Lex Talionis

by Keira Michelle Telford

  “He doesn’t have a choice.”

  “He’s like a dog with a bone.” Slade gasps for breath. “He won’t give up.”

  Tired of listening to him squawk, Silver increases the pressure on his throat. “When you wake up, tell Luther he can suck my cock.”

  With that, she chokes him out.

  “Is he dead?” Linx’s jaw drops open.

  “Nah. Humiliation’s a much worse punishment for someone like him.”

  The second Slade’s unconscious body hits the floor, a shot ricochets off the wall beside Silver, the sound of it echoing around the cavernous room.

  Everyone stands still.

  Perfectly composed, Silver looks at the divot in the wall where the bullet hit and took a chunk out of the brickwork, then swivels her head in the direction it came from.

  There, on the other side of the room, hovering near the entrance to the tunnel Slade emerged from, is a man in a filthy boiler suit. He’s facing her, a gun shaking in his hand, the name ‘Trevor’ scrawled on the chest of the boiler suit in black marker pen.

  “Wow.” Silver stares at him. “You really are a terrible shot.” She stands squarely to face him. “Go on. Give it another try.”

  He’s about to do precisely that when he hears the click of another gun beside his head.

  “Put the gun down,” Carmen commands, her voice low and controlled, her gun pointed directly at him. “Lay it down on floor and kick it to Silver, then put both hands on your head and kneel.”

  He follows her orders to the letter.

  The gun scutters across the floor toward Silver, and she scoops it up, tucking it safely into the back of her jeans. She can tell that Carmen wants to pull the trigger, and she doesn’t see any reason not to. At the very least, Trevor is an attempted murderer, and who knows what other crimes he might be guilty of.

  Nevertheless, Carmen is hesitating.

  “Go for it,” Silver encourages her to deliver justice. “He was gonna kill me, and he tried to kill someone else a few days ago. He’s a puke.”

  A painful silence ensues.

  Carmen keeps her gun on him, but fails to do the deed. “I can’t …”

  Her concentration lapses, her anxiety peaks, and she doesn’t see him reach toward his ankle. Fastened there, the sheath bound to his leg with duct tape, is a large, bloodstained hunting knife. He manages to wrap his fingers around the hilt without her noticing, but that’s as far as he gets.

  A shot rings out.

  His body slumps against the wall, a small circular hole in his skull between his eyes.

  Frozen with dismay, only now registering the existence of the knife, Carmen turns to find Silver with her gun aimed.

  Upon hearing the gunshot, the four men rush back—Alex in the lead.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Silver takes hold of the woman’s hand again. “Now let’s go.”

  After looting a few select pieces of Slade’s weaponry—which Alex and Luka intend to keep, but Bold and Mason plan to trade—they head for the rusty ladder … but it’s gone. Slade must’ve had it ripped from the wall following their last escape.

  “Damnit.” Alex strikes the wall with the butt of a rifle.

  “It’s all right.” The woman starts to lead Silver down another passage, this one completely pitch black. “I know another way.”

  Eager to get out of the dank tunnel system, she pulls Silver deep into the darkness, feeling her way along several hundred feet of passageway by touch alone. Again, the only two who aren’t disadvantaged by the intense gloom are Alex and Linx.

  “It’s somewhere near here,” the woman claims, stumbling over rubble. “Watch your step.”

  Single file, they trudge down a towpath beside the canal bed, hugging the wall. In this portion of tunnel, the canal bed—narrowed by the construction of blast walls—is flooded with almost a foot of stagnant, fetid water, into which Slade’s gang have dumped all manner of organic waste.

  It reeks.

  Not far along here, a crack of dim light shines through a large hole in the wall. The woman slows and gropes the space with one hand, her other hand still entwined with Silver’s.

  “Found it.” She pushes her way through.

