The Lost & Damned 1

by Keira Michelle Telford

  That triggers another thought in Alex’s head. “Are you here to rob me?”

  Silver laughs. “Thanks a lot.”

  “There’s not much in the register, but I have a comic book collection upstairs that’d blow your freaking mind.”

  “Those old comic books? Really? Still?”

  Alex shrugs. “I had to find something to keep me occupied.” He reaches out to brush some stray hair away from her face, slowly losing himself in her eyes. “Otherwise I’d have lost my mind completely.”

  Tucking the hair behind her ear, he brushes his hand against her cheek, resting the palm of his hand so gently against her, feeling the warmth of her skin against his.

  “You’re quite real.”

  “You’re quite right.” She smiles.

  The gentle touch becomes a tender caress and she leans her face into him, softly nuzzling herself against his hand.

  “You haven’t forgotten about me, then?”

  Alex battles his own tears. “Forgotten you? Christ, El. I never believed that you were …” He doesn’t want to say the word, even in the face of its quite obvious falsity.

  “Dead?” she finishes for him.

  “Gone,” he corrects her. “I begged Maydevine to tell me the truth.” Alex feels a swell of anger rise in him, his enduring suspicions finally proven by her impromptu arrival upon his doorstep. “I just knew it,” he growls. “He lied to me!”

  Silver places a hand against his chest, cooling his temper but firing everything else inside of him.

  “It wasn’t his fault,” she assures him. “It was mine. I didn’t think … I mean, he told me I shouldn’t … but, I had no reason to believe … that I would… ever… and I didn’t want you to …”

  Jumbling up her words as the explanation struggles to break free from the depths of her brain, Silver fumbles her apology to the point of incoherence. Nonetheless, Alex manages to extract enough meaning from it to temporarily satiate his need for answers. For now, he lets the subject go—it’s not the time.

  He places a hand over hers upon his chest and locks eyes with her. “Where’ve you been all this time?”

  He watches the remnants of a smile fade from Silver’s face, and her tough façade finally begins to crack under the pressure of her circumstances. Six years of making herself so hard against the world, and fighting for her right to exist, suddenly melts into a tear, escaping from her eye and rolling down her cheek to meet with Alex’s thumb as he gently wipes it away.

  Looking deep into her eyes, Alex doesn’t need a magnifying glass to see the pain that’s slowly been eating her up in his absence. Despite her best attempts to wish it all away, she’s utterly engulfed by it. He lets her fall into his welcome arms, softly kissing the top of her head and holding her in so close against him, their warm embrace triggering a powerful flood of memories.

  “Come on, let’s take this upstairs,” he ventures.

  He pulls himself away from her just long enough to lock the door, and to flip a ‘closed’ sign into the window. Taking Silver by the hand, he leads her upstairs to his small, cramped apartment. There’s an old, scruffy couch and two deck chairs next to a tatty coffee table that’s propped up by books.

  Silver looks around, but can see no hint of a female presence.

  A mini wave of relief.

  “How quaint,” she teases.

  “It works.”

  Alex goes to the kitchen and sets the kettle to boil, planning to make nettle leaf tea. Without invitation, Silver follows him into the room and begins confidently exploring the kitchen cupboards. He watches her root through a cutlery drawer, but she quickly becomes disinterested with that. Next, she turns her attention to a cupboard full of mugs, and gives them a good shuffle around before exploring the cupboard beside it.

  Tippety, tap, tap, tap on the back board.

  First one cupboard, then the next.

  Cupboard on the left: tap, tap, tap—not hollow.

  Cupboard on the right: tap, tap, tap—hollow.

  Fascinated by her behavior, Alex turns his back on the kettle to admire her efforts.

  Emptying out the right cupboard, mug by mug, she finds something familiar.

  Get Your Geek On.

  A mug she gave him almost fifteen years ago.

  She smiles, sets it carefully aside, and continues with her exploration of the cupboard. Jiggling a loose corner of the back board, Silver wriggles out the false back and …

  Bingo!

  She finds a stash of Old World liquor, of a proof that exceeds the Sentinel District’s maximum allowable limit: whiskey.

  Illegal, Old World whiskey.

  She grabs the bottle and makes for the couch, under Alex’s careful watch.

  “That works, too.” Discarding the kettle, he grabs two glasses and follows her back into the living room. “I had to pay a guy three times its worth to smuggle that in here.”

  Silver moves aside a couple of vintage Superman comics, careful not to crease the brittle Old World paper, and drops down onto the couch, twisting open the whiskey. “You were ripped off.”

  Alex slides down beside her, holding out a glass.

  Silver ignores the glass and drinks straight from the bottle.

  “So it’s like that, huh?” Alex sighs.

  Glancing around the room, Silver makes an observation and casually passes the bottle to Alex. “Is everything here reclaimed?”

  “This is what I do, for the most part. The little bit of extra income supplements my design work anyway.”

  Silver spies a work-in-progress blueprint with an Omega seal on the coffee table. It looks like some kind of robotic incendiary device, and she’s intrigued. “You didn’t lose the Omega contract when you were discharged from the Hunter Division?”

