When Nothing Is All You've Got

by Kirsty Dallas

  A burst of manic laughter left his lips as he turned and stalked towards the door. I thought he might leave, but instead he turned and leaned against the door, the brochure still clenched in his fist.

  “Why haven’t you used this already?” Shadow shook the piece of paper in my direction.

  “The time wasn’t right,” I confessed. “I needed to make sure the people who weren’t meant to be down here were going to be okay. I needed them to be safe before I used that.”

  “How can you trust a map when you don’t even know where it came from? It might be a trap!”

  “I have nothing but hope. If it’s a trap, then it’s a trap, but it can’t be any worse than what I’ve endured down here.”

  Shadow growled in frustration. “Hope is nothin’ but a foolish emotion . . . Are there others?” I tilted my head in confusion, so he elaborated, “Rebel spies? Are you the only one?”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to deny I was a rebel spy. Although I might not have considered myself as part of the rebel group, I had definitely been a spy for them.

  “They made no attempt to fill me in on their operation, and I never asked questions, only answered them. I believe there are others, but I have no idea how many or who they are.”

  “And I’m supposed to take your word on that?” Shadow spat out.

  It was a verbal slap that I felt deep in my chest. His anger and words made it clear that his loyalties, which I had assumed were with me, weren’t entirely. I’d reached out the hand of trust and he rejected it.

  “I’ve never lied to you . . . not once.”

  Shadow roared with frustration and pointed at me, his arm taut, the action brutally crisp. “Regan died because of you!” he screamed.

  If his previous words had been a verbal slap, these were an all-out punch, close-fisted and a direct aim. Slowly, I rose from the bed, my hand drawing the knife up with me.

  “You wanna play with your fuckin’ blade now, sweetheart?”

  Stepping forward, I spun the knife around in my hand with an expertise many hundreds of hours of practice had gained me. The blade ended up between the tips of my fingers, the hilt towards Shadow.

  “Take it, dog. I’m sure your master would want me disarmed. I killed his soldier, more than one, in fact. I’m a killer, and I know he’s shit fucking scared of me, so take it,” I murmured with deadly intent.

  Shadow paused only a moment before snagging the knife and ripping it from my hands. He was breathing heavily through his nostrils as he gripped the knife. I grinned, begging him silently to try using it on me. When he didn’t move, I did the one thing I knew would surely piss him off: I turned my back on him and whispered ‘leave,’ dismissing him. He stood behind me for nearly a minute before I heard my door open and slam shut, the padlock slipping into place letting me know I was now a prisoner. I’d always been a prisoner, though, and losing my freedom to circumnavigate the Underworld really wasn’t that big of a punishment. In fact, since Kingsley had lifted his no touch rule and Shadow had in not so many words released his possession of me, it was probably safest for me to be locked in here.

  Collapsing to my mattress, I noticed the book of roses at my side, my hand rising of its own accord to gently caress the dried flower. Trying to convince myself that Shadow’s reaction didn’t hurt was futile. I’d allowed the man to slip under my defenses. I’d allowed myself to want something, and losing it hurt like a fucking knife in my chest.

  Reaching for the smaller knife tucked into my boot, I drew it out and sat up against the stone wall at the end of my bed. Shadow knew I carried it, and yet hadn’t ordered me to give it up. Flicking the small knife between my fingers, I watched the door. If anyone should come and try to attack me within the confines of my room, I’d take them down. The burden of more deaths by my hands made my shoulders grow tense.

  Regan. Just the thought of her made my heart scream in agony. There were plenty of deaths marring my soul, but hers would scar the worst. Shadow was right. I’d failed Regan, and she died because they thought she was the rebel spy. Her pain should have been mine. Her violation should have been mine. She died, but it should have been me.

  24

  SHADOW

  I moved through the Underworld like a bulldozer ready to flatten everything in its path. I couldn’t remember a time I had been so livid. Nada was a rebel fucking spy. Perhaps the role was somehow forced onto her, seductively thrown in her face with the promise of hope, not for her but for others; however, the fact that she had fallen to that seduction pissed me off.

