by Raven Dark
I stared.
The plate was filled with ribs bonier than most would consider edible, half burned burger patties, pathetically tiny fena wings with almost no sauce, and what was probably the fattiest chicken legs the place had. Crash cursed, and I looked up at him, sitting to my left. He was looking down at the plate, empathy flashing in his eyes before he covered it with a cough.
Crash always cooked the healthier food that, among my Masters, only Hawk seemed to prefer. He probably found the scraps disgusting.
“Not the finery you’re used to, huh, Onyx?” Diamond hissed. Her smile let me know she was joking.
I shook my head, gingerly picking up a scrawny rib. I thought of Hawk, of that story of Ottie and the Blue Dress, winced sadly, and put it back down.
“You’d better eat now, slave. You might not get another chance until we reach camp.” Doc leaned over in his seat as he spoke, using a commanding tone he’d never used on me before, one I knew he wouldn’t have used in the Grotto.
Stomach clenching, I picked at the buns and half a hot dog.
I definitely wasn’t in the Grotto anymore.
Time passed, what must have been an hour or so, and the others still hadn’t returned. Once everyone was done eating, Doc and Pup pulled Emmy and Diamond onto their laps. The women played up the role, and the men whispered dirty, fake promises in their ears for the benefit of customers who sometimes paid too much attention to us.
One or two Blood Pirates sat at the bar, watching the men, but no matter how rowdy they became, neither did more than glance back now and again, not interfering. Some protection. But perhaps as long as outsiders didn’t bother the townsfolk and kept to themselves, the town’s protection detail left them alone.
T-Man lifted me up onto his lap. “Come up here with you.” He settled me there and whispered into my ear. “Sorry about this, but it’s the best way to protect you.” He stroked my hair as if I were his heart’s desire.
Worry started to creep in again, especially when I caught Pup and Crash looking closely at the road that ran past the bar’s back window. Bikes rode past here and there, but none of them stopped, and no one came into the bar.
Did I imagine that I saw the same bright blue Mohawk on the same biker more than once? T-Man’s legs tensed under mine, and I thought Crash muttered something to Doc.
The next time the sound of engines filled the air, I looked out the window. Five motorbikes rode out of the desert, toward the front of the bar.
Relief washed over me, seeing the familiar patterns of skulls and flames on the sides of bikes and helmets a few minutes later. My masters. Behind them, Latch’s scarred face and red-trimmed bike emerged last.
The men parked their bikes and dismounted. With helmets, cloths, or in Sheriff’s case, a half mask of metal, covering their faces, I couldn’t see any of their expressions. Hawk removed his helmet and followed the others across the lot before I could get a good look, but anger seemed to radiate from all of them.
What had happened at Lars’ place?
In the lead, Sheriff stalked to the doors and threw one open so hard it banged against the wall.
“I take it the visit didn’t go well?” Doc asked once Sheriff had joined us. He stood up and let the General take a chair closer to the window.
Sheriff said nothing, only snapped his fingers at the server, who immediately brought over five beers. He growled something at the man I didn’t catch—his order, I guessed—then the server left.
Doc and the others at the table looked around at those who’d followed Sheriff in, waiting for an explanation. Sheriff glanced at me in T-Man’s lap and grimaced but said nothing.
“There was no one there,” Steel spat, picking up the beer from the table.
“Lars wasn’t there at all?” Crash blinked in disbelief, keeping his voice lowered. “What about the townspeople?” he added when Pretty Boy shook his head. “Did anyone in Rafe tell you where he went?”
“Someone in town finally told us Lars passed away weeks ago. At the youthful age of eighty-five. Latch broke us into his place. It turns out, Lars was a clock maker; there was no oil refinery. There hadn’t been anything in his shop for some time, and we saw no sign of our…cargo.”
My heart sank as I had a feeling I knew where this was going.
“So Grizzle lied,” Pup said, echoing my thoughts. “He sent us on a wild fena chase.”
