of her eye. He came around the mattress, caught her chin, and tilted her head back until her face was in the light. ‘What the hell?’
She grimaced. ‘Your friend has a hell of a right.’
‘Should’ve ducked.’
‘Tried.’ She pulled free of his hold and turned until her back was to the mattress, drawing her legs up to rest her arms on her knees. ‘Get anything interesting out of the road kill out front?’
Mimicking her position, he sat next to her, their shoulders brushing as they faced the bloodstained wall, Simon and the fire behind them. ‘Yes and no.’
Her head tilted until she could see him. ‘Going to share?’
He took in the signs of exhaustion decorating her face. With the chaos finished, he finally had a moment to actually study her. Missed by an earlier attempt at cleaning her face, traces of dust lay near her hairline. But it didn’t take away from the thick lashes veiling crystal blue eyes, while a faint dusting of freckles spanned her cheeks and nose. Firelight played over her delicate jaw line, emphasising the hollows and adding a touch of mystery to an already intriguing profile. Her damn lush lips coul
d get a man in serious trouble. Little white lines of pain bracketed her sinful mouth. Probably from the shiner Simon inflicted, but there might be more to it.
She shifted under his regard, wincing slightly. Yep, definitely more to it. Probably had to do with the dull, rusty stain marring the right shoulder of her grimy shirt. This close he couldn’t miss her scent, a curiously appealing mix of dust, dirt, blood, sweat and wildflowers. ‘After you get cleaned up.’
Her nose wrinkled in a strangely adorable manner, but he didn’t miss her quick worried glance at Simon.
The telling action snuck under his guard and left his voice gruff. ‘I’ll watch over him.’
Nodding, she pushed to her feet with a soft groan. Upright, she pressed her fists to the small of her back and twisted her spine to the accompaniment of soft pops. The action made it impossible for him to miss how her tits suddenly pressed against her shirt. For a small woman, she was blessed with serious curves. A very cynical voice sounding just like his twin sister, Vex, wondered if the move was deliberate. When Charity dropped her arms and turned away without even looking at him, he figured probably not.
‘I’ll be back in fifteen,’ she warned as she disappeared through the door.
He waited until the sounds of her moving disappeared, leaving him alone with Simon’s breathing and the occasional snap and crackle of the fire. He eased down until his head rested on the mattress by Simon’s side, his legs stretched out along the floor, boots crossed at the ankles. ‘She’s pure trouble, buddy.’ Saying it out loud didn’t diminish his fascination with her, though.
Something about her pulled at him. Maybe it was the combination of ruthless practicality evidenced in her behaviour towards the Raiders and the bits of compassion he caught when she worked on Simon. Maybe he just needed to get laid. Whatever it was, Charity had the potential to be a problem because he wasn’t an idiot, and her appearance in Pebble Creek as shit hit the fan posed all sorts of troublesome questions. Questions he had every intention of getting answers to.
‘Ruin?’
His name in a weak familiar voice brought him up and around in record time. He hovered over Simon as his friend’s eyes fluttered. Only one opened since the other was swollen shut. ‘Hey, Si.’
Relief replaced the foggy comprehension. ‘Knew you’d come.’
‘I wouldn’t leave your ass hanging. Besides, Vex would gut me if you got yourself killed.’
That got a twitch of lips. ‘Vex here?’
‘She’ll be here soon.’ He was willing to bet his father’s lighter that his twin would be here by morning. The bond they shared wouldn’t let either of them leave the other in trouble. Reaper probably cursed the moment Ruin and Havoc’s dust trails hit, because Vex would be riding Reaper’s ass to make tracks behind them. Simon’s involvement was just the cherry on top. No way would his twin stay away. It was simply a question of Vex tracking Ruin to the cabin, or waiting for him and Simon to show in Pebble Creek. He knew which way to lay his bet. ‘How are you feeling?’
Sweat beaded Simon’s brow, and his tongue flicked over his dry lips. ‘Hurting like a bitch.’ His arm lifted, his hand going to his neck.
Ruin stopped it before Simon could touch the brutally raw marks. ‘I bet.’ After pressing Simon’s arm back to the mattress, Ruin found a small cup with clean water and then supported Simon as he drank. ‘Sips,’ he warned. When Simon was done, he helped him resettle.
Simon closed his eye, breathing through the obvious pain his recent movement created. Eventually, he reopened it. ‘Crane?’
Ruin grimaced and shook his head. ‘Dead.’
‘Dammit.’ The word was soft. ‘Raiders?’
He went to say yes, only to realise he never verified the details with Charity. ‘I’m pretty sure, but we can double check with Charity when she gets back.’
A frown creased Simon’s forehead. ‘Charity?’
‘That would be the blonde you decked as she was sewing your sorry ass up.’
‘Ah, shit.’ Remorse darkened his eye. ‘Guess I owe her an apology.’
Ruin shook his head as he sat on the floor facing Simon. ‘I think she understands.’
Despite his pain-filled gaze, curiosity sharpened Simon’s attention. ‘Who is she?’
