by Raven Dark
My heart rate sped up as I moved further into the room. Something was wrong tonight. The usual rowdiness from the men was absent; even Pretty Boy and Steel ate in near silence at the bigger table in the middle of the room. Sheriff sat with them, along with a few others. On the bright side, the men seemed so focused on their own conversations that they didn’t notice me or my risque getup.
“I thought there was supposed to be a party tonight, sir.” I glanced at one of the guards.
“Change of plans. Go find your masters.”
I crossed the room to the chairs where my masters sat, a large spread of food on a table before them. Pretty Boy and Steel saw me walking over and signaled for me to take a seat between them. Crank, Dozer, T-Man, Bear, and Patch also sat with them. And at the head of the table, sitting in a chair with a slightly higher back, Sheriff tossed back a swig of beer. Hawk was noticeably absent, and the seat to Sheriff’s right was empty. The sight of the vacant space made my chest feel tight.
“You look delicious, Princess.” Pretty Boy stood and drew me against him. “I could eat you.”
“Are you sure this is okay, Master?” I asked, looking around the room. In the rare instances when slaves ate with the club as a whole, they sat in a separate area, unless their masters wanted them close at hand for use.
“Sit that sweet ass down, Petal.” Steel patted the empty seat next to him. I smiled uncertainly, ignoring Pretty Boy and Steel’s lustful stares. The three of us were much too single-minded when we were together.
Swallowing, I glanced over at Sheriff, catching his eye. Hoping against hope. At last, his eyes met mine. His gaze traveled over me. My heart pounded.
There was no doubt, I looked good. Cherry made a heck of a stylist. She’d dressed me in a deep dark pink cadris, which consisted of pants with billowy legs, a tight waist wrapped in a silk sash of a belt, a top cut above the midriff with only straps along the shoulders, and a tight, low neckline that conformed to my breasts. She’d gathered my hair in a ponytail on top of my head, leaving curls to spill down, thick and silky. Gold and pearls were strung around my wrists, neck, waist, and ankles, leaving silvery or gold charms to clink softly when I walked. This was attire usually reserved for a king’s or zone Captains slave, and in some cases, Violets, the pants and gold indicating higher status.
To me, my appearance seemed counterproductive. Cherry had said I shouldn’t behave like I was better than Sheriff or his men. My clothes proclaimed me a Violet, something that socially, was seen as superior. Still, she insisted I give this outfit a try, and nothing else had worked. So I waited with bated breath for Sheriff’s reaction as he assessed me.
A calculated light flashed in his eyes, mixed with obvious lust that made my sex tingle. The corners of his mouth turned up, but the expression didn’t look pleased. It looked…mocking.
My heart sank. Well, at least he wasn’t angry, and he certainly didn’t look like he wanted to go for his belt. I wished he’d have said something, but he just went back to his steak and mushrooms.
“What’s wrong, Petal?” Steel leaned toward me once I was seated.
There was no way to explain that wouldn’t sound petty. “Nothing, Master. Where is Hawk, though?” I nodded toward the empty seat I assumed was supposed to be his.
He exchanged a look with Pretty Boy and served himself up a slab of steak. “Ask me again later.”
I scrunched my brows at him, detecting the foreboding in his tone.
“I thought there was supposed to be a party tonight. Why is everyone so somber, Master?”
“You and your questions, Petal.” But his eyes were gentle. I heard something else in his voice, but I couldn’t put a name to it.
Around us, hardly anyone talked, most focusing on their meals and drinks. Patch laughed at something Crank said, but not much else. Unease nibbled at me. What was going on here? I hoped it had nothing to do with Hawk’s absence. Sheriff had really let into him, after all.
Sheriff took a last pull of his beer and stood up. He picked up the gavel sitting on the table beside his plate and thumped it on the table three times. One and all, everyone immediately fell silent. The clank of a fork sounded absurdly loud in the silence.
