by Shade Owens
She crossed her fingers together over her lap. “I want this fuckin’ island.”
“Rainer controls it,” I said, and this seemed to piss her off even more.
Her face went beet red as though she was holding it all in—saving the anger for when she would actually need it, which I assumed would be when she’d come head-to-head with Rainer. Yet she didn’t say a word.
“I’ll take you to her,” I said.
She stiffened.
“I’ll also tell you everything I know.”
What Hawkins didn’t realize was that I also wanted Rainer dead. If Rainer was dead, it meant I’d get Murk out of there, and it also meant peace for my women and me—at least until we got off the island as promised by Hawkins. What she didn’t know was that she was about to fight my battle for me.
“I’ll tell you what weapons they use, how many of them there are, and how they protect their territory,” I continued. “But in exchange, I get what I want, too.”
“You want off the island,” she said.
“Me and all my women,” I clarified.
She stared at me the way a mentor would their mentee—full of egotistical pride as if I were capable of becoming like her. The fact that I’d been brave enough to make such a demand without so much as blinking seemed to satisfy her.
As I sat quietly, staring back into her wild eyes and refusing to back down, the sound of Ellie’s sweet voice slipped into my mind. She was far away, repeating the same word over and over again: Hope.
That word, having once been powerful enough to pull me from a spiraling depression, lingered only for a moment before I pushed it away.
I was done hoping.
If I wanted a real chance at life—if I wanted to get off this island—I’d have to fight for it.
Hawkins fell back into her chair, making a plopping noise upon impact, and crossed her arms over her wooden chest plate. “All right. Take me to Rainer, and I’ll get you all off this island.”
REIGN OF BLOOD (SEASON 4)
EPISODE THIRTEEN
CHAPTER 1
“You realize you’ve put yourself in this predicament,” Hawkins said, twirling a bone hunting knife in her fingers. She made it look so easy—almost as if she’d been practicing the trick since childhood.
She walked with her broad shoulders pulled back, looking fearless. Her messy blond hair was tied into a bun at the base of her skull, revealing her worn trident tattoo down her neck. Hawkins wasn’t old, but she wasn’t young, either. She looked like the type of woman who’d spent years behind prison bars, succumbing to the kill or be killed lifestyle.
Her chest, large and robust, was covered in wooden armor that looked like it was constructed by an amateur. Had Coin been staring at it, she’d have cringed at the poor handiwork.
Hawkins cleared her throat, hacked, and spat out a glob of mucus into the sand.
“Hawk, please,” the woman in front of her begged.
I hadn’t caught her name, but I’d seen enough to know that she’d broken one of Hawkins’s rules—something about stealing from someone else. It appeared Hawkins didn’t much care to get involved in personal conflict, especially physical, but when it came to theft, she had some strong opinions about it.
I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it had something to do with having been robbed in the past. Or, maybe she viewed thieves in a certain light; in her eyes, thieves were perhaps the lowest of the low.
Wanting to look away, I clenched my fists. Why couldn’t I look away?
Two women with shaved heads grabbed the pleading prisoner and dragged her to the sand, toward one of Hawkins’s wooden tables. A small crowd had begun to form, but Hawkins didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, it was as if she welcomed it; she wanted to make a point.
“Everyone here knows the rules,” she said, now flipping her knife into the air and catching it by the handle. “You steal from your fellow comrades, you steal from me.” She then tilted her head and smirked at her victim like a cat toying with a half-eaten mouse. “Come on, Kat. You know this.” She bent down to stare Kat in the face, her frightening gray eyes looking more colorless than ever. “But you must have forgotten.”
“She… she owed it to me!” the woman, Kat, pleaded.
Poor Kat. Although I couldn’t interfere, I felt awful for her. She’d gotten up early to take a basket of fruit away from an Asian crew. According to her, she’d given them several ounces of hemp a few days earlier in exchange for something, but they’d never repaid her. So, obviously, she’d taken matters into her own hands.
Chances are I’d have done the same thing.
