*************************
Just a few minutes later, Silver and Oz arrive at a sleazy Fringe District butcher shop with a pit fight in mid-swing. The fight takes place in the back of the bar, where the floor’s been ripped up in the center to reveal the basement below. A simple mesh wire fence encircles the hole, but it’s barely enough to keep anything from falling in, never mind from leaping out.
Below, two Chimera—one with a red stripe on its back, and one with a blue stripe—fight each other to the death as onlookers cheer. Betting odds are posted on the wall.
Jax is sitting in a booth, laughing and drinking with a group of men, each with his own Jade. Like the others, she’s in her mid-thirties, but she looks her age. She looks beaten and tired, but her Hispanic skin hides the dark circles under her eyes. She’s petite, but strong. Her long, black hair is yanked back into a scruffy ponytail, with wisps drifting free and framing her face. Often, like today, she wears men’s clothes and shoes. The baggy clothes hide her figure, and make it easy to conceal weapons.
Known for being trigger happy, it was no surprise when she got herself arrested for causing the unintentional death of a Cadet six years ago. They were partnered up on a routine extermination shift, and something went wrong. A stray bullet struck the Cadet in the neck and she died instantly. Jax was arrested at the scene and her blood was tested for illicit substances, as per Division policy.
The test came back positive for amphetamines.
Now, fallen into a routine of despair and self-destruction, she’s a bitter, angry shell of a human being. Her adamant refusal to accept responsibility for the Cadet’s death has painted her black in the eyes of all who once knew her. Every appeal she’s launched to overturn her sentence has been denied, though she maintains her innocence.
Silver stands silently in front of the booth until her presence is felt.
Eventually, Jax looks up and glares at her with a mixture of apathy and disdain, sucking on a cigarette. “I thought you were dead.”
“There’s a lot of that going around. Can we talk?”
Oz returns from the bar with a drink for himself and Silver, and Jax seems more interested once she catches sight of him.
“What’s she roped you into this time?”
“Who cares? I’d be a fucking meter maid if it meant I didn’t have to be a Dodger.”
Jax flicks her eyes back and forth between the two of them, finally landing both eyeballs back on Silver. “No more Fishers? Are you serious? Why are you doing this?”
“I made a deal with Maydevine. I want to cut you in on it.”
“After all these years?”
“I figured we all deserve the opportunity to redeem ourselves. Warrants now, repatriation later.”
“That’s a pretty big leap.”
“You give some, you get some. Show willing and Maydevine will look upon you with favor, rather than disgust.”
“His help wasn’t worth shit when my appeal was filed. The Governor wiped his ass with it, and then he threw it right back at me.”
“Times are different now. And if you want my advice, you’ll take the chance that’s being offered to you.”
Jax shakes her head and knocks back the last of her drink. “Do me a favor: don’t give me any fucking advice.”
“Why? You’d rather sit here in this dingy little butcher shop feeling sorry for yourself?”
Jax flips Silver her middle finger, gets up from the table, and begins to walk away. Silver tries to catch her arm and hold her back, but Jax shakes herself free.
“That world has nothing to offer me anymore.”
“Not only are you wrong, but you can’t afford to turn this down.”
“Says who?”
“Say a dozen or so different Fishers, all with your name on their list.”
Jax confidently squares up to Silver. “You really want to help me?”
“Yes.”
“Then take out your fucking gun and shoot me.”
Their silent standoff lingers for a few moments before Jax ends it.
“I didn’t think so.” She turns and walks away.
“Midnight,” Silver calls after her. “Breaking point of the One Way.”
Oz cleans up his and Silver’s drinks. “I’ll go after her.”
He darts after Jax, leaving Silver alone in the bar while the pit fight reaches its bloody conclusion. Silver remembers when she and Alex used to hold their own illegal pit fights for the other Hunters. Ultimately, there was no winner. Whichever animal won in the ring got shot at the end of the night—often at Silver’s hand.
She leaves the butcher shop dejected and tired. Her wrist itches, and she tries not to scratch at it. Walking back to her apartment in the pouring rain, she hangs her head low and tries to think of what to say to Alice.
By the time she reaches her destination, she’s drenched, and she’s thought of nothing even remotely appropriate. She can’t stop thinking about Alex, and her daydreams have been less than chaste.
Frozen from the rain, it could just as easily be the elements or her mind’s wanderings that give her body the appearance of arousal. Either way, Alice rushes to get her a towel.
“What happened to you?”
Silver dries her face and feels pity when she looks into Alice’s concerned eyes.
“Things are going to change, and they’re going to change very fast.”
Alice catches sight of Silver’s bandaged wrist and reaches out to touch it. “Rippers?”
Silver takes back her wrist, ignoring the question. “You’re going to meet some new people tonight.”
She heads to the bedroom to change into some dry clothes, making sure to wear a long sleeved top to conceal the marks of self-harm on her arm.
Alice hovers in the doorway. “What people?”
“My people.” Silver finishes dressing and laces up a new pair of steel-toed Hunter Division boots—courtesy of Maydevine.
“Hunters?” Alice’s voice is shaky.
Silver nods. “They’ll be staying downstairs.”
