Ash in the Blood

by Lyn Forester

  “Can you stay upright while I climb out?” He grabs her hand and directs it to the lip of the dumpster, then waits until her grip firms before he releases her. She sways, but stays on her feet. “I’m right here. Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you.”

  “You’re a real softy, you know that?” Head down, black hair falls over her face. Her long, slender neck looks too thin to hold its weight.

  “Shut up, you could have died tonight.”

  “Something like this won’t kill me.”

  “You’re not invincible.” Anger rolls through him as he jumps over the metal wall and lands on the ground. “Why did you go in without me?”

  “Where were you?”

  “I was busy. You should have waited.” He steps in front of her and reaches up to grip her narrow hips. She feels fragile, like if he squeezes too hard he’ll break her. She needs to eat more. “I can’t lift you out from this angle.”

  “I’m not sure I can climb out.” Her arms shake as she releases her support to pat up his arms until she finds his shoulders. “Time for a trust fall.”

  He tightens his grip with a wince, sure bruises will form under his hands. More injures for her to bear. “I got you.”

  She sags forward as all her effort to stay upright seeps away. He slides his hands up her body, ribs notching beneath his palms, as he directs her forward motion over his shoulder. As he steps back, dragging her legs free, he takes her full weight. She’s light, lighter than yesterday. Like an empty sack full of hangers. Her bones poke him at every point of contact as she wheezes against his back.

  He shivers with confusion. “What happened to you?”

  “I fell a long way.” She pats his back. “Put me down. I can walk.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” He crouches until her feet meet the ground. She straightens once more, stumbles, then catches her balance. He frowns. “It might be safer if I carry you.”

  “I lost my psy-gun.”

  He taps her datband. “What about your backup?”

  “Lost that one, too.”

  “I’m going to need a detailed report as soon as we’re back to safety.”

  “I’m going to need food and a shower, maybe not in that order.” Fingers fumbling, she lifts her night goggles to her eyes and swears.

  He skims the alley. “Are they busted?”

  “Yeah.” Her arm drops, the broken device hanging from her neck. “I’ll need you to lead me.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “It’s too dangerous to stay here.”

  “Shit.” He grabs her hand, dragging her fingers to his belt. “Let’s go to the Pink Skirt.”

  “I need more information than that.” She tugs on his pants. “I’m not sure I’m up for a love hotel.”

  “Tease.” He huffs out a quiet breath. “Like I’d fuck you right now. I’m not into snuff.”

  He takes an experimental step forward. When she stays on her feet, he walks toward the end of the alley and peers around the corner. So far, so good. No sign of the disc-bikes returning. No hint of night pirates.

  “What’s taking so long?” For all her bravado, the hands at his belt shake with a fine tremor. Not just fatigue or pain. She doesn’t like to be vulnerable, and in this situation, she’s completely reliant on him.

  “Hush. We’ll be there soon.” With a last glance around, he steps out of the alley and turns toward the motel.

  ~

  “It’s just ahead.” Drake’s steps speed up as the Pink Skirt Motel comes into sight. Pink light splashes across the street in front of its entrance as the neon lady shakes her hips above the vacancy sign.

  They’d made the two-block walk at a slow shuffle, Reagen’s grip on his belt dragging at his waist as she leaned heavily against him. Lucky for them, the single group of night pirates that had passed them across the street had taken one look in their direction and decided they weren’t worth robbing.

  Warm air hits the top of his head as they stumble onto the sensor pad. Used to the chill temperatures of Lights-Out, sweat breaks out across his forehead as his leather jacket suffocates him.

  As they cross the cracked concrete floor, Reagen stumbles, her weight falling against him. He freezes as she rights herself. “Hey, you sure you don’t need a doctor? I can call in one that Black Corp has on standby.”

  “I’m good.” As if to prove her point, she releases her grip on him.

  He turns to study his partner with concern. She sways on her feet, dark shadows under her eyes and hair hanging limply around sharp cheekbones. Her head bobs as her neck struggles to support the weight. Her clothes look off, twisted and hanging unevenly.