“Business is business,” Hawkins said. “If someone doesn’t pay you, you force them to through brute force or threats.” She glowered down at Kat as if she were a bowl of rotting lemons. “You don’t get sneaky.” The last word came out as if it nauseated her.
Hawkins quickly raised an eyebrow at her henchwomen and together, they forced Kat’s hand down onto the wooden plank by Hawkins’s knees.
Kat jerked from side to side, trying to free herself. “No, please!”
But the two henchwomen grimaced, their muscles bulging as they pushed down harder.
“It’s no use fighting,” Hawkins said.
Her calmness was what disturbed me the most. How was she so placid in a moment like this? Without so much as moving her mouth, she clicked two fingers, and out from the crowd came Collins.
Looking at her made me cringe. She walked with a smirk, and her AOP tattoo—a large black X with a circle around it—looked darker than ever. It was like she was proud of it; she elevated her chin as if trying to get the sunlight to land right on it. I didn’t understand how anyone could be proud of a symbol that encouraged the Age of Progression; it was a symbol of extremism that promoted terror. My mom described it as comparable to the swastika during Hitler’s reign.
Every time I saw it, I had a compelling desire to punch her in the face.
I couldn’t do that, though.
The one reason I was here, by Hawkins’s side, was to use her as my weapon against Rainer. As a bonus, Hawkins’s had promised me a way off this island.
I’d simply have to bite my tongue.
Rubbing her shaved head, Collins handed Hawkins a small pouch. Hawkins snatched it from her hands, opened it, and without even dipping her finger inside, sniffed the pouch’s opening. A light gray powder dusted her nose, and she wiped it off with her index finger in a hurry, then spread it into her mouth and over her teeth.
“Ahhh.” She breathed out, smiling up at the sky. Within seconds, her features changed as if possessed by a different soul. She wiggled her pinky finger at her two henchwomen and tossed one of them her knife. “All right, on with it.”
“No, Hawk, please! I won’t—”
But it was too late.
At first, I heard a crack and a tear, but the sound of Kat’s screaming masked any other sound that followed as the tallest of the two henchwomen pressed the knife down on Kat’s pinky finger, severing it from her hand.
Blood pooled around her hand and her finger rolled into the sand. The two women holding her down let her go with an unnecessary jerking motion—an aggressive push that said something along the lines of, Take that, bitch—and walked away.
Kat’s face was swollen, red, and wet with tears. Her mouth, a dark abyss, hung open so wide her tonsils were visible. She sat in the sand, clutching her bloody wrist and screaming at the top of her lungs.
CHAPTER 2
“You still think teaming up with Hawkins is a good idea?” Fisher said, staring toward the shore with a sour look on her face. She removed her hair tie, shook her dark matted hair, and tied it back up into her usual tight ponytail. “We could hear that woman screaming from here.”
Coin cracked open a nut with a wooden tool she’d made and I cringed at the sound. “Yeah, man. That was pretty nasty.”
“She was only trying to enforce her rule,” I said.
Fisher and Rocket scoffed at the sa
me time.
“Enforce her rule?” Fisher said. “What makes her think she can make the rules around here?”
She leaned her head against the cliff wall and rubbed at her scarred leg as she did every morning. It was clear the pain from her wound still affected her even though her leg appeared to be healed. Every time she rubbed it, I did my best to look away—but not because the pink tissue disgusted me in any way. Every time I looked at her leg, it brought me back to the day the crocodile attacked her, and I had enough traumatic memories as it was.
“I already told you,” I said, “Hawkins is our best chance at taking Rainer out.”
I hadn’t told anyone what Hawkins had promised me—freedom. What if she wasn’t being honest? What if she didn’t hold up her end of the bargain? I couldn’t allow the people I cared about to get excited over something that might not happen even though deep down I hoped to God it would.
Ellie, in particular, had a hard time understanding why I’d team up with someone she’d come to refer to as a monster. So now, I was the one who looked like the monster. Was my revenge on Rainer worth getting involved with the Cove’s most dangerous woman?
