Revolution

by Jenna Black

  “It’s not really about weapons,” he said. “Think of it as a kind of dominance display. They want us to know who’s in charge—and it ain’t us.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly, though the look in his eyes told her there was more to come.

  “They’ll probably be assholes about it. The less you react, the better. If you make it obvious it’s bothering you, they’ll get off on it and make it worse.”

  Nadia swallowed hard. “Funny how you didn’t mention any of this when we were talking things over with Nate and Dante.” She could just imagine how the two of them would react to the thought of her being manhandled. Not that she was doing so great with the idea herself.

  Bishop shrugged. “What Dante doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And Nate’s kinda being Nate. He’s been felt up here a million times, but it hasn’t occurred to him that they’ll do the same to you. If he knew, we’d probably have to tie him up and have Dante sit on him to keep him from coming along and pitching a fit.”

  Nadia smiled faintly at the image. “Guess it’s a good thing he didn’t fully think it through, then.”

  “Yup.” He met her eyes, and she thought she saw genuine sympathy in his gaze. He’d never much liked her—and the feeling had been mutual—but she thought they were well on their way to reaching a level of mutual respect. “Sorry to spring it on you, but I didn’t think telling you earlier would help. If I’m right and you’re not going to go all girlie on me and run away.”

  She’d have been irritated at his sexist comment if she didn’t see through it so easily. “You don’t have to provoke me to get me to do this. There’s too much at stake.”

  He gave her a sharp-edged grin. “Thought it wouldn’t hurt for you to go in there pissed off.”

  “Are we going in, or are we standing here in the street discussing going in for the next hour and a half?”

  Bishop answered by rapping on the door. There was a long moment of silence, then a male voice shouted without opening the door.

  “We’re closed!”

  “Angel’s expecting us,” Bishop shouted back.

  There was another long silence, then the sound of locks clicking open. Nadia sucked in a deep breath, hoping to calm the racing of her pulse. She was dreading the search Bishop had described and wasn’t sure how she was going to contain her reaction. She was fairly certain she was going to be touched in places she’d never been touched by a man before, and this was not at all how she wanted those first touches to be.

  “Hang in there,” Bishop muttered under his breath as the door swung open, revealing a dimly lit interior.

  Gritting her teeth and raising her chin, Nadia followed Bishop through the door. When she got her first look at the man whose voice had shouted at them on the doorstep, it was all Nadia could do to keep her feet moving forward. The guy had to be over three hundred pounds, and he was painted solid blue from head to toe. Which Nadia could tell because he was wearing nothing but a pair of skintight bicycle shorts. The paint job was so thorough she had no idea what his natural skin color might be. His eyes gave her no clue, as he was wearing disturbing-looking orange contact lenses, and his hair was buzzed down to little more than stubble.

  “Hands up, face the wall,” the Blue Giant commanded. He looked like he was hoping they would disobey so he could slam them against the wall.

  Bishop turned to the wall and put the palms of his hands against it, his legs slightly spread. Sweat beading her skin, Nadia followed his lead.

  The giant searched Bishop first, giving Nadia a preview of what she was in for. She knew from the little sidelong glances the blue man gave her that he was hoping for an entertaining reaction, and she tried not to give him one. Her insides shriveled at the way he handled Bishop’s groin and butt. If it bothered Bishop, he was very good at hiding it, his face looking almost bored. Then again, he couldn’t have survived his previous profession if being touched there made him squirm.

  When the blue man turned to her, Nadia’s pulse was pounding and her breath was coming short. She kept herself in place by sheer force of will, but she knew she was doing a terrible job of hiding her fear and disgust. The blue man smiled at her, and she saw a spark of excitement in his orange eyes as he crossed to her. She quickly looked away and met Bishop’s eyes. He lent her what moral support he could, but she still couldn’t suppress a little jump when the blue man’s hands landed on her shoulders and started slowly making their way down her back.