  “They need good engineers, and that’s never going to change. But I think Maydevine had a hand in it, to tell you the truth.”

  “You like it?”

  Alex takes a swig of the whiskey before answering. “Are you asking me if I’m happy?”

  “I don’t know. Are you?”

  Another swig. “I keep trying to tell myself there’s no point wanting what you can never have.” He hands the bottle back to Silver.

  As she reaches for it, he gets a good peek at her bandaged wrist.

  “I don’t understand. How did you … ?”

  “It’s not blue,” she interrupts his thought, and takes another sip of whiskey. “I’m on the payroll.”

  “Maydevine?”

  Silver nods.

  “The murders?” Alex guesses.

  More nods and another sip. “I get blue once the job’s done.”

  “For sure?”

  “They’re desperate.”

  She passes the bottle back to Alex. As he takes it, he lets his hand rest lightly over hers and she looks up at him, full of anguish.

  “I’m desperate.” The agony of her years spent in banishment seeps out in her voice.

  “Six years is a long time, Silver.”

  “And you have no idea how complicated things have become.” Though she tries to keep her emotions in check, a tremor creeps into her voice.

  Her eyes fill with tears, but she successfully holds them back—for now. Alex slides the whiskey bottle to one side and moves in closer to her.

  “Don’t ,” she whispers, when his lips draw near to hers.

  He doesn’t pull back. “I was afraid I’d never see your face again.”

  The sincerity in his voice nearly breaks her, forcing her to squeeze her eyes tight shut to prevent the escape of more tears. Her grip on the control of her emotions weakens further when she feels the stroke of his hand against her cheek again. She catches the faint and familiar smell of cigarettes on his breath as he hovers close to her, his thumb tracing an invisible pattern across her lips.

  “Why did you come here?” he whispers.

  His question takes her by surprise, her eyes springing open to find his staring right back at her.

&
nbsp; Another brave tear makes a dash for it. “I need your expertise.”

  Not the answer he was hoping for.

  “I’m retired.”

  “You’re bored.”

  “I make do.”

  “I need you.” She sniffs. “And I have a warrant out for my arrest.”

  Silver throws that out so casually, Alex is caught off-guard by it. His hand drops from her face and finds her knee instead.

  Silence.

  Finally, “What for?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Silver shakes her head. “It never matters—not to them. The only thing standing between me and enforcement has been Maydevine, and that ticket’s fast expiring.” More sniffing. “After that, the only thing stopping them would be …” Her voice trails off.

  She half smiles at the ridiculous notion of it.

  “What?” Alex coaxes.

  “Well, for it to work, I suppose they’d have to get me to shoot myself.”

  You could hear a pin drop.

  A look of understanding spreads out across Alex’s face, his brain carefully processing the completely wretched thought of it. “That’s what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

  The tears form again in Silver’s eyes, the fake smile slowly losing its hold on her lips. “I want out, Alex.” She hesitates. “This might be my last chance, and I thought …” She can’t quite bring herself to vocalize the hope. “For us …”

  Alex keeps his hand on her leg, giving her a gentle squeeze. “El …” He struggles to find the words he wants to use, but comes up empty.

  “Please, don’t.” Silver shakes her head, still trying to suppress her increasingly determined tears.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Ella Cross died a long time ago.”

  Alex shakes his head, defiant. “No, she’s very much alive.”

  “She’s broken, then.”

  “Well, now you’re just shamelessly flirting with the engineer in me.”

  Silver can feel her cheeks flush, so she turns away. “Not everything broken can be fixed.”

  “No, you’re right. Humpty Dumpty was a lost cause.”

  The quiet giggle might be fleeting, but it comforts Alex to know that not everything changes—he can still dry her tears. Hooking his finger around her chin, he lifts her head and turns her to face him.

  “I’ve always got your back, El.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rachel Jenkins

  Red, her long locks of flowing auburn hair giving her the nickname, is in her luxury Sentinel District apartment, playing Danse Macabre on a grand piano. Blind since before she can remember, her cane leans up against the piano stool, and eyes that would be a deep hazel are, as usual, hidden behind dark glasses.

  Always dressed smartly, in expensive suits with manicured nails and polished shoes, she looks professional and harmless—almost defenseless.

  After Silver’s banishment, and the dissolution of their unit, Red was offered a promotion. Her father, the current Hunter General—then the Deputy—wanted her to take over Silver’s place as Commander, but she refused. Out of loyalty, she resigned from the Division completely and has been something of a woman of leisure ever since.

  Occasionally, she teaches classes at the Academy.

  But not this afternoon.

  Suddenly aware of a presence in the room, she stops playing. “How long’s it been?” she asks, as Silver approaches the piano.

  “Six years.”

  “Seems longer.”

  Red reaches for her cane, but finds Silver’s hand instead, and Silver helps her to her feet. She extends both hands to touch Silver’s face, touching every inch, letting a smile slowly creep across her lips.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, but dare I ask how?”

  Red leads Silver over to the balcony without using her cane. Her spacious balcony overlooks a large courtyard full of weird and wonderful plants, many in full bloom.