“I shouldn’t have killed him so quickly,” Hawk muttered. “I should have made sure he was telling the truth before I ran him through.”
The urge to reach out and take Hawk’s hand made me wiggle on T-Man’s lap.
“This isn’t your fault, Brother,” Steel said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”
“It’s not,” Doc added, “but now we have to figure out who he was really working for and find him.”
“We don’t have time for that now.” Sheriff took a pull of his beer. “Now we need to head for Delta. We’ll worry about the rest when the summit is over.”
“But whoever is stealing from us needs his ass beat yesterday. I’m sick of this guy making fools of—” Pretty Boy started.
“PB.” Steel squeezed his shoulder as Sheriff’s shoulders tensed with warning. “Not now.”
“Well, whatever we’re doing, we should get going.” T-Man’s tone was low with a warning I didn’t understand.
“Why? Trouble?” His eyes on the street outside the window, Sheriff didn’t bother to turn his head and his voice was too gruff. Was he jealous?
“Not sure yet. But—”
The General put up his hand and looked at my other masters, gesturing to me and the other two ladies.
“All right, let’s go, you three.” Pretty Boy gestured for me and the other two women to get up, then grabbed my wrist and pulled me from T-Man’s lap to his side. He, Steel, Doc, Crash, Latch, and Pup herded us toward the doors while T-Man and Hawk leaned in toward Sheriff, the three of them talking quietly.
I knew what they were doing. Something was wrong, and Sheriff didn’t want us slaves hearing about it.
“Master?” I caught Steel’s attention once we were outside, out of earshot of the other road warriors in the bar. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
“Don’t worry, Petal.” He walked close until we reached the bikes. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you. Just mount up.”
“Come here, Princess, my turn.” Pretty Boy patted the space on the seat of his bike behind him.
When I was seated behind him with my arms around his waist, I leaned toward his ear. “You wouldn’t be trying to poach me from Hawk, would you, Master?”
“Shut your mouth and give me a kiss.” The amusement in his eyes told me I wasn’t wrong.
An inappropriate rush of adrenaline filled me at the idea of two of my masters fighting over me. I didn’t like the rift between them, and I wanted them to get along, but there was something thrilling about having two powerful warriors vying for my attention. I leaned in and let Pretty Boy’s mouth claim mine, loving the slow, possessive way his tongue mated with my own.
In minutes, Sheriff, Hawk and T-Man had come out of the bar and the rest of us were mounted up, ready to leave. I tightened my arms around Pretty Boy, but my eyes were on Sheriff. The General scanned the road, then looked out across the village with a furrowed brow, his indigo eyes sharp and alert. He reminded me of a lion watching for unseen enemies.
No one questioned him—no one dared say a word when he’d looked so angry returning to the bar—but I knew everyone wanted to ask what he was looking for. Anxiety and worry pounded off everyone in the group.
“Let’s ride, boys,” Sheriff ordered, as if anyone would do otherwise. He swung onto his bike and jumped on the clutch.
Riding away from The Wheel and the Clutch, I couldn’t keep from looking over my shoulder for the danger Sheriff had been watching for. I didn’t see anyone, but I could feel the danger like the hot breath of a hound on my heels.
Somethin
g—or someone—was out there hunting us.
The ride through Salvage, which couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, passed without incident. We arrived at our next stop, a fueling station at the edge of the village, just as the sun was starting to sink toward the horizon. The heat of the day started to give way to the more manageable early evening, far from cool, but not so hot it felt like my clothes would catch fire at any moment. I wanted to strip off my black leather jacket, knowing that it held in the sun’s heat, but the long sleeves were all that protected my arms from burns.
Ordinarily, I loved being snuggled up against Pretty Boy, with my cheek against his back and my arms around his waist, but his cut sometimes heated my cheek too much, and the hot, dry air that beat at us did nothing to make things easier.
As soon as we parked in front of the station and Pretty Boy lifted me off his bike, I glanced around. It had been years since I’d seen a place like this.