  His eyes narrow. “You look like shit.”

  “I need to rest for a bit.” She shuffles past him toward the plas-glass window that covers the front desk. “Take me upstairs.”

  “I’ve had more appealing offers.” He catches her elbow when she stumbles over the grimy area rug that attempts to hide the large cracks in the floor. “Until I met you, love hotels were a lot more fun.”

  A dry chuckle escapes her. “You had fun last time.”

  “Yeah, I did.” He keeps a steadying hand on her arm as they stop in front of the check-in desk, and he taps on the clear barrier.

  The same greasy man from yesterday sighs as he tears his gaze away from a vid screen in front of him. He pushes a payment scanner through the small opening in the plas-glass. His eyes flicker over Reagen, half supported against Drake’s side, and then away without interest. “Pay is by the hour. Total is taken when the room key is returned to the front desk.”

  Drake adjusts his grip to Reagen’s waist as he swipes his datband across the reader. The clerk pulls the scanner back and tosses out a keycard, eyes already glued back to the monitor on his desk.

  “Come on.” Drake jiggles her until she grunts and takes a step away from him to shuffle toward the elevators.

  When he presses the call button, Reagen lifts a shaky arm to point at the sign on the wall. “Let’s stop on the third floor.”

  He checks the plastic key in his hand. “Our room is on the seventh floor.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?” She tugs at her rumpled clothes to straighten them. “We can get lunch at the convenience store.”

  His eyes narrow on her fidgeting fingers. “You said all they sold is condoms and lube.”

  “They have protein drinks, too.” Her nose wrinkles as she lifts a hand. Slime covers her palm. “And clothes.”

  The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. He cups her elbows to help her onto the lift. “Let’s get you to the room first. I can come back down to the store and buy what you need.”

  As he presses the button to go up, she takes a position at the back of the small box, head leaned back against the mirrored wall. The lack of argument worries him almost as much as when he found her in the dumpster. When she had no pulse.

  With her eyes closed, he takes the chance to study her thin, borderline gaunt form, and suspicion niggles at the back of his mind. In the bright light of the motel, with grime smeared across her face and mystery fluid sticking her clothes to her body, she looks more than a little off.

  “So who pushed you out of the window?”

  She jumps, her eyelids cracking open to stare at him across the lift. “Didn’t I say I fell?”

  “Who helped you fall?”

  She squints and lifts a hand toward her face before she freezes, mouth twisting with disgust. She rubs her hand across her shirt instead, leaving a glistening smear of slime. “It was dark.”

  “What happened to your psy-guns?”

  “Lost them.”

  “Right before someone pushed you out the window?”

  “Where were you when I called?”

  “Do you remember hitting your head when you landed?”

  She frowns. “Yeah, it hurt.”

  He puts his hands on his hips, feet braced apart. “There was blood on the dumpster.”

  “Yeah, it’s in m
y hair, too.” Gently, she presses the back of her head with a wince. “What’s your point?”

  “Whoever threw you out the window could have killed you.” Rage pounds in his temples as his vision turns red at the corners. “Why are you protecting them?”

  “I’m fine.” She straightens, hands moving to her own hips to mirror his pose. “Why won’t you leave it at that?”

  “Because you were dead!” Reagen flinches as his shout echoes in the small rool. He storms forward to stab a hard finger against her chest. “When I found you, you weren’t breathing. You had no heartbeat. You’re my partner, and you were dead.”

  “I wasn’t dead.” She stumbles back to the wall, out of poking range as she rubs her chest. “You’re just shit at checking for a pulse.”

  “I know what I felt.” He pants, deep breaths that whoosh in and out of his lungs to fill the space between them. The terror at finding her in that dumpster came as a shock. He didn’t want to care about her life—he shouldn’t care—but there it was out in the open, and she wants to shrug it off. Wide indigo eyes study him as the elevator grinds to a stop, and the door swooshes open.

