Charged

by G. P. Ching

  “It’s wine,” Korwin says. “Real stuff. Old; from before the West Coast was covered in ocean. I think you’ll like it.”

  Four men have earned the ranks of Red Dog leadership: Alpha, Korwin (known as Ace), Sting, and Jake. Aside from Korwin, the men look like mutants, excessively tall and muscled with abnormally broad foreheads and a smattering of gruesome scars. No one in Hemlock Hollow looks like this, and I can’t help but suspect again that chemistry has played a part in their warped appearance.

  In contrast, the women at the table are beautiful beyond words. Sophie, Alpha’s mate, wears a deep blue strapless gown. A plush swag of auburn hair covers one eye before curling over her shoulder. Her face looks carved in the candlelight. Sting’s wife, Bella, I remember from the challenge. Her black bob is sleek and sophisticated. She’s dressed in a black leather bustier and has a silver heart charm dangling from her red collar. Jake’s wife, Bailey, is platinum blonde with blunt cut bangs over enormous blue eyes. She’s wearing a red dress with a corset that looks like it’s made of rubber. The outfit is so suggestive I can’t look directly at her without feeling dirty.

  I try not to think about my own dress, or the fact that my hair is down and uncovered. It’s shameful, but Korwin is right. Anything else would stick out here, and it is clear the status of these men is based in some part on the appearance of their women. For now, until I can convince Korwin to return to Hemlock Hollow with me, I need to be a good Red Dog woman. I take a drink of wine, my face twisting at the taste of alcohol when I swallow.

  “You’ve never had liquor?” Sting asks, staring at me.

  I shake my head.

  “Where on Earth are you from?” He breaks apart a roll and slathers it in butter while everyone at the table stares at me, waiting for a response.

  “Willow’s Province,” I say. “My parents rarely let me out of the house. I was sort of a prisoner.”

  “Hmm.” Jake leans back in his chair. “How’d you get away?”

  “Father died,” I say. Korwin’s eyes dart in my direction. He’s probably surprised at how easy it’s become for me to lie, but by now I’m well practiced.

  “You look young to be in the deadzone all by yourself. Especially young to have the Greens chase you here,” Jake says. He pauses, roll in hand, and points his butter knife at me. “Why do the Greens want you so badly?”

  It suddenly strikes me as strange that none of the Red Dogs recognize Korwin or me, but then there is no television here, and all of these men must be outlaws or outcasts in some way or they’d be living on the grid. “Misunderstanding. Nothing worth worrying about.” I make my voice sound sweet and young. Innocent.

  There’s a moment of silence while they stare at me, as if waiting for me to spill my secrets. When I say nothing, tension builds until Alpha breaks into laughter. “Well, drink up, young’un. You’re not in Willow’s Province anymore.” He chuckles and clinks Korwin’s glass, almost as if he’s congratulating him on capturing naïve me.

  Korwin smiles, raises his glass, and says, “I plan to teach her lots of things.”

  The comment makes my face heat and the table bursts into laughter as I stare into the empty copper charger in front of me. Thankfully, at that moment, dinner is served.

  A plate of dark meat, whipped potatoes, and carrots lands in front of Alpha. The server is there and gone in an instant, as if she is afraid to interrupt him. The same food is placed in front of me, but Korwin grips my wrist beneath the table, warning me not to eat. All the men, including Korwin, cut into their meat and take a bite. Only after they’ve chewed and swallowed does Sophie pick up her fork. I glance toward Korwin. Am I supposed to start?

  He nudges me with his knee. I pick up my fork and knife, shoveling in a bite of potatoes. They taste real, like the kind we have back home, and I dig in, hungry from the day’s drama.

  “Word on the street is that the Knights have five thousand units on a contender for Friday,” Alpha says through a mouth of half-masticated food.

  “I’ve heard,” Korwin says. “I’m confident I can take him.”

  “Good, because I’m considering upping the stakes,” Alpha continues.

  “To what?”

  “Ten thousand.” Alpha lifts his goblet of wine and takes a large gulp.

  A collective murmur is audible over the scratching forks and clinking glasses.