  Knocked through with haste and imprecision, the hole—probably made by the same person who opened up the tunnel at the train station—is covered with a heavy black curtain, and leads into the cellar of an unoccupied residential house. Recently used as a squat, the house smells like urine and feces, and is filled with trash. For Alex and Linx, whose olfactory abilities are greatly enhanced, the smell is instantly nauseating.

  The plumbing hasn’t worked in this building for some time, so human waste is piled knee deep in some places, thrown and splattered against the walls. Intent on getting out into the street without contracting some vile disease, they all stick to the bare hardwood hallways, weaving their way through heaps of debris.

  Finally, fresh air.

  And sunlight.

  After being confined to the darkness of the tunnels, it takes a while for anyone with natural eyes—especially for the woman, who hasn’t seen daylight in quite some time—to adjust to the glare of the sunshine.

  “Where the hell are we?” Bold spins around, searching for a familiar landmark.

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, the woman bears the sharp sting of pain in her retinas and spots the top of the Great Northern Warehouse jutting out above the rooftops beyond Deansgate road to the left. The large white lettering, despite being faded, is still prominent and legible. Pinpointing their location further, she can see a covered walkway between two buildings on Deansgate, directly opposite the street they’re standing in, and she knows that’s a shortcut to Slade’s lair.

  “We’re on Camp Street,” she says then, certain of her bearings. “Where do you need to go? I can show you the way.”

  Always mistrustful, Linx sidles up to the woman and takes a quick sniff, her conclusion swift and damning. “She’s a Taint.”

  “Takes one to know one,” the woman responds calmly, eyeballing Linx’s violets.

  She’s confused, but not threatened, by the hostility emanating from this feisty young girl, and doesn’t break eye contact till she feels Silver’s hand on her arm.

  “Do you know where the railway line is?” Silver asks the question before Bold has a chance to make his position known.

  “Oi!” He strides forward, shoves Silver out of the way, draws his knife, and presses the tip of the blade to the woman’s throat. “If you follow us, I’ll slit you. Understand?”

  Silver yanks him away. “We’re not ditching her here.”

  “We don’t need no help from the likes of her.”

  “If we leave her behind, they’ll kill her.”

  “No, they won’t. You heard what Slade said: they’ll send her back to Luther. This ain’t none of our business to be messing in.” He turns and starts walking. “Leave her, or leave with her.”

  Mason is the first to follow him, soon joined by Linx. Carmen takes one step in that direction, but Silver snags the collar of her jacket and holds her back.

  “Not so fast. Where’s your sense of solidarity?”

  When Silver lets go, Carmen pouts but stays put. Alex and Luka stand next to Silver with more conviction, their loyalty to her unwavering, while Tomkin sits at the side of the road, his allegiance undecided.

  After only a few yards, Mason realizes they’re a man short. “Tom!” he shouts to his friend. “Whatchu waiting for?!”

  Tomkin doesn’t move.

  Sensing a problem, Linx turns around. She looks first at Tomkin, then at Alex, and comes to a complete halt in the middle of the street.

  Bold keeps on walking.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” the woman calls after him. “The railway is south of here, and you’re heading west.”

  At last, he stops. Silver sees his shoulders heave with a sigh, then he does a reluctant one-eighty.

  “Please,�
� the woman pleads. “Let me show you.”

  The not-so-far-away roar of a large and powerful engine is the last bit of incentive Bold needs, and the disparate group is soon headed south. The woman leads them through a network of side streets, taking them right, then another right, then left, then …

  “Get down!”

  Near the mouth of a small residential alleyway that spits out onto Bridgewater Street—a main roadway not far from the city’s southern border, the railway line in sight beyond it—the woman hurries them into hiding behind several abandoned vehicles and a large dumpster.

  Silver, walking at the front of the pack next to the woman, is the last one to take cover. When an enormous military tank rolls onto Bridgewater Street, the woman has to place a hand on Silver’s shoulder and drag her down behind a dumpster.

  “Stay down,” she whispers frantically.