  Neither of them moves for a moment, not until the door dings and begins to close once more. Reagen stumbles forward, arm extended, and pushes on it until the sensors catch on and it reverses course.

  Stumbling out into the hallway beyond, she glances over her shoulder. “Come on, this is our floor.”

  The anger leaves him in a hot rush of air as he joins her. “I’m mad at you.”

  She flinches, head whipping in his direction. The sudden motion throws her off balance, and she flings out an arm to brace against the wall. Her head hangs, limp hair over her face, as she regains her footing.

  “Shit, come here.” He bends his knees enough to slide an arm under hers, glad for once she’s only a couple inches shorter. “Our room’s only two down. Not much further.”

  “Thanks.” A quiet chuckle puffs out as they walk. “Don’t blame me if you stink.”

  “I totally blame you.”

  “Will you buy us matching clothes at the store?”

  A smile pulls at his mouth. “We can be twinsies.”

  She snorts, and they walk the rest of the way in silence. When they make it into the room, they find it’s an exact duplicate of the one they broke into before, wrinkled duvet and all.

  Reagen’s arm slips from his shoulders as she hobbles past the questionable bed to the slightly less questionable chair that faces it. She slumps onto it with a groan, more a collapse of legs than a controlled descent.

  He hovers in the doorway while he waits to make sure she stays conscious. When she glances up at him in question, her eyes look clearer, more alert. “What?”

  “You want cherry protein shakes if they have them?”

  “Sounds good.” She picks at the strap around her leg that lashes her satchel in place. “And a GoGoNow if they have them.”

  “No.”

  She glares up at him. “Yes.”

  He tries not to show how arguing with her brings with it a calm relief. “You need rest, not energy.”

  “We have evidence to go over.” The strap unravels, the satchel thumping against the side of the chair. She shrugs the strap over her shoulder and lets the bag fall to the ground. “I think I found a good lead.”

  “I’ll read over it while you rest.”

  “No.”

  “Three hours.” He folds his arms fold over his chest, shoulder against the doorframe. “Rest until Half-Light.”

  “Here?” She glances over the room before her gaze lands on the bed with a shudder. “There’s not enough soap in the world.”

  “I’ll let you use my sanitizer later.” Her face smooths into a blank mask, and he turns toward the hall to hide his smile of victory. Yeah, he was learning to read her. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Hey, Drake,” she calls before the door shuts.

  He pokes his head back in to see her struggling out of her jacket before she gives. “Yeah?”

  “It’s not your fault I ended up in the dumpster.”

  He scowls. “I know that.”

  A smile twists one corner of her mouth. “I want two GoGoNows.”

  BANGIN BUM

  REAGEN

  As the door closes, I force myself to get back up and head to the bathroom. I’ve already waited too long to check for trackers March might have slipped into my clothes during our scuffle. Hopefully the goons from the warehouse still have him occupied, and he hasn’t located me yet.

  I cringe as I flip on the light to reveal the vibrant pink cavity of tile. Overhead, the shower nozzle hangs above the sink and toilet, positioned just far enough off center to not force users to straddle either fixture.

  So gross.

  The metered panel on the wall sells water in five-minute spurts. The sign next to it displays the rates, with hot water double the cost of level temperature. During Lights-Out, the reservoir will be freezing. I hope it’s not pulled down from the roof. Last time Drake and I went up there, it looked like they filled the pool from the cleaning cycles.

  Clothes on, I twist the dial and hurry under the nozzle. It sputters out a couple icy drops in warning, and I grip the sink, head tucked down until my chin touches my chest. Icy water dumps down, a frigid waterfall that slams onto the top of my head and drenches me in seconds.

  I shout as pain shoots from the back of my skull. Grip tight on the sink, I sway as white dots speckle my vision. Fucking March. I could have held my own. He didn’t need to take my weapons and toss me out of a fucking window.