  Nadia was sweating, and her knees trembled under the strain of holding still. Everything Nate had told her about Angel had already given her a healthy dislike of the woman, but that dislike was turning into something more virulent. This search was completely unnecessary, an intimidation tactic that served no purpose when Nadia was here to negotiate a mutually beneficial deal.

  But maybe it served a purpose after all. What better way was there to establish that you were negotiating from a position of power than to unsettle and humiliate your opponent before you even began?

  The blue man’s hands slid down to Nadia’s bottom, and instead of cringing at the violation, Nadia itched to turn around and knee the Blue Molester in the groin. Anger fired her blood, masking some of the fear.

  “My price just went up twenty percent,” she said, sure Angel was watching, measuring her. “He touches anything else he shouldn’t, it goes up again.”

  The corner of Bishop’s mouth lifted in a hint of a grin, and he gave her a faint nod of approval. The blue man had paused with his hands on her butt. Awaiting orders, perhaps.

  From somewhere behind her, hidden by the blue man’s massive body, there came the sound of a dark, low chuckle.

  “That’s enough, Djinni,” a woman’s voice said.

  The blue man gave Nadia’s rump what under other circumstances she might call a playful pat, then backed off. She dropped her arms and turned around, letting her simmering anger rebuild her sense of dignity.

  Nadia got her first good look at Angel’s club, and the idea that people actually paid money to come in—that Executives who thought they were taking a walk on the wild side paid to come in—made no sense whatsoever. To call the place a dump was too kind.

  Angel had apparently had all the apartments torn out of the first couple floors of this building, creating a large, open space peppered with support pillars in odd places. The walls were covered with graffiti, the floor looked like it hadn’t been mopped in eighteen years, and the only light came from bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling on long wires. There were plywood tables and plastic chairs—none of which matched each other—and the bar appeared to have been cobbled together with cinder blocks and scrap wood.

  The only even mildly decorative feature was a huge mural on one wall depicting a woman with a gray mohawk fingering a knife and glaring out over the room.

  The real-life version of that woman stood in one of the shadowy areas behind a support pillar, her arms folded and a cigarette hanging from her lips. She came forward with a sinewy, hip-rolling walk, though Nadia couldn’t imagine how the woman thought of herself as sexy. The gray mohawk was at least six inches high, and though her face was smooth and unlined, there were wattles under the spiked collar around her neck that suggested she was considerably older than the image she tried to project. When she got closer, Nadia wrinkled her nose at the scent that emanated from the cigarette. She didn’t know what it was, except that it wasn’t tobacco.

  When Angel got close enough to invade Nadia’s personal space, she looked Nadia up and down and she took a drag on her cigarette. Guessing what was coming, Nadia held her breath just before Angel exhaled smoke directly into her face. The smoke stung her eyes, and even holding her breath she could taste something bitter in the back of her throat, but at least she didn’t cough.

  “I was expecting the Ghost,” Angel said, smoke leaking from her nostrils as she spoke.

  Nadia would have to take a breath to respond, but Bishop answered for her.

  “Well, you got the Honey Badger inst
ead.”

  Nadia turned to frown at him, taking in a sip of smoky air. “The Honey Badger?”

  He grinned at her. “Congrats. You just earned your street name.”

  Nadia had almost forgotten that Basement-dwellers didn’t use names the way Employees and Executives did. Given names were for children only, and adults went by whatever street name they had “earned.” They probably should have come up with a fake street name for her before she set foot outside the apartment. Surely they could have come up with something better than Honey Badger. It sounded like a really bad stripper name, not a tough-as-nails street name.

  “Honey Badger,” Angel said speculatively. “I like it. Mind if I call you Honey for short?”

  Yes, she minded. But she suspected Angel knew that. “If I say I mind, will you stop calling me that?”

  Angel’s eyes sparkled with amusement. She took another drag off her cigarette, but this time blew the smoke off to the side. “Nope.”

  “Then I don’t mind a bit.” The glare she sent Bishop’s way belied her words, but he looked at least as amused as Angel.