“So, now that everyone is here, I’ll say a few words before we get this party started.” He cleared his throat. “Everyone who went on the mission in Zone 2 has returned safe and sound. I—"
“Wait, General, where’s Hawk?” T-Man asked. “He was with us, too.”
“He was. But he can’t be with us now. He has chosen to abstain from celebration.”
Abstain? The word sounded rather…Hawk-like, and yet I couldn’t help wondering if Sheriff had less than gently offered him the choice not to show up. Worry for him nagged at me, but Sheriff’s voice quickly pulled my focus back to him.
“Pretty Boy, Steel, we are all glad you’ve returned in one piece. May you both live to cause trouble another day.” He filled his mug and raised it.
Everyone around the room raised theirs, and drank along with the General, and then the room erupted in clapping and thumps of glasses and feet. Some of the tension left me.
Sheriff thumped his gavel and the noise quieted. “There is one other matter to address. When the Critian warriors entered our Grotto, they infiltrated the North Gate, resulting in the injury to two of Hawk’s men and the kidnapping of certain property.” He flicked a look at me, then set his eyes on the crowd. “We all know those barbarians couldn’t have gotten in without help. Which means…” he paused, fixing each of the men around him with a hard look before he added coldly, “we have a traitor in our midst.”
“Wait, you mean someone let them in?” a man in the back burst out.
Sheriff nodded.
A chill passed through me. I’d been wondering how they’d found me. For that matter, how they’d known I would be where I was in order to grab me. Then it hit me, and my blood ran cold.
After I’d left Sheriff’s room and given my guard the slip, I’d only seen one person before those Critians took me. And that man was sitting right across from me.
“But no one would do that,” another man said. “No one here would go against the club.”
“One person did,” Sheriff said.
“Who?” the same man shouted.
“Come on, traitor.” Sheriff straightened. “You know who you are. Stand up.”
Everyone kept his eyes on his plate, waiting. I could have heard a pin drop.
When no one rose from his seat, Sheriff’s jaw muscles twitched. “Patch.” His voice was a menacing growl. “Stand up.”
Patch jerked his head up so fast I wouldn’t have been surprised if he ended up with whiplash. The color leached from his sallow face. “General, I didn’t. I wouldn’t have—"
“Don’t insult my intelligence by lying to us all, Patch. Stand now or be dragged.”
He stood slowly, the anchor tattoos on his bare biceps rippling as though alive. His eyes flickered to the entrances. I looked around, watching the guards who had been casually loitering around the entrances suddenly flanking the doorways, ready for action. Eyes on Patch, in case he decided to run. Two more had taken up position at the entrance I’d come through earlier.
My blood ran cold. Under the table, Steel grabbed my hand, squeezing, as if he’d picked up on my anxiety, and then returned his hand back to his mug of beer.
Once again, Sheriff’s cold voice called my attention.
“Two of Hawk’s guards were found unconscious at the North Gate the day the barbarians came. You told one of the guards you were going on a mission right before they showed up and the slave went missing. Care to explain, Patch?”
Patch’s face clouded over with anger. “I had to run an errand. And, yeah, I lied about there being a mission. But I would never betray the club, and I sure as hell would never deal with those Critian bastards.” His lip curled in revulsion.
Why was he lying?
“But you did, Patch.” Sheriff’s voice was iron.
/> “You’ve lost your heads. You, Steel, Hawk, Pretty Boy. Running out to rescue a piece of ass. In fact, ever since that slave came here, none of you have acted right. It’s bullshit.”
Steel’s fists tightened until the varnished clay mug in his hand broke. Pretty Boy started to push his chair back, looking like he was about to stand up and grab Patch.
“It doesn’t matter, Patch,” Sheriff snapped. “You know how Dark Legion law works. You betrayed our whereabouts to a spy.” The way the blood left Patch’s face, I knew the truth of what he’d done had come home.
“I see you understand your actions now,” Sheriff went on. “The person you thought you were getting information from about the gems—information that you were going to hide from us until the right time so that you could gain a higher rank in the club—was a fucking spy, a contact for Talak. Had you only come to us to discuss the tip you’d found, the way you were supposed to, none of this would have happened.”