Knowing his friend was a little too perceptive sometimes, Ruin didn’t dare look away. ‘Don’t know, but I’ll be finding out.’ Simon made a noncommittal noise. Ignoring him, Ruin asked, ‘So you’ve never met her before?’
Simon gave a careful shake of his head, paled, then winced. ‘Nope. Why?’ His question was squeezed out around gritted teeth.
‘Found her at Pebble Creek, seems she knows Boden and Crane.’ Ruin found a scrap of unused cloth and wiped the sweat off Simon’s brow.
Simon hissed, his eye closing, his jaw tightening as he visibly rode out a wave of pain. His voice was breathy when he said, ‘Met him in New Seattle.’
Ruin waited patiently, stopping Simon’s hand as it lifted.
‘She … she talked when she was … stitching me up.’ Pants broke up Simon’s words. A few shallow breaths later, his eye reopened. ‘Something about a cat … and an alley … and a woman.’ Lines deepened as he frowned. ‘It’s not real clear,’ he muttered. ‘But I remember … wondering what the hell Boden was doing … in New Seattle.’
‘Take it slow, man.’ Ruin tucked the nugget of information away for later. He dipped the cloth into the nearby pail of water, squeezed it, then laid it against Simon’s brow. ‘Explains Boden, but what’s her connection to Crane?’
‘Not sure. Crane’s been edgy last few days.’ Simon shifted restlessly, before stilling, his breathing heavier. ‘Kind of twitchy.’
Didn’t sound like Crane’s normal rock steady behaviour by any stretch of the imagination. Ruin waited, mind spinning, while Simon’s breathing evened out and his jaw unlocked. The Vultures had joined up with Crane about a year ago. Then just over six months ago, a series of blitz attacks began hammering Crane’s supply lines. There was no rhyme or reason to when or where they’d hit or what would be taken, but the frequency was ramping up at an alarming rate. Losing shipments equalled losing customers, and Crane was pissed as hell. Then, a few weeks back, at Crane’s order and under the pretence of handling disputes in the territory, Fate’s Vultures hit the road to dig up who was screwing with Crane’s supply lines. So far, they were coming up with nothing but shit. ‘Any ideas why?’
Frustration and a grim anger settled Simon’s face into a hard mask. ‘Yeah.’
When his friend didn’t continue, Ruin prompted, ‘Care to elaborate?’
Simon shifted again, a wheezing noise edging his breathing. ‘I need to sit up.’
‘You need to keep your ass still.’ Reigning in his concern, Ruin drawled, ‘You break open those stitches, and I’m betting Charity will deck you.’
Despite his battered face, there was no missing Simon’s quirked eyebrow when his restless movements stilled for a moment. ‘Scared of her, Ruin?’
‘If you weren’t already laid up, I’d knock you one for that.’ Still, Ruin got up. ‘Hang tight while I find something to brace against.’ He left Simon alone for the minute or so it took to retrieve one of the saddles. When he came back, he managed to help Simon to sit up, moving slow and careful with a mind to the stitches. When they were done, Simon’s mahogany skin held pale undertones, but his breathing seemed easier.
A minute ticked by as Simon gathered his strength. ‘Crane had us riding the lines, because of the attacks. A couple weeks back, we intersected an illegal transport of kids.’
Ruin’s gut clenched. ‘Kids?’
Simon’s shoulder hitched in an unconscious shrug but stopped part of the way through with a soft groan. When he spoke, his voice was harsh and tight. ‘A boy and four girls, all under fourteen. Never seen Crane so furious.’
Simon too, based on the rage leaking through his pain. ‘Who was running them?’
‘Was trying to figure that out when we got hit.’ Simon w
inced and brought a bandaged hand to his ribs.
Keeping a sharp eye on him, Ruin muttered, ‘Coincidence?’
‘Not fucking likely.’
Yeah, Ruin didn’t believe it either. ‘You think the hit on Pebble Creek is tied to the flesh peddler.’ Even though it wasn’t posed as a question, Simon dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘Shit.’
Ruin looked away, mind tumbling over the possibilities as he added Simon’s story to the facts he pried from the Raider, facts he began organising to share with his friend when a sharp question came from the doorway.
‘What now?’
He looked up to find Charity standing there, obviously catching his last curse. Her hair was a wet tangle about her shoulders, strands leaving dark marks against a clean t-shirt. She moved into the room and headed to the other side of Simon. There was a slight bulge on her right shoulder, probably a bandage, obvious under the thin material of her t-shirt. So thin in fact, that as she crossed in front of the fire and knelt to check Simon’s wounds, the firelight took it from thin to near transparent. Ignoring the surge of unwelcome lust, Ruin decided to cut through the bullshit. Maybe it would drag his brain out of his pants. ‘Why were you in Pebble Creek?’
Her head came up, and her eyes narrowed. ‘Business.’
Alarms bells clamoured. ‘What kind of business?’
Her hand dropped from Simon to lay flat against the mattress as she held Ruin’s gaze and lifted her chin. ‘The kind that involved Crane.’
Defiant and cagey weren’t doing a thing to ease the itch under his skin. ‘Yet Crane’s dead.’
‘And?’