She walks away, but Alice stays hot on her tail.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
Alice looks upset, sensing an intense sharpness to Silver that goes deeper than just one more of her generic bad moods. She hangs back while Silver digs through the fridge.
“Why are you angry with me?”
Silver reappears from the fridge, leftover Chimera meat in her hand and her mouth full. “I’m not angry.”
“You look angry.”
Silver kicks the fridge door closed. “I’m not angry.”
Alice approaches Silver at the counter, comes up behind her, and tries to put her arms around her. Instinctively, Silver rejects her. Her body tenses at Alice’s gentle touch, and she feels immediately guilty. Alice looks so hurt, and Silver tenderly brushes an escaping tear away from her cheek.
“No matter what happens, I will take care of you.”
She pulls Alice in toward her, holds her in her arms and does her best to comfort her, despite the growing feeling of unease beginning to swell in the pit of her stomach.
The last words to leave her lips were a lie. If she’s to be repatriated, there will be no place left in her life for Alice, a potentially non-human enigma that can’t set foot onto the other side of the bridge.
And then there’s Alex.
Her stomach turns upside down.
CHAPTER NINE
Breaking Point
Silver leans over the railing at the mid-way point of the One Way, striking matches from a box and dropping them down into the water below. She’s so focused on her thoughts, she doesn’t hear the car approach or the crunch of footsteps behind her.
Suddenly, a pair of hands slips around her waist.
Alex.
“Before you say anything,” he warns her, “I have a small confession to make.”
Silver’s heart has a fleeting mini-seizure, but she doesn’t get the chance to formulate a mental l
ist of worst case scenarios. Instead, she gasps as he fully embraces her, holding her body close to his.
For a moment, she forgets the fragility of her situation and leans back into him, accepting the warmth of his caress. “I can’t promise that I’ll absolve you.”
“I’m not looking for forgiveness.” He moves in close and whispers in her ear. “I’ve been fantasizing about you all day.”
Epic somersault.
Not only does her stomach perform the obligatory single rotation, but this time it cascades into a full-on acrobatic routine at his suggestion of their intimacy.
Emotional honesty is the Alexander King guarantee. Silver knows that, but even she—who longs for his company more than any girl has ever wished for anything else in the world before—is taken aback by his haste.
It’s not going to be that easy—certainly not for her.
Still, she shivers at the sensation of his lips against her neck, and it takes every bit of her will power to redress the dynamic before it gets out of hand.
“First and foremost, this is a professional engagement,” she whispers over her shoulder, and swiftly unwraps herself from his arms. Before he can object, she puts a finger up to his lips and silences him. “Whatever else this is, it comes after. Okay?”
Tires squeal against tarmac.
Silver takes a step back and puts some distance in between them, just as a large black limousine pulls up next to Alex’s battered Old World POS. From the limo, a chauffeur gets out and opens up the back door.
Red steps out.
“Small audience tonight,” she senses.
Silver checks her imaginary watch. “There’s still time.”
Alex leans up against the railing and lights up a cigarette, hoping that the nicotine will help to settle his sudden nerves. In seconds, Red catches the scent of smoke in the air.
“I thought you were trying to quit?”
“Not today.”
Alex kicks at the dirt with scuffed shoes, and runs a hand quickly through his hair. Forcing himself to stop biting anxiously at his nails, he shoves his free hand deep inside his pocket. From the periphery of his vision, he steals a glance at Silver.
In full Hunter Division mode, she’s all business and her expression is characteristically unreadable. More than anything, he wants some kind of confirmation that he didn’t just make a colossal fool out of himself, but he gleans nothing from her taut lips or her calculating eyes.
She won’t even look at him.
On the Fringe District side of the bridge, a figure moves toward them from the shadows.
Oz.
Suddenly, a car screeches around the corner behind him. It peels down the bridge and grinds to a halt next to him, letting him hitch a ride to Breaking Point. Speeding way too fast, the car performs a sharp handbrake stop just before the tag Gateway, atop of which, the machine guns are already primed.
The careless driver is Jax.
She exits the vehicle with Oz, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Converging with the rest of the group at the Gateway, she spits a ball of mucus onto the Sentinel District side of the boundary line and sets her sights on Silver.
Realizing that Silver’s already been upgraded, Jax’s disdain amplifies. “You’re on that side now?”
“For now.”
Alex peers over at Silver, a small frown subtly creasing his brow. For now? She hasn’t told them about her repatriation deal. Why not? He opens his mouth to speak, but Red cuts in instead.
“It’s nice to see everyone together again.”
Silver’s known her for almost twenty years, and knows that her peculiar choice of wording is deliberate. Drawing attention to her blindness often makes strangers feel uncomfortable, and Red gets more than a little pleasure out of ‘watching’ them squirm.
Jax has never been amused by it, and she shoots a scowl out into the dark night. Nobody’s paying attention, though, and the roaring engine of Maydevine’s company car soon slices through the silence.
He strides confidently into the middle of their small group, flanked by Carter and the man who inserted Silver’s tag.