My friends didn’t seem to think so.
“Rainer doesn’t know where to find us,” Rocket kept repeating. “So why bother going after her?”
Even Tegan, who over the last few weeks began enunciating somewhat complete sentences, had warned me against Hawkins.
“S-s-she’s bad, Brone,” Tegan had told me several nights ago. “A… A real criminal. The kind who isn’t… isn’t afraid of anything. Whatever reason you’re doing this for… It isn’t worth it.”
Then, she’d continued crumbling her Lupacho leaves—the bright hot pink leaves she’d picked up on our way here that apparently held powerful healing properties—to make a tea. I was happy to see she was getting back to her old ways by brewing up concoctions, making soaps, mixing lotions, and giving advice to the women about all kinds of health issues they were experiencing.
In truth, it wasn’t only about our escape—it was about Murk and about removing our most dangerous threat once and for all. Why live in constant fear of being attacked by the Northers when we had someone willing and able to neutralize that threat? Two weeks had passed since Hawkins and I had made our deal, and now, it was a waiting game.
When would she ask me to leave with her? I’d promised to show her the way to Rainer’s territory.
“Hey,” came Ellie’s voice.
I glanced up and smiled, feeling guilty. Although looking at her often calmed me, it had stirred up a pang of guilt these last few days. I’d be leaving her again soon, and she knew it, too. I patted the sand next to me and she pulled her hemp dress up, sat down, and leaned her head on my shoulder.
“You okay?” she asked.
I’d learned to offer an automatic response to Ellie. “I’m good.”
Almost every day, she asked me this same question. It was as if she believed that I was one incident away from snapping or breaking down. I understood where she was coming from—I’d been through a lot, and she was no doubt waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“See what I started?” Coin asked, pointing a thumb out toward the cliff wall.
Along the wall were two small shacks constructed of dry wood. She’d even left the bark on the sides of the cabin for a cottage-like feel. It looked great. The entryways, two doorframe-sized openings, weren’t all that tall but they were large enough for the average person to fit through them. Biggie didn’t seem too impressed with Coin’s design.
She scoffed and slapped the air in front of her. “Girl, you a sizest.”
“Sizest?” Coin asked, curling her upper lip high enough for her gold tooth to make its usual appearance.
“What you did there ain’t fair. How am I supposed to get inside?”
Johnson smirked, the countless freckles on her average-looking face spreading like sand in the wind. I could tell her brain was conjuring up some smart-ass remark seeing as insulting people seemed to be her specialty.
“You’re big and strong,” Johnson said. “Lift it and put it over you.”
Biggie’s fat bottom lip stuck out and she stared at Johnson without saying a word.
Coin winked at Biggie. “Don’t you worry, girl. I’ll make one for you.”
Hammer, who was now half of Biggie’s size since she’d lost all her weight, beamed and ran a hand through her short curls. “Hey, I’ll actually be able to fit.”
Then, Rocket pulled her dreadlocked hair back and tied it into her usual bun at the base of her skull. She kicked out her stick legs and lunged up to her feet, breaking our little morning circle. “All right, ladies. Some of us have actual work to do.” She reached down, grabbed her bow from the sand, and threw it over her shoulder.
At the same time, Elektra came running out of the Cove’s cave with a spear pointing straight in front of her.
“Elektra!” Rocket hissed, and Elektra stopped dead in her tracks. She pointed the spear upward, bowed her head, and walked at a slow pace—obviously, this wasn’t the first time Rocket had scolded her for running with a spear the way a mother scolds her child for running with a pair of scissors.
“Sorry,” Elektra mumbled.
I couldn’t get over how much older she looked. It was as if she’d aged several years over the course of a few months. Although still scrawny and small-framed like Rocket, she was growing tall and awkwardly so.
“We’re going hunting,” Rocket said. Then, her narrow green eyes rolled my way. “You wanna join, Brone? For old times’ sake?”