  “Good,” Angel said with an approving nod. “Let’s have a seat and chat, shall we?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed for the far corner of the club, leaving Bishop and Nadia to follow or not, as they chose. Although Djinni was now between them and the door, Nadia doubted he would take well to them trying to leave.

  “Honey Badger?” Nadia said again as she and Bishop followed Angel across the club. “Where the hell did that come from? And how do I get rid of it?”

  Bishop still looked amused and maybe even a little proud of himself. “Honey badgers are these small animals that look kinda harmless and cute but are really fierce and fearless. You gotta admit, it fits.”

  “No, I don’t have to admit anything,” she grumped, but she realized Bishop meant the name as a compliment. She couldn’t remember ever receiving one from him before, and she liked the idea of being thought fierce and fearless. Not that she was going to tell him that.

  “How does someone who grew up in the Basement know what a honey badger is?” she asked. There weren’t even any schools in the Basement. Schools cost money, and the government of Paxco wasn’t about to provide anything that wasn’t a survival necessity for its poorest and most powerless citizens. “I’ve never even heard of it before.”

  “Saw it on a nature show.”

  Nadia’s eyebrows climbed and she looked at him in amazement. “You watch nature shows?” It was not something she would ever associate with a pierced, tattooed tough-guy street kid.

  “When I went to work for Nate, I had free time on my hands for the first time in my life. I watched all kinds of weird shit just because I could.”

  Nadia hadn’t realized until now how little she knew about Bishop. She had never really thought of him as an individual before, had always thought about him in terms of his relationship with and influence on Nate. She’d always told herself she didn’t have the typical Executive feeling of superiority over the Basement-dwellers, but perhaps she’d been lying to herself.

  “I wish you’d come up with something that couldn’t be shortened to Honey,” she grumbled. “And is there anyone else in the Basement who’d have any idea what the name means?”

  “Doesn’t matter. That’s not how names work here.”

  “Huh?”

  Bishop came to a stop, letting Angel get ahead of them. “Don’t take anything at face value. Street names often don’t mean what it sounds like they mean. The leader of the Red Death gang is called the Maiden, but it ain’t because there’s anything girlie about him. No one’s gonna hear the name Honey and assume it’s a put-down of some kind. Trust me.”

  Angel had reached a makeshift booth in the corner and was staring at them impatiently. Nadia nodded her acceptance—she would definitely trust Bishop about all things Basement—and they started forward again.

  “So why is the Red Death leader called the Maiden?” she asked.

  “’Cause he owns a collection of iron maidens and ain’t afraid to use ’em.”

  Charming, Nadia thought as she and Bishop slid into the booth across from Angel. She supposed being named after a fierce animal was better than being named after a medieval torture device. Only a happy accident of birth had kept Nadia from being faced with a life like the one Bishop had known, and never had she been more aware of it than now, as she folded her hands on top of the sticky, pitted table and met Angel’s cool, assessing gaze.

  “I could make a lot of money turning you in,” Angel said. An opening salvo, looking for a weakness in Nadia’s defenses.

  “You could,” Nadia agreed. “And then I’d start talking before they even got around to threatening to torture me. I know some things you’d probably rather I didn’t share.”

  Angel laughed, deep and throaty. “Who said anything about turning you in alive?”

  “Yeah that wouldn’t go so well for you,” Bishop said as Nadia weathered the unpleasant shock of Angel’s words. “Nate and Dante would be kinda annoyed if something happened to Honey or me, and they might start feeling talkative themselves.”

  Nadia recovered her composure—after everything she’d been through, she shouldn’t have let a little thing like a death threat throw her off her stride—and decided that no matter how complimentary it might be, she really loathed being called Honey.

  “You might also find that the information I can give you is more valuable than whatever money Paxco may be offering for a reward,” Nadia said. “I don’t know how deeply your resistance has infiltrated the government, but I’m quite sure they aren’t deep enough to know the things that I know. I don’t think you’re a poor woman.” According to Nate, Angel, with her highly successful club and her array of profitable side businesses, was one of the richest people in all of the Basement. “You need information more than you need money.”