  “That’s a heavy investment,” Korwin says, raising his eyebrows.

  Sophie gestures for me to keep eating. The other women are hyper-attentive to their plates. Perhaps I appear too interested in a conversation that is not supposed to concern me. I cut into the meat and try a bite. Venison, I’m almost positive. I wash it down with another swig of wine. This time I’m accustomed to the taste.

  “The Red Dogs have grown with the expansion of the deadzone. Your woman here is a prime example.” Alpha points the finger of his goblet-holding hand at me. “We need more units to support the troops. Can’t do without refrigeration here, and come winter, we’ll need the heat and the light.”

  “I don’t know the fighter. I’ve heard he’s new to the deadzone,” Korwin says.

  “You’ve never lost,” Jake says through a mouthful of meat. I notice for the first time that one of his eyes doesn’t move like the other one, even though it seems like he can see out of it. Sophie taps my shin with her foot and I focus on my plate again.

  “Believe me, I appreciate your confidence. I’m just saying there’s a risk. There are no rules in the cage. And the Knights are especially sick of losing.”

  That makes the men laugh and drain their glasses. I take another sip and notice I’ve reached the bottom of my goblet as well. I must have drunk it all listening to the conversation. I set the glass down and it is filled again before I can pull my hand away.

  “I have every confidence in you, Ace,” Alpha says. “You know, that cell you’re living in is hardly big enough for two. Win this one and we’ll spend the manpower to build you something more appropriate.”

  I’ve cleaned my plate and finished my second glass of wine. My head swims and my body feels floaty. In my altered state, I try to digest the implications of what Alpha is saying. It sounds like a reward, but there’s a threat latent in the words.

  Korwin must have caught the threat part too because his expression is wrought with anxiety. “And if I lose?”

  Alpha groans and spreads his hands as if it’s anyone’s guess what might happen.

  “You won’t lose,” Sting says in a voice strangely high and feminine for his bulky body.

  A lengthy pause has everyone concentrating on the wine. Finally, Alpha sighs as if a suitable punishment has just come to him. “If you lose, you go back to the mutts.”

  Korwin pales, although he keeps his expression carefully impassive.

  “You won’t lose,” Alpha says with a chuckle. “But if you do, I promise you I’ll keep Lydia in the lifestyle she’s grown accustomed to.” His hand brushes my knee under the table.

  Noisily, I jerk my chair away so that my knee is out of his reach. This puts me almost on top of Korwin and gains the attention of everyone at the table. “Grown accustomed?” I repeat inquisitively, the wine making my lips feel slightly numb. “I’ve been here less than a day, and you said yourself that Ace’s room is hardly accommodating. I won’t require any special treatment if Ace loses.”

  Alpha’s face turns a bright shade of beet and his lips purse.

  Korwin forces a laugh and pulls me into his side. “What’s all this talk about losing? I haven’t lost a fight yet.”

  Sting picks his teeth with his fork. “Some people think there isn’t a challenge you could lose.”

  Alpha straightens and gives Korwin a narrow look. I have no idea what’s going on, but the tension at the table is enough for me to take another sip of wine. The smooth liquid is barely down my throat when I hiccup. A loud, open-mouthed sound that brings everyone’s attention back to me. I try to stop, to hold it back, but another one comes. At least
this time I keep my lips closed.

  “Sorry,” I say, hand over mouth. I hiccup again. This one sounds like a muffled squeak.

  Korwin pushes his chair back from the table and rises. “Please excuse me. It appears my woman needs to be put to bed.”

  The entire table erupts into laughter and before I know it, I am tugged into Korwin’s side and led from the dining hall.

  “I feel funny,” I say, hiccupping between feel and funny.

  “That’s because you’re drunk. Why didn’t you hold off on the wine?”

  “You didn’t tell me it would make me drunk.”

  “People in Hemlock Hollow drink alcohol. It’s not some new Englisher invention.”

  “Yes, but I’ve never had it before. I thought it would take more to feel the effects.”

  By the time we make it to his room, I don’t feel like myself. The world comes to me in flashes of light and color. Korwin props my back against the wall and lights a few candles before closing and locking the door.