I was about to get up and say yes when out of nowhere, the air around me became cool and I realized a shadow was blocking my sun.
“Got a minute?” Hawkins asked.
I clenched my fists, wishing she hadn’t come to this side of the Cove.
Hawkins never came to this side—it was almost an unwritten rule that ensured my women and her women stayed apart even though we shared the Cove. There were, of course, a few strays in the middle who didn’t associate with either side.
But the truth was, there were sides.
My side had somehow put me in charge, even though Fisher had seniority. And now my women—the ones I’d helped escape from the Northers—always kept an attentive eye on me.
Jack was the first to come waddling our way the moment Hawkins made an appearance. She stood by me, stocky and puffy-chested as always, and glowered at Hawkins. Her short hair sat so messily atop her head it looked like she’d dunked it into the ocean and a gust of wind had dried it upside down. She crossed her arms and sucked on her rotten teeth.
This didn’t seem to bother Hawkins—in fact, she smiled at Jack and, in an instant, raised two eyebrows as if to say, What’s up?
Jack placed a fist in her palm and made her knuckles crack. Although her intention was probably to look tough, it was embarrassing. By now, everyone knew Jack was a bit crazy, but crazy didn’t beat craziest. Hawkins was twice her size and too calm to be overlooked.
Red-faced rage was frightening, but calmness during a chaotic event was far more terrifying.
When Jack didn’t back down, Hawkins let out a sigh and planted her hands on her waist. “Relax, kid,” she said. This seemed to piss off Jack even more. “I’m here to talk to Brone.”
“Whatever you have to say to her,” Fisher said, “you can say to us.”
I waved a hand. “Guys, it’s okay. Thanks for the concern, but I got this.”
Fisher, struggling against Biggie’s shoulder, pulled herself up onto both feet to stare Hawkins square in the face.
“You better fuckin’ watch how you treat my girl,” she said without blinking.
Hawkins’s smile didn’t fade. It was as if nothing in this world frightened her, which made her all the more dangerous. I glared at Fisher as a way of saying, Let it go, but she didn’t back down.
In a split second, Hawkins wrapped a firm arm around my shoulder and pulled me in close against her side.
>
Both Fisher and Jack tensed up at the same time, but no one moved.
“What’s all this tension for?” Hawkins said. She shook me playfully with her one arm, then planted a kiss on my cheek. Her breath smelled of three-day-old fish and toasted seaweed. “Brone and I are friends. Ain’t that right, kid?”
I forced a smile, no doubt looking uncomfortable pinned up against her side.
“Let’s take a walk,” she said. “What’d’ya say?”
CHAPTER 3
The idea of being alone with Hawkins wasn’t all that appealing.
But what choice did I have? She wanted to talk in private, and to get what I wanted out of her, I had to cooperate.
“Your friends seem a little uptight,” she said, dipping her feet into the shore’s shallow water.
“They’re protective,” I said.
She tilted her head back, and with eyes closed, smiled up at the sun. Had she been wearing pants with pockets, no doubt she’d have slid her hands inside of them to stand with a relaxed, laid-back posture. As the sun hit her face, I noticed a small, uneven scar on her chin with a dark gray dot in its center that looked like it had been caused by a pen or pencil stab. Being that she was likely twice my age, it made sense that she’d been around before pens and pencils started disappearing from stores. Chances are it had happened in prison.
Today, she let her hair hang loose over the wooden plates on her shoulder, which wasn’t common for her. It was straggly and greasy-looking, with natural highlights over her entire head. A few strands of gray hair sat near her roots, but they were barely visible. It was her crease-filled skin that gave her age away; crow’s feet sat at the corners of her eyes and became even more prominent every time she smiled. Around her lips were cigarette lines that shot out in every direction. Her nose, neither big nor small, was a bit crooked, which made me think she’d received her fair share of punches in prison.
Hawkins wasn’t a model by any means, but she wasn’t ugly, either. Although slightly rough-looking, there was a uniqueness about her I couldn’t quite put my finger on.