I knew what Sheriff was talking about. The gems that were being replaced with glass. That’s what led Patch to leading the Critians here? And all for a higher rank?
“But you didn’t want to wait, did you, Patch?” Sheriff asked. “You wanted the glory in solving the mystery yourself. And not only did you defy orders by going rogue, you knowingly traded information that put the Grotto in danger. Even going so far as to let your fellow brothers face danger in the North Gate. Your actions that day made you a traitor, and there is only one way we deal with a traitor.”
If it was possible for Patch’s face to lose anymore color, it did. “No, General, you can’t fucking do this. Give me penance, anything…I won’t go!”
Sheriff ignored his frantic cries and nodded to Bear and Crank. Both men stood and walked over to Patch. One produced a pair of metal cuffs and clapped them on Patch’s wrists behind him.
The room rippled with whispers and muttered curses. No one at the table looked directly at Patch. My skin tingled, cold, as though I’d been dunked in ice water.
“Get him out of here,” Sheriff ordered. Bear and Crank led a struggling, shouting Patch from the room amid yells branding him a traitor who deserved what he got. Sheriff slammed his gavel on the table three times and the ruckus stopped. “Carry on.”
Everyone resumed eating, drinking, and talking, though the conversations held a certain subdued air. My head spun with such a mix of emotions, I didn’t know how to feel.
Among the J’nai, traitors were handled swiftly and without mercy. Usually they were beheaded and that was that. They were buried and forgotten. How did such a thing work among the men of the Dark Legion?
Half hoping he wouldn’t answer, I leaned over to Steel. “Master? What…what will happen to Patch now?”
Steel took my hand under the table again and looked at me, his eyes full of something I couldn’t name. He was silent for so long, at first I thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“He’s going to be dealt with the same way anyone is who betrays their club, Petal,” he said at last. “He’s going to be publicly executed in the most gruesome way possible.”
Chapter 6
“I Am Yantu.”
Dinner crawled by, and after what Steel had said, I didn’t hear a word anyone else spoke. My brain seemed to have lost the ability to absorb what happened around me. Voices became a muted buzzing. It was as if my ears were stuffed with cotton, and everyone’s words became an unintelligible garble. Pretty Boy said something, but I couldn’t be sure what it was, even after I asked him to repeat himself.
“I’m fine, Master,” I finally said, hoping that was what he’d asked.
But I wasn’t fine. My stomach kept doing horrible summersaults, and when I thought too closely about what would happen to Patch, nausea burned the back of my throat.
What exactly the Dark Legion considered the most gruesome way possible for someone to die, I didn’t know, but I was betting it wasn’t a simple beheading.
My response to Pretty Boy must have been the correct one, because he squeezed my knee and nodded, starting on his steak.
I didn’t like Patch, and I hated what he’d done. I’d been kidnapped and could have ended up the eternal slave to a barbarian king because of him. I’d nearly lost the first place, the first people, I’d ever come to think of as home. But no matter what he’d done, I didn’t want him dead, and certainly not in whatever way Dark Legion law demanded.
Maybe I was weak for being this way, but I hated executions, and no matter how standard they were, no matter how often I saw them, I never got used to them. Every new one gave me nightmares for days. But for the men of the Dark Legion, public and gruesome executions were a normal part of life.
Unwilling to be seen as weak, I played the perfect slave, remaining where I was, at my masters’ sides through dinner until it was polite to leave.
Since eating meat wasn’t my thing, I’d dished myself some salad and fruit. The food was probably delicious, but it tasted like ash. The men around me tore ribs off the bone and ripped into chickens or roast goose, all bones cracking and sinew. The sight made my stomach lurch.
Weakness be damned.
“Excuse me, Masters. I’m sorry.” I pushed up from my chair, about to make the quickest exit I could.
Pretty Boy opened his mouth like he was going to ask where I was going. Then he took one look at my face, no doubt as pale as a sheet, and excused himself.