  As soon as I entered my room, I threw the threadbare piece of paper she called ‘hope’ into the trash, tossed her knife onto my pallet, and turned to face my punching bag, pounding out my fury. I was so mad I couldn’t even comprehend exactly what I was mad at. Nada and her fucking rebel buddies threatened the Underworld, and yet, they didn’t want to take me out. They wanted to remove the root of all the madness and chaos down here and attempt to grow a new tree, with a new power, namely me. I didn’t want to fucking lead, nor did I want the power that came with it. Of late, I had become more than content with being nobody. I wanted the edge of freedom that came with having no responsibilities and no one to answer to. Leading the Underworld was full of responsibility and would cage me even further inside the confines I already lived within. It would make me a target for those who wanted my power and I’d be watching over my shoulder more often then I’d be looking forward. And to top it off, Nada hung all her hopes on a shitty ol’ brochure someone had stuck under her door over eight years ago. If I were to be honest with myself, it pissed me off that she planned to leave while I’d have to stay behind and play leader to this merry band of drug addicts, murderers, and rapists. While she planned to live it up on the Californian coast, free as a bird, I would be even more of a captive than I had been the last fifteen years.

  Ignoring the pounding on my door, I continued trying to destroy my punching bag, finding little solace and a whole lot of pain as my broken knuckle protested with every hit.

  “Shadow!” My fist paused right in front of the bag. “Mi need to know wat de fuck is going on.” Dejohn’s frantic voice hung in the air. “Mi know you’re in dere. Mi can hear you beating de shit outta dat bag.”

  Wrenching the door open, I stepped back to the punching bag, my punches having lost none of their fury.

  Dejohn stepped into my room, closing the door quietly behind him. “Why is Nada on lockdown?”

  “Ask Kingsley.”

  “Mi did. ’Im said me too old to be worrying miself over political matters, an’ is time for mi to retire.”

  At that, I stilled. “You’ve retired? From fuckin’ what?”

  Dejohn shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No idea, but mi bet mi don’t get a gold watch.” His tired, weary gaze settled on me, and the worry lines bracketing his eyes and mouth were clearly obvious. I dropped to the side of my bed and allowed myself to feel the throbbing in my hand. It felt a whole lot better than the tumultuous tornado of confusion that currently filled my head.

  “Kingsley killed Regan.” A quickly drawn in gasp was the only sound Dejohn made. “Yeah, shit went down good and proper. He made sure Nada was there to watch the finale, then he had me lock her in her room. Beast has been taken to the cage. They’ll fight in forty-eight hours.”

  “Holy moda of . . .”

  “Don’t go getting religious on me now, Dejohn. You say the Lord’s name in here, and someone will probably burst into flames.” A silence fell between us before curiosity got the better of me. “Did you know about her?”

  “Who?” Dejohn replied, clearly confused.

  “Nada, did you know she’s been workin’ with the rebels?”

  Surprise filled the old man’s face. “Did she tell yuh dat?”

  “Yep,” I snapped. “Told me the whole happy story of how she’s been workin’ with them to bring down the Underworld.”

  Dejohn seemed to consider his next words car
efully. “Bring down de Underworld, how exactly?”

  I snorted. “Take down Kingsley and release the whites.”

  “An dat’s a bad ting, why?”

  When anger would have resurfaced brutal and swift, I took in the man’s wise old eyes. He had to be pushing seventy. His dark skin was a stark contrast against his white hair, and his lined face showed every year of his forty years in captivity. He wasn’t surprised at the thought of Kingsley going down, nor was he shocked at Nada’s involvement with the rebels. For the first time since Nada had whispered her secret, I could see it for what it was a little more clearly.

  “Kingsley is a brutal mon, responsible for too many deads to count. De Underworld needs a strong hand, not one dat crushes. After everyting he’s done to Nada, ’im own daughter, ’im deserves to die.” I couldn’t argue with that. “An de whites don’t deserve to be here, innocents caught in de middle. De above world leaders should have had dem removed de moment dey found out dey existed. Instead, dey keep ’em buried, an’ when rumors began to leak out, dey tried to cover de problem with generosity. Dey give food, fresh water, an’ der rubbish! Dey provide medicine, but dey don’t protect dem.” I grunted an acknowledgement. “De above world ignore de innocents, dey forget dem, but Nada doesn’t forget dem, she forgets noting. Tell mi, Shadow, how du yuh tink de above world would react if dey learned ’bout Paul?” Guilt stabbed deep. “Or dat de women end up working in de Whore Pit, or how many innocents are addicts an’ as close to death as dey’ll ever be?” Dejohn shook his head. “Dis world isn’t fair an’ it ain’t good, an’ mi talking ’bout de world above an’ below . . . what is wrong wif someone wanting to do some good? Nada has suffered de most, an innocent forced to kill, treated like no more dan a fighting dawg, an’ she still wants to do some good. She fights for dem when she got noting to lose.”