The station was a single, two-story structure of grey stone, the upper floor obviously the owner’s living space, while the lower floor served as a store. The place looked old, the stone foundation cracked, the stone walls discolored and weather-worn, the rusty sign creaking in the breeze.
Through the discoloration on the sign, I could make out the words Oasis Fueling Station. Food staples, mostly wrapped sweets, were stacked in the front windows, and cured meats hung on hooks.
“Keep your eyes open, all of you,” Sheriff said, looking around at everyone from the back of his bike. “There could still be danger here.”
Everyone agreed as they kicked the stands down on their bikes and removed their helmets.
I knew what he meant. When I was little, before my family had been captured by the Death Blades, my father had told me something about these places. Weigh and fueling stations such as this were considered neutral ground. They were one of the few places in the world that even the worst road warrior crews wouldn’t pillage. There was an understanding that rivalries were to be put aside while on the property, so that even gangs with longstanding feuds that would normally end up in bloody battles could use the same fuel pump without killing each other. Thus, the stations were able to operate with minimal staff without the protection of a zone Clan like the J’nai or a wall to keep the bad element out.
But that same understanding that protected the stations brought its downsides. The stations attracted a lot of dangerous men, the kind towns and city folk didn’t want on their streets. Which meant the businesses were almost always built at the edges of a populated area, instead of inside towns, where they’d have had more protection.
Neutral ground or not, we needed to keep on our guard.
“It looks like we’re the only customers here.” Hawk lifted his helmet visor long enough to look over the place, then clacked it back down.
“Pup, Crash. Go,” Sheriff said. “Tell the owner we need all his pumps turned on. The faster we get gone from here, the better.”
Both men went into the place, and the wooden door thumped shut behind them.
Right away, I could see that this station was meant to service every type of vehicle. Large outlets along one wall allowed bikes like those my masters rode to have their batteries hooked up, charged with energy gathered from the two tall solar trees in the side yard. Fueling stations like these were set up differently than personal stations like Damien’s or those in the Grotto, the fuel lines somehow set up to allow a full charge to be delivered within twenty minutes instead of over the course of hours. Four large, red painted pumps stood, filled with the oil that powered some bikes. I could smell its faint scent on the air, like overused grease. Three stone water wells, probably having been drilled down into a rare underground spring, stood beside the station, each likely filled with precious water that would be sold for high prices in the middle of the dry desert.
A few moments after the door closed, Crash stuck his head out. “There’s no one here, General.”
“What do you mean no one’s there? Not even the owner?”
“Nope, it looks like there hasn’t been anyone here for a while,” Crash said.
Pup nodded beside him. “Maybe it’s closed. Looks like someone tore the place up, too.”
“Come on, Princess. Wanna see how we fuel up?” Pretty Boy took my hand.
As soon as we stepped inside, an unpleasant feeling settled in my gut. The station had been ransacked, and it did look deserted. An eerie silence lay over the place, and the lights were off. Two of the lights looked smashed, the wires that would have fed power from the solar trees hanging loose. Some of the food on the shelves had paper-packaging that was torn open, pastries and cookies strewn on the floor. One of the back windows was smashed in.
“Looks like it’s a free-for-all, men. Stock up on everything you can, but don’t dawdle.”
My masters started throwing boot polish and a few bike repair tools into bags while Pretty Boy took me over to one wall that had five large levers on it.
“Should we be stealing this stuff?” I watched Sheriff break open a hidden compartment on the wall, where a stash of weapons lay inside. He pulled out a thick rope chain with a spike on the end and wrapped it around his fist, muttering something in approval. Obviously, he’d been here before, and had seen the owner open the compartment. Over at the window, Crash bagged the cured meats and bit off the end of a long stick of jerky.
“Did you forget, Princess?” Pretty Boy said. “We steal stuff. It’s what pirates do. The owner’s not coming back. Crash!”
The cook looked up with a grin around a mouth full of jerky.
“You don’t know how long that stuff’s been hanging there.”
“It’s cured. It’s fine.”