“This feels an awful lot like déjà vu.” He looks at each of them, in turn. “Being out in the cold in the middle of the night, looking at your miserable faces. Minus the gunfire, of course.” He lights up a cigarette. “Now you might think you’re here working for her.” He points at Silver. “But make no mistake, you’re working for me. I will track every move you make, and if you even so much as look at someone from my District the wrong way, I will shut you down.” He puts considerable emphasis on the last three words.
Motioning for the Omega doctor to come forward with his briefcase, Maydevine waits for someone to volunteer for the knife first. “Come on, don’t be shy,” he invites the group. “I haven’t got all night.”
Eager to get this over with, Alex shirks off his jacket and shows willing. Rolling up his sleeve, he bares his scarred wrist for the doctor. This is the fourth time he’s been sliced open—twice now for Silver.
He locks eyes with her, not once flinching. He’s here for her, and her alone. There’s no other reason in the world that he’d risk his blue tag. The hope of being with her again is all-consuming, and he’d never let that hope die.
One by one, the group receives their temporary platinum tags, and Maydevine orders Carter to scan their wrists with the same small, pocket device used on Silver earlier.
Their functionality confirmed, he sends Carter to retrieve a thick Police Division file from the backseat of his car. Practically snatching it from him, Maydevine holds it up in the air, for all to see.
“Here’s a copy of everything we know about the murders, and the prick that’s responsible for them.” He hands the file to Silver. “Find him, kill him, and bring his cold, dead body back to me so that I can see the face of the man who dared to bring fear into this city.”
“If that’s all you want, you don’t have to look any further than Phaeden Rist,” Silver scoffs.
“Nobody likes a smart ass,” Maydevine snaps at her. “And the two of you”—he indicates to Red and Alex—“you fools walk a very thin line here. If you fuck this up, there won’t be a damn thing I can do for you.”
Keen to move on with his evening, Maydevine departs, followed by Carter and the doctor. When Maydevine’s on the clock he’s all business, and spares no special sentimentality for his daughter. It’s enough that everyone already knows their relation, and he’s always been careful never to show her any individualized treatment in the field.
As he walks away, Alex glares at his back, fighting the urge to confront him about the lies he was fed.
Taking him by surprise, Silver squeezes his arm. “Not tonight, Alex,” she whispers, shaking her head. “Not tonight.”
The opportunity is lost anyway. Maydevine’s car gears up and disappears into the night, leaving the sour quartet alone on the bridge.
“Now what?” Jax asks, barely looking up.
Her attention is focused entirely on scratching at her bandage, a fresh cigarette already between her lips.
“I’ve got resources,” Silver informs them. “There’s a place we can stay and use as a war room.”
“In the Fringe?” Alex enquires.
“No. In space.” Silver rolls her eyes. “Of course it’s in the Fringe, you moron. Where else do you think?”
“Well, since we’re on the payroll I thought we might at least get to borrow some office space. Or a desk. Or something. Maybe a coffee maker? Do you people even have coffee over there?”
You people.
Fringers.
Silver snaps from jovial to frosty in a split second, and Alex feels her look turn painfully cold.
“You want a ride?” he deflects.
“In that?” Silver looks at his piece of crap Old World car with a skyward eyebrow and a ‘yeah, right’ frown.
Approaching the car, Alex taps the hood. “She’s a beast.”
“She’s an a
ntique.” Silver opens up the passenger side door and it creaks in protest. “I don’t know anyone else who still drives the same car they had when they were eighteen.”
“Hey, don’t knock it. We made a lot of memories in this car.”
That’s true.
She orders the rest of the group to follow them and gets into the car, finding a familiar blood stain on the passenger side of the dashboard. “Is that my blood? Still?”
“Our first date.” Alex smiles.
“That was a date? Fuck, I wish I’d known. I’d have made you buy me dinner.”
“I bought you coffee.”
“Begrudgingly, if I recall. I’d just undergone minor surgery without anesthetic, and you expected me to drink that pond scum sludge at the hospital? Fat chance.”
“You got what you wanted, as usual, and I got a shit kicking from Maydevine.”
“Didn’t deter you, though, did it?”
Alex catches the smile gently tugging at Silver’s lips. “Never.”
CHAPTER TEN
Old Times
Silver and Alex are the first to pull up outside her rundown theater, deep in the Fringe District. The once impressive Scala Theater sign is now weathered, dirty and broken. Most of the bulbs in the old theater marquee have long since blown out, but enough have survived—or been repaired—to light it up.
Apparently, ‘Fuck Off’ is the current production.
The front doors are locked and boarded up, protected by metal screens. Graffiti is sprayed all over the walls of the building, and across the box office window. An Ella Cross is spray painted in red, just above a sign in the window that reads ‘we’re closed, asshole’. Entry to the building is through the box office door, locked with a keypad entry system.
Soon, two other cars pull up. Red’s chauffeur driven limo gets there just ahead of Jax’s beat up piece of junk-on-wheels. Always easy to please, Oz plasters his face with a cheery grin. Beside him, an ever solemn Jax lights up yet another cigarette and begins puffing the life out of it.
“Just like old times.” Oz beams at his colleagues.
At that moment, the driver’s door of Red’s limo opens.
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