  Anger gone, I replayed over the last couple of months. Nada tried to give the appearance she didn’t care, but you couldn’t hide the fact she was always checking on the Whore Pit. There were many times Kingsley hadn’t ordered her down there, and I knew how much she hated that place. But still, she went and checked on the girls. I’d lost count of how many people she had stood up to, who tried to bully someone into submission. I remembered the way she had treated Grace with such foreign gentleness it left me speechless. She tried to visit the girl every day and always took a small gift of some sort to help cheer her up. And then there was Dejohn and Regan, both of whom she cared for as one might blood kin.

  “Grace,” I murmured sheepishly. I had been so consumed with my own anger and self-pity, it hadn’t even occurred to me how else Kingsley might try and hurt Nada—by hurting those she cared about.

  “She wif de innocents.”

  “He’ll come after you.”

  Dejohn grinned, his stained yellow teeth looking bright against his dark lips. “’Im could try. Mi might be old, but mi not dead yet.”

  “If the beast doesn’t kill Nada, Kingsley is gonna try and put her in the Whore Pit. She’ll kill herself before lettin’ him use her that way.”

  Dejohn’s smile disappeared. “Dat’s not gunna happen.”

  I huffed out a frustrated breath. “How can you be so sure?”

  Dejohn, sitting in the chair at my lopsided table, leaned forward and patted my knee, dipping his head to catch my gaze.

  “Cause wi got hope.”

  And with that, he stood. Before he could leave, I reached over and snagged up Nada’s knife.

  “Dejohn.”

  He turned, lifting a grey brow with curiosity. I held out the knife and his lips twitched, almost begging to reveal a smile. He didn’t though, simply taking the knife with a nod of ‘thanks’ before he left.

  My head fell to my hands and I gripped my hair. Hope could be a merciless bitch. Hope didn’t get you anything but bitter disappointment. Frustration surged through my body as I reached for an old shirt and used it to wipe the quickly cooling sweat that beaded my brow. When I threw the fabric aimlessly to the floor, it almost landed in the trash can in the corner of my room. Pausing, I recalled the piece of paper I had left Nada’s room with . . . her ‘hope’. I replayed the conversation with Dejohn, “’cause we got hope”. I hadn’t told him about the map, Nada’s so called ‘salvation.’ Was it possible he knew? Or did Dejohn have his own form of hope?

  Reaching into the bin, I retrieved the old, yellowing brochure. My big, calloused hands had ripped the page almost in two. The paper was so thin there were now two gaping holes in the middle of the page. Turning it over to take a better look at the map, I realized just how much damage I had done and cursed my uncontrollable temper. Fisting the ruined map, I tossed it in the bin and glanced at the old titty magazine lying on the floor in the corner. If Nada left, she would head for that motel on the Californian coast, the Stay In Day Inn. She had no idea the prison we were in was on the opposite side of the country; it would take her weeks of travel to get to California, and for a girl who had never stepped foot in the above world, she would stick out like a sore thumb. Her best bet would be to travel to my family’s cabin, which would mean crossing what used to be the Canadian border. Cities were now nothing more than sectors with large barricading walls to separate them from others. If she could get past the wall, she’d be home free, with few people between her and freedom. Grabbing the magazine off the floor, I reached for a pen and ripped out a page. It had been fifteen years since I had allowed myself to think about the hunting cabin, but as I sketched a rough map, a smile played at my lips. The cabin held a mixture of both good and bad memories, but compared to the Underworld, it was heaven.