“Whoa, hold it, Princess. You can’t go anywhere alone. Not after what happened. I’ll take you.” He was on his feet, hand in mine, leading me out of the cavern in an instant. Everyone at the table gave us worried looks, but no one stopped us, and Steel wore a look of understanding.
I hurried out to the wooden walk outside the cavern and leaned against the wall, emptying my stomach.
“Princess, you all right?” He held my hair out of the way and rubbed my back.
“I’m fine now, Master. Sorry.” I wiped my mouth and straightened slowly. Arm on the wall, forehead on my arm, I closed my eyes, waiting for the lightheadedness to pass.
“What’s wrong? Bear said Crash has been distracted lately, I wouldn’t be surprised if the goose isn’t right.”
“It’s not the food, Master.”
He took my shoulders and turned me to him, cradling my face so that I had to look at him. “What is it? Talk to me.”
The concern in his eyes made his features harder, matured him, turning the boyish handsomeness to something more dangerous. Knowing the concern was for me warmed my heart.
“It’s…” Humiliation at my own weakness squirmed in me and I looked away. “It’s just Patch. I…I hate executions.”
“Ah.” He pushed my hair out of my face, smoothing it back. “Well, they aren’t the most pleasant events to witness, sure. But, Princess, Patch doesn’t deserve your mercy. And even if he did, it’s the law. Sheriff—everyone in the Legion, but especially Sheriff—has to be hard, to uphold the law no matter our personal feelings. We have to maintain order.”
“I know. I get it. I do.” I made myself nod but held my wayward stomach.
“Stomach still upset?”
“Yes, Master.”
Behind him, T-Man came out of the cave with a nod for Pretty Boy and puffed on a thin, wooden pipe.
“Hang on.” Pretty Boy turned to his club brother. “T-Man, watch her for me, will you?”
“Sure.” The tall, muscled blond leaned against the rock wall. Shoulder-length, thick curls fell to the shoulders of his cut. Both of his arms sported a strange tattoo of saucer-shaped crafts in a sky above odd mountain landscapes that didn’t look like they were of this world.
Pretty Boy disappeared into the clubhouse, ignoring me when I tried to tell him I didn’t need a bodyguard. I dropped my shoulders and gave T-Man a lame smile.
Wanting to fill the awkward silence, I asked him a question that had been on my mind since I’d first heard his name.
“Um…sir, what does T-Man stand for?”
His slender mouth pul
led into a surprisingly attractive smile for one who’s face seemed to be all harsh angles. “Trigger,” he said.
“Trigger…Trigger Man.” My eyes widened. “As in those things they used in the Old World?”
“Pistols, yeah. I have a huge collection of them. I’d use them if people still made bullets.”
“Use them?” My mouth opened. “Is…is that what you do? You’re…”
“I deliver people to their maker for a living, yeah.”
My stomach tightened, and I nearly lost it again. I swallowed hard and nodded, trying to look casual. I supposed someone had to do it. Every Family, even Damien’s, had men like that. Many Clan leaders, leaders of zones, had them. It stood to reason road warrior crews did, but I’d never thought I’d talk to a real live killer for hire.
Suddenly wanting to be anywhere but standing this close to T-Man, I almost sighed with relief when Pretty Boy returned. He nodded his thanks to T-Man, who went back inside.
“Here, Princess. Drink this.” He handed me a mug of steaming tea of some kind. It had a faint scent of mint.
I sipped the tea. The liquid tasted almost too sweet. “What is it?”
“Corran-root. It settles the stomach. I drink it after a bender and it works wonders. Drink it all down.”
I forced myself to gulp the tea back, shuttering at the overly sugary taste.
“Good girl. Here.” He took the cup and set it on a ledge. “Let’s go to my room. You can lie down for a while.”
“Master, please forgive me, but I don’t want to lie down. Please,” I touched his arm when I saw him about to argue. “Can I just be alone for a while? Hawk showed me a place.”
“His waterfall.”
I nodded.