“Suit yourself, but if you die of food poisoning, I’m taking your cast iron skillet.”
Crash laughed.
“Master, can you show me how this works?” I asked Pretty Boy when he turned back to the levers on the wall.
He nodded and pointed to one of the levers. “These are the levers for the solar lines. When they’re up, the power is off. Down, the power is on. Normally, the owner has to turn a key here.” He indicated a box on the wall. “When the key is turned, the levers will move. They’re set up so that they only stay down for the time you pay for. Credits go in these slots here.”
“And how do you get the power on without the owner? I’m guessing he didn’t just leave the key around where anyone can get it.”
“Nope. Latch, get over here.”
Latch walked over, and without even being told, took out a set of lock picks, picked open the box, and then fished out one of many different shaped keys.
“One for every occasion,” he told me with a wink and jammed the key in. He turned it, then pocketed the key.
When he was done, Pretty Boy threw all five of the levers down. They dropped with a thunk each and an electronic whine. “Power up, boys.”
Pup and Crash went outside to hook up their bikes and those of the men higher up in ranks while my masters raided the store. Diamond and Emmy found racks of scarves, sunglasses, and studded leather bracelets, which they tried on or pocketed while they chatted.
“Pirates to the end.” I shook my head with a smile, wishing I still felt as bad about what the crew did as I once would have. Their lawlessness took from others, but it also made me feel strangely safe. No one would cross them. I found myself relaxing into the moment.
“Damn right, Princess.” Pretty Boy pulled me into him and marauded my mouth with his. When he broke the kiss, he put his mouth to my ear. “A good raid always makes me horny. If we weren’t in a hurry, I’d fuck you right on that counter.”
I bit my lip to keep from groaning, knees weakening at the lust in his deep voice. It felt like forever since we’d last been intimate. The wildness and savagery of him seeped into me, heating my blood. Would he ever lose his edge?
Steel and T-Man leaped over the counter as Pretty Boy released me, and I went over to see what they looted. Steel swiped the ow
ner’s private stash of booze, and T-Man took several bags of tobacco and three finely carved pipes from a display case. He opened a locked compartment behind the counter and pulled out a long-barreled black revolver, the kind gunmen used before the Old World had ended and the virus had decimated the world’s population.
“Ooh, look at this.” T-Man’s teeth flashed as he caressed the slick, steel siding on the gun. “Beautiful. None of the guns I have in my collection look like this.” He rooted around and pulled out a gun belt, buckling it on before slipping the gun into the holster. “Perfect.” He found a carton of bullets and held up the gold-plated projectiles with a huge grin. “Very nice.”
“What are you gonna do when you run out of bullets, dumbass?” Steel said. “It’ll be useless.”
“For this beauty, I’ll make ‘em myself. Every hitman should have his trademark weapon.”
I shook my head at the two men and was about to say something but noticed Sheriff walking across the room towards me.
“Come with me, sweetheart.” He took my hand, leading me to the back of the main room and down a narrow hallway.
There was only one thing I could imagine he wanted me back there for. After what had happened between us in the Grotto that morning, I should have wanted to pull away from him, and on some level, I did, but wetness also pooled between my legs at the thought of what he wanted to do to me alone in the station’s back rooms. Maker, I was pathetic.
“I thought you said we had to hurry, Master,” I managed breathlessly. “We don’t have time to for…that.”
He stopped in the middle of the hallway and smirked at me. He swept his thumb over my bottom lip. “Much as I would love to put you on your knees right now, sweetheart, I’m not gonna fuck you here.”
I bit my lip, hoping he couldn’t see the lust that seared my blood on my face, nor my relief—I wasn’t ready to forget what had happened that morning. “Then what, Master?”
“This place always has a huge stash of water. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste. Plus, I don’t like that Salvage left this place unmanned.” He led me toward a cavernous back safe, a room almost half the size of the main room at the front. The steel door to the safe stood open, and I could see racks filled with containers of water stored along one wall. I assumed there’d be shelves filled with money further in.