  Once I’d finished drawing the map, I folded it and shoved it deep into my boot. I had to get it to Nada, and hopefully she’d listen to me before trying to kill me. Thoughts of escaping with her sent my heart into overdrive, and I began to pace. I didn’t want stay in this shithole, and I sure didn’t want to be the leader of it, either. And I didn’t want to be apart from Nada, not for one fucking second. She was mine, and I was as good as hers. I wondered when the liberation of the whites was supposed to happen, when Nada would make her break to freedom. If she was to survive, she needed to leave before the fight with Beast.

  Rolling my neck to relieve the tension that just seemed to keep growing, I pulled open my door, intent on going back to Nada’s room now that I had cooled down. Instead, I was greeted with Franco’s unforgiving, cold face and Locky’s smirking, slimy one. Locky, the bastard, had always hovered close by the men in Kingsley’s inner circle, trying desperately to insert himself into the fold, and having seen him stand proudly at his boss’s side for Regan’s death, with the cool steel of a gun in his hand, confirmed that he had finally weaseled his way in.

  “King’s been looking for you,” Locky said with a grin.

  “Can’t have been looking too hard,” I drawled. Franco’s hard face betrayed nothing. Locky’s, though . . . his was shining with a smug satisfaction that had the hair on the back of my neck prickle. “Does he want someone to clean up his mess?” I asked, referring to the bloody scene in the dungeon. “’Cause last time I checked, I wasn’t his fucking bitch.”

  Locky’s grin grew. “It’s your lucky day, ’cause you’re about to become one.” I watched as he lifted the gun and pointed it straight at my face.

  “If you’re gonna point that fucker, you better be prepared to use it,” I growled.

  “I already used it to put down Matias. Girl gutted him like a pig, stuck him in the kidney. I did him a favor by burying a bullet in his head.”

  I couldn’t fight a bullet, but I wasn’t about to give up. I had fought hard to reach this point in my life, and if I was sure of anything, it was my ability to keep fighting. I wouldn’t give up until I was bleeding out and dead, and right now, the air was heaving in and out of my lungs, blood was pumping through my veins, and my heart was beating for a girl who meant so little to most, but everything to me. I wasn’t giving up on her. I had to live.

  “Come on,
Shadow. King wants a word,” Franco murmured.

  With a slight nod, I pulled my door shut, locking the padlock before stepping ahead of the two soldiers. It went against everything I believed in to have the enemy at my back, but if Nada could do it, I fucking could, too. She always had soldiers at her back, and although I could now easily spot the rigidity to her spine that suggested unease, it had always come across like arrogant pride. Pushing my shoulders back and holding my head high, I walked forward seemingly without a care in the world.

  25

  NADA

  I knew my door was unlocked. The last time it had been pushed open and a plate of questionable meat and bread shoved through it, there had been no ominous rattle and click of the heavy padlock that held me inside. Someone was out there, though; every now and then, the shuffling of their heavy feet and low murmurs gave them away.

  I sat on my bed with my back to the stone wall, my booted feet were planted firmly in front of me, and my elbows rested on my knees. My book of roses lay by my side, the rose carefully pressed between its pages. My eyes had been riveted to that rose for what seemed like hours, and all the while a gaping hole of pain and despair seemed to grow in my chest. Now though, that hole was filled with rage. Hate, so bitter I could taste it, had drowned out the pain and left nothing but a storm of wrath in its path. Glancing at my hands, I unclenched the fists they kept curling into. I shook with my rage, the vibrations of anger echoing in my usually steady hands. I clenched them tight once more and allowed my elbows to sink back to my knees.

  My father had killed Regan . . . an innocent. He may not have held the knife that was drawn across her throat, but he’d ordered it, and he’d stood back and watched in rapt awe, with a smile upon his face. I had never wanted to kill him so bad. There had been plenty of times that I fantasized about ending him, times I had wished one of his own men would turn on him, but in the end, he wasn’t worth any of the emotions he drew out of me. The rebels had a plan for my father, and I had stoically played along with it. Until now. Even though my knife was missing, I could almost feel the warm grip in my palm as I imagined digging the blade deep in Kingsley’s chest. I wanted to cut out his heart and hold it before him so he could watch it take its final beat. The horror he would carry in his eyes made me smile. He was going to die, just like the rebels wanted, but it would be by my hand.