  Angel thought that over, tapping sharpened, bloodred fingernails on the table. Nadia should have just let her think, but nerves prompted her to keep talking.

  “Try to imagine the magnitude of what we must know to make the Chairman Heir turn against the government of Paxco. And imagine what it means that Paxco’s so desperate to find us. Desperate enough to set up roadblocks and cut off phone service and fly a blimp overhead all night. They do not want us telling anyone what we know.”

  Angel nodded slowly. “Can’t pretend I’m not curious as hell. But for all I know, you’re government spies sent in here to learn about the resistance.”

  Bishop rolled his eyes. “Oh for Christ’s sake, Angel. Can we just skip all this tap dancing and get on with things. You don’t think the Chairman Heir and his fiancée were sent into the Basement as spies. You’re just playing hard to get because you don’t know any other way.”

  Angel’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and Nadia feared Bishop had jeopardized their negotiations by pissing her off. But of course Bishop was too street-smart to do something stupid like that, and unlike Nadia, he had previous experience with Angel. Angel’s glare slowly transformed into a grin, and she spread her hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “Guilty as charged,” she admitted, then turned to Nadia. “You give me good information, I give you good money. And then you and the rest of your little kiddie gang don’t get within five blocks of my club or me again. I’m taking one hell of a risk even talking to you.”

  Not as much of a risk as we’re taking, Nadia thought. But she and the rest of the new resistance were at risk no matter what they did, and at least dealing with Angel meant they could take care of their immediate financial needs.

  “Let me start by telling you that that video on the blimp is a complete fabrication,” Nadia said, and was rewarded by a glint of interest in Angel’s eyes. “Now tell me how much you’ll pay to find out what really happened to our dear departed Chairman Hayes.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Nate paced the living room for about five minutes after he lost sight
of Nadia and Kurt, but he quickly discovered pacing wasn’t enough to defuse his nervous tension, so he unilaterally decided he and Dante and Agnes should change into their Basement disguises even though they weren’t planning to leave the apartment. Not only would it give them something to do while they waited, it would make it easier to launch a rescue mission the moment he decided Nadia and Kurt had been gone too long. Knowing Nadia was plunging headfirst into danger while he was safe and secure in Kurt’s apartment was a blow to his ego, and it was making him so crazy he wanted to chew the scenery.

  Neither Dante nor Agnes argued Nate’s decision, though Agnes made no bones about how much she hated her disguise. She was used to wearing frumpy, poufy clothes in an attempt to camouflage her bottom-heavy figure, and the formfitting, eye-searing blue bodysuit provided no camouflage whatsoever. She put it on, but she kept her ugly pink opera gown wrapped around her like a shield.

  “I’ll drop it if we have to go out,” she assured Nate when he frowned at her. “It’s chilly in here.” She wrapped the gown more tightly around her shoulders and tried to look like she was cold.

  “You don’t have to hide,” he told her. “You look fantastic in that outfit.”

  It was true, although he was rather surprised at himself for saying it. He had despised Agnes from the moment he’d first met her. Not for any fault of her own, but because his father was going to force him to marry her and ruin Nadia. He’d treated her abysmally, and though Nadia had shamed him into being more fair, he’d been convinced he could never do more than tolerate the girl.

  Agnes was as startled by his words as he, and she continued to huddle under the cover of her pink flounces. “I look ridiculous. You don’t have to try to flatter me.” Her face practically glowed with her familiar mottled blush.

  “I’m not flattering you,” he said, feeling bad for all the times he’d sneered at her. He didn’t think he’d ever said anything derogatory about her appearance to her face, but he’d certainly had unflattering thoughts. Agnes would never be beautiful, but she would be a hell of a lot more attractive if she’d just stop being so self-conscious about her looks. Every attempt she made to hide her flaws just made them more obvious—like her insistence on pleated pants and poufy skirts. “You look awesome in that outfit. Sexy.”