  Gingerly, I reach back to prod at the soft spot where my head slammed into the dumpster. Even through the deluge, the skin feels swollen, hot against my fingertips. I avoided it earlier, the sticky mat of my hair already enough to alert me to the injury. Experience tells me it will heal with time.

  Eyes squeezed shut, lips pressed together, I lean my head back to allow the water full access to the front of my body. Any tracker March might have slipped on me won’t survive this torrent.

  When the timer runs out, I stay in the bathroom, water dripping from my clothes. I should get out of them, dry off. Now that the water’s shut off, shivers shake through me. My teeth chatter. But the soaked material weighs me down, makes me want to crumple to the floor to rest. The cold water did nothing to boost my awareness. At this rate, I’ll have to give in to Drake’s demand that I rest.

  “What are you doing?” The outraged demand comes from the doorway.

  Speak of the devil.

  I push back sodden black strands of hair to peer at my partner. “You trying to peep at me, creeper?”

  He swears and turns long enough to drop his bags from the gift shop before he stomps into the bathroom. His shoes leave black footprints on the wet tiles. In the small room, he crowds too close. I wait for the panic, the trapped urge to fight, but my pulse stays calm. Drake doesn’t ping my radar as a threat anymore.

  “Why are you still dressed?” He steps past me to the back wall, where a towel bar sits out of the splash range. “You should have waited until I got back before showering. What if you fell?”

  A smile tugs at my lips. “You sound like a fussy mother.”

  “Shut up. You’re worrying me.” He reaches out to push the hair away from my face and I’m too tired to dodge his touch. “Let me check your head wound. Your skull might be cracked.”

  With effort, I knock his hand away. “I already checked. It’s only a gash.”

  “If you say so.” Disbelief colors his voice, but he lets it go as he grabs the stiff towel and settles it over my head. “Do you need help changing?”

  My head droops as he gingerly dries my hair. “You want to see me naked?”

  “Bottom of my list, skinny ass.” The rough fibers pat at my cheeks before he drapes the towel around my shoulders. “Besides, your gym clothes don’t leave a lot for the imagination.”

  “That’s kind of the point.” I give him a half-hearted swat as
he tugs my jacket off my shoulders. “I can undress myself.”

  “I have doubts.” When he releases me, I sway but stay upright. “Your clothes stunk, but you could have just bagged them until you got home. That’s what I’m doing.” He shakes water from my jacket, then hangs it over the towel bar. “This will take forever to dry.”

  “It will be fine.” I struggle with the rubber holster that cups my shoulders. My fingers shake, and the slippery band won’t budge.

  With a huff, Drake moves behind me, hard fingers sliding the contraption off. He examines the empty magnetic clip. “What happened to your weapons?”

  I fumble with the button on my pants and avoid eye contact. I’m not in the best shape to lie well right now. “Dropped them.”

  “Sure you did. Turn around.” Without waiting, he pulls me around and props me against the sink. The bathroom tilts out of focus as my head spins. In the next moment, he yanks my t-shirt up over my head. Before I can punch him, he repositions the towel to wrap around my body.

  I huff, trying for a scowl. It doesn’t feel right, but I’m too cold and tired to care. “Do you want me to shoot you again?”

  “With what?” With a frown, he kneels to yank on my shoelaces. “Lift your foot.”

  I obey, and he pulls off one shoe, then the next. “You’re good at this.”

  “Not the first time I’ve taken care of an injured person.” He reaches through the towel and makes quick work of the buttons on my pants. “It’s what partners are for.”

  I lift my legs free. “Have you had a lot of partners?”

  His gaze flicks up to meet mine, gray eyes stormy. “Not in recent years. But back in my old gang, there were a few people who had my back, no matter what.”

  “Yeah.” I glance away, focus on his shoulder.

  “Is that what this guy is to you? The one you won’t talk about? He was at the warehouse, too, right? The one with the weird eyes that Margie told us about.” Wet clothes in his fist, he stands in front of me. “Is that why you keep protecting him?”