  “I’m going to fall off these boots,” I say, trying to lift one foot to take them off and tumbling, ungracefully, into the wardrobe. The heavy piece of furniture rattles ominously.

  “Wait. Let me help you.” He kneels in front of me, unzips one boot and slides it from my foot. I brace myself on his shoulders to keep my balance. My fingers automatically knead the muscles there. It’s a pleasurable experience, touching Korwin, and I run my thumbs along the side of his neck as he removes my other boot. The footwear hits the floor with a thud when he casts it aside, and for some reason this strikes me as supremely hilarious. I laugh from my belly and can’t stop.

  “There. I won’t have you breaking your neck your first night here.” His hands are still on my leg, one under the outside of my knee and the other skimming my inner thigh. He raises his face to look at me, and I stop laughing. Full lips parted, a spark of blue lights up the irises of his hooded eyes.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I mumble. I mean it to be an internal thought but it pops out from between my lips of its own accord.

  A crooked smile graces his lips. “You’re drunk.” His wrist reaches the hem of my dress, mid-thigh, and I lean harder into the cool wall in an effort to balance the heat he’s putting off.

  “Maybe,” I agree. He strokes higher, until a shiver travels the length of me, from the place where he gently rubs to the roots of my hair.

  There is something I’m supposed to say now, something I’m supposed to do. I can’t remember. I could no sooner hold a thought within the wavy confines of my brain than capture the flicker of the candles in my palm. I’m spinning and warm, tingly. Mute, I sink my fingers into his hair and tip his head back, then lower my mouth to his. Welcoming my kiss, he softly caresses my lips with his own, then cups the back of my neck to pull me closer.

  With his hand stroking around my hip, he stands and pulls me flat against his chest. The power ebbs and flows between us, our connection growing. The spark within me begs for release. I can feel the heat catching in my throat, my skin coming alive with blue twisting veins of energy. His body is reacting in the same way, filling the room with light and warmth. I tug on his hair and force the kiss deeper, running my fingers along the nape of his neck. I wrap one leg around his—weightless, burning, totally in the moment.

  “No.” He stops and pulls away. I desperately want him to move in the opposite direction, to touch me in an intimate way. I’m ready to come out of my skin for want of him and there’s nothing to stop us here. No rules or elders or expectations.

  I grip his shirt to keep him close. “Please.”

  To seal my invitation, I grab the hem of his shirt and lift it over his head, placing my hands on his bare skin underneath. His eyes widen. With a shaky breath, he steps into me again, hands sliding over my ribs. I run my nails across his abs and along the muscles of his back.

  “Lydia…” Korwin groans and shakes his head. “You don’t have to do this.” I trail kisses up his neck to his ear. “You shouldn’t.”

  I suck his earlobe between my teeth. His eyes flutter closed and he pitches forward slightly, resting an elbow against the wall. One hand skims up my spine to my nape.

  All at once, he unbuckles the collar at my throat and tosses it on the dresser, making a face like it sickens him. The overture makes me smile. Our lips meet and the familiar snap connects us once again. Hot energy pours down my throat and out of my fingertips into his skin, a complete circuit. Hotter we burn, until we glow like a star. I’m relieved that this room is made of concrete because I can’t control the heat I’m putting off and I can’t stop. I won’t stop.

  Korwin grabs my wrists, panting, and pushes me away, not roughly but with enough strength that I can’t misinterpret his intentions. One step, then two, he retreats, his face contorting in pain.

  “Kor—” He cuts me off by raising one hand.

  “Get into bed,” he says, pointing at the brown wool blanket beside him.

  “Yes. Better.” I do as I’m told, leaning back on my elbows.

  He shakes his head and moves for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To save us both from a huge mistake.”

  “It’s not a mistake,” I say, ignoring the slur of the S sound as I say it. “If things had gone as planned, we’d already be married.”

  Korwin places his hands on his hips and hangs his head. “We would be, but we’re not. You deserve better than this. We both do.”

  “But—”

  “Get some sleep,” he whispers. The door rolls back, and then he’s gone.