  Silver leans over the railing, admiring the view. “You know, there aren’t any wild flowers in the Fringe. How derelict is that? Just trees and weeds.”

  “How, Silver?”

  “Your front door was unlocked.”

  “The Sentinel District, not my home.”

  “That was a door Maydevine unlocked for me.”

  Silver takes Red’s hand and places it against the moist bandage on the inside of her left wrist, causing Red to raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

  “Wow. These murders must really have Phaeden panicked.” Red expertly navigates her way across the balcony, and makes herself comfortable on a nearby swing seat. “You’re the last person in the world he’d ever make a deal with. You think this is your way out?”

  “Either that, or I want you to shoot me.”

  Red smiles, but Silver is serious.

  “I’m not joking,” she insists. “If I don’t make this work, I want you to shoot me.”

  “No, thanks. Alex would never forgive me.”

  Silver takes a seat next to Red. “He’d get over it.”

  “Not if the last six years is any indication. I’m surprised he hasn’t built a shrine in his basement.” Red hesitates. “He hasn’t, has he?”

  “Not yet.” Silver laughs.

  A sudden breeze ripples through the air and Red catches the hint of a familiar scent, breathing it deep into her lungs. “Well, who’d have thought it?”

  “What?”

  “Her scent’s fresh on you.”

  Guilty, Silver sighs. “I didn’t ever imagine that it would be like this.”

  “We never do.”

  Silver looks down at her feet, swept up in a sudden wave of shame. “It’s complicated.”

  “Does Alex know?”

  “No.” Silver shakes her head.

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “He hasn’t asked.”

  “He will.” Red considers Silver’s predicament for a moment. “She’s not human, you know.”

  “She’s not Chimera either.”

  Silence temporarily consumes them.

  “I thought that part of my life was over.” Silver scratches at the edge of her bandage. “I was lonely.”

  “I’m not the one who needs to hear this, Silver. I don’t care who you fuck, but he will.”

  “Has he … ?”

  Red preempts her question. “Not once.”

  More silence.

  “What do you want from me, Silver? You didn’t come all the way here for my stellar relationship advice, I know.”

  “I’m putting the old unit back together.”

  “Because of the murders?”

  “Maydevine recruited me this morning, and I thought it might be a good opportunity to pretend that everything didn’t all go to shit the way it did.”

  “And your fee?”

  “Repatriation.”

  “Sanctioned by the Governor?”

  Silver shrugs. “I guess.”

  “For all three of you?”

  Silver’s silence answers that question.

  “So what’s in it for them?” Red persists.

  “Their warrants.”

  “And they’re okay with that? You get to leave the toilet bowl for your efforts while they, in turn for risking their lives for the city that betrayed them, will get nothing more than a pat on the back and a delay of execution?”

  “It’s up to them. They can take it or leave it.”

  Red smirks. “You’re not going to tell them, are you?”

  “It seems irrelevant.”

  “That’s a dirty little game. Why bother at all? What could they possibly have to offer you that Alex and I can’t on our own?”

  “It’s not about that.” Silver shakes her head. “If I can get myself repatriated and prove that I was set up, then there’s a chance I can do the same for them. For now, the elimination of their warrants will buy me a little time. And they’re more likely to accept my offer if they think we’re working for equal terms.”

  “You still b
elieve in their innocence?”

  “I believe that all those years of loyalty have to be worth something, don’t you?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Austin Calloway & Jacqueline Pryor

  Silver approaches a dirty little Fringe District strip club, buried down a scummy side street. Oz is working as a bouncer, watching the door alongside some other beefed-up guy with a pet rat on a leash.

  The rat’s testicles are almost as big as its head.

  Oz, a tall and muscular man of African-American descent, flexes his biceps for no reason other than his own amusement. He’s proud of his muscle power, and he’s not afraid to use it. He shows it off in muscle tees and one-size-too-small t-shirts, and frequently waxes and oils his dark skin to make it glisten.

  Tonight, his tattoos shimmer in the flickering light of a tallow candle lamp hung above the graffiti-covered door. Even his shaved head is tattooed, though not professionally. One drunken night, it was permanently inked upon by a few fellow Hunters in the back room of a Fringe District bar.

  That was before he was discharged.

  And banished.

  Six years ago, he was accused of sexual assault and hauled into detention. As if that weren’t bad enough, upon his arrest, he was found in possession of cannabis and his blood tested positive for its use.

  One offense alone would have had him fired, but the combination of all three … that bought him a one way ticket to the Fringe District—despite his proclamations of innocence in the rape charge.

  He catches sight of Silver, slipping in and out of the shadows.

  “Am I seeing a ghost?”

  She finally steps into the light. “I’m dead on the inside. Does that count?”

  Oz grins, knowing that her presence here can only mean one thing—it’s play time.

  “What’s the game?”

  “Hunting, more or less.”

  “The Sentinel District psycho?” Oz guesses. He looks as though he wants to accept, but he holds it back. “I have a warrant.”

  Silver shrugs. “Slate wiped clean. How about that? No more Fisher dodging.”

  Oz can’t hide his interest now. “Maydevine?”

  Silver nods. “You think Jax will be up for it?”

  “Like a tripped out whore.”