  19

  When I wake, I have no recollection of what has occurred between Korwin’s leaving and my eyelids fluttering open. Silver light washes over me from the window above the bed. Early morning. It’s cold and I’m lying on top of the blankets. I shift to wrap the edge around me and a heavy arm rakes me against a wide chest. Korwin’s arm. He’s returned and slept beside me.

  The events of the night before come back to me along with a thumping ache between my temples. My mouth is dry and pasty, as if I’ve been sucking on a wool sock all night. Ugh, if this is the effect of too much drink, I will not be partaking again anytime soon. Gently, I disentangle myself from Korwin’s arm and crawl off the end of the bed, careful not to wake him. Aside from rolling to his other side, his breathing remains even.

  I find the black backpack David gave me in the corner and dig in it for the dopp kit. Behind the folding screen, I wet my brush in the sink and scrub my teeth. The braid I fashion in my hair is tight and I scrub my face almost raw. When I’m finished, I take a long look in the mirror. Who have I become, drinking too much and throwing myself at Korwin? I’m a lucky woman to have an honorable man to save me from myself.

  Only then does it occur to me that I need something to wear. The dress from last night can’t be appropriate for day work. Even Sophie was wearing pants when I arrived. I come out from behind the folding screen and take a quick inventory of the room. The corner of a box pokes out from under the bed. I move toward it, but then notice a zippered bag just inside the door—a recent addition and the probable source of my new clothing. I squat down and unzip it. Sure enough, a few outfits, all brand new and the height of Republic fashion. Did Korwin steal these? Spend units on me that he won fighting?

  I don a pair of stretchy leggings and an orange tunic with a deep vee neck. When I’m finished dressing, I want to help clean the tiny apartment, but Korwin is still sleeping. “The laundry,” I say softly. I’ve left it hanging in the laundry room. It will need folding and by the sheer amount of wash, I doubt he has anything to wear if I don’t get it. Not to mention, the reason Korwin and I slept on top of the blanket is likely because the sheets are still drying on the line.

  Silently, I unlock the door and slide it open, just enough to slip through without too much of a rumble. With a last look at Korwin’s sleeping form, I decide to try to find my hero breakfast. Something fitting to accompany the many apologies I owe him.<
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  The kennel is empty as I cross the row of rooms that used to be prison cells and jog down the stairs to the laundry room. My headache is in full bloom and I rub my temples. It doesn’t help. If I see Sophie, I might ask her for those painkillers she offered yesterday.

  Thankfully, Korwin’s clothes and sheets are still there. It occurs to me, I’ve been lucky. I’m sure most of the mutts would love to get their hands on these. I pull them down and fold them carefully into the basket. I’ve just finished the last shirt when footsteps bring my attention to the doorway.

  “I thought I saw you pass my cell,” Pit says. He glances over his shoulder and around the room before approaching me. The results of Korwin’s beating are evident in the bruises that cover his exposed skin, his split lip and black eye, but he doesn’t move like he’s in pain. Still, his eyes are rimmed with red and his hands tremble. A muscle in his lip twitches.

  I lift the basket in front of me, but I can’t leave because he’s blocking the only door. “Just finishing some laundry.”

  Pit approaches, picks up the T-shirt on top with two fingers. “You do good work. I’m sorry I lost you.”

  I shrug. “I’d better get going. Ace is expecting me.” I try to shoulder around him, but he steps sideways, blocking my progress.

  “You’re not wearing your collar.” He brushes a crooked finger across my exposed collarbone, grinning.

  I jerk away from his touch, and his smile melts into a scowl. “Don’t disrespect me, girlie.” He grabs for me but I block his hands with the laundry basket. We engage in a tug of war. I don’t let go. A chemical stench wafts off him. Not alcohol but he’s intoxicated. Clearly, it’s not the clothes he wants.

  “Let go, please,” I say. “Ace will be angry if I’m late.”

  “Bullshit.” One solid tug and the basket and clothes scatter across the table of wash bins. Pit rushes me. I scramble backward until I hit the full-length mirror on the wall. His breath is foul in my face as he presses himself into my raised hands.