  Though Silver would never let it show, the woman’s firm grip is agitating the arrow wound that’s concealed beneath her clothing. It starts to burn and throb, making her entire shoulder feel as though it’s on fire. Ignoring the pain, she focuses her attention on the slow moving tank instead.

  “Who are these people?”

  “Mercian militia.” The woman still doesn’t move her hand. “They work for Luther.”

  Silver looks blank. “Who is this Luther guy?”

  The woman smiles wistfully. “I would give anything to live in a world where I had no reason to know the name Luther Hale.”

  “Well, who is he? He sounds like a prick.”

  “They call him the Arch Rogue, and he’s a mercenary. He controls the militia, and runs most of the major cities in Mercia. When he’s not around to babysit them, the outlying militia factions—managed by people like Slade—like to spar with one another. They’re constantly warring, each vying for Luther’s attention and approval.” She keeps her eyes on the street, watching the tank roll by.

  “And where do you fit in?” Silver wonders, finding it hard to believe that this soft spoken woman could be affiliated with any kind of militant brutes.

  “I got caught in the crossfire.”

  In that very instant, the driver of the tank—for no reason other than his own enjoyment—decides to blow out the wall of a derelict building across the street. The explosion sends a plume of dust and rubble into the air, and causes tremors to ripple through the earth.

  Almost losing her balance, the woman clutches tightly onto Silver’s shoulder, nuzzling her head against Silver’s neck to shield her eyes from the debris. Silver thinks nothing of it, but when the air clears and the tank rumbles off into the distance, the woman stays close, hesitating to withdraw.

  “It’s okay,” Silver soothes her, mistaking her lingering closeness for fear. “They’re gone.”

  Knowing that’s her cue to retreat, the woman does so slowly, relishing every last second of contact. Silver’s skin smells like peaches, her hair like lavender, and the woman takes one long breath, drawing the scents deep into her lungs. It’s been so long, and she’d forgotten how deliciously intoxicating the smell of another woman can be.

  “My name’s Rianne, by the way,” she says then, mooning up at Silver, her pupils dilating slightly. “You can call me Ria.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Much to everyone’s relief, the short trek out of the city on the abandoned railway line goes without further incident. They manage to dodge all of Slade’s street patrols, and don’t run into any trouble from the locals, who very much prefer to keep out of Slade’s business whenever possible.

  A few minutes further down the line, however, Bold—facing grief from Mason—has a change of heart concerning Ria’s presence. Surprising the rest of the group, he spins around, pulls one of Slade’s guns from the back of his trousers, and aims it at Ria’s head.

  “We got you out of the city, now you can bugger off and find your own way.”

  Ria flinches from the barrel of the gun, instinctively seeking protection beside Silver—the only person she feels she can trust.

  “If you don’t put that gun down right now,” Silver warns him calmly, keeping Ria behind her, “I’ll make you eat it.”

  “Step aside.” He redirects the gun to her. “The tart ain’t coming wivvus.”

  “Why not?”

  “We can’t be knowing who the flaming hell this doggess is, and she’s associated with Luther. She could be a murderer, a thief, a spy, a seductress—”

  “A seductress?” Silver cuts him off. “That scares you? A woman wanting to have sex with you? Shit. If that’s the way my day ends, I’ll call it a success.”

  “She’s a filthy Taint.” He jabs a finger in Ria’s direction. “My people don’t give safe harbor to no Taints.”

  “I’m a Taint,” Carmen pipes up, challenging him. “Your people gave me safe harbor.”

  “Them circumstances was different,” he maintains.

  “Were they? I brought one of your Deltas back to you after I found her lost and abandoned in London. These queer folks”—she points at Silver, Alex and Luka—“one of whom is also a Taint, found one of your Deltas lost and abandoned in Manchester, and now you have him back.” She draws Bold’s attention to Tomkin, who doesn’t appear to have any hostility toward Ria, he’s just happy to have his freedom.

  “What’s your point?” Bold holds the gun at his side, no longer aiming it at anyone.

  “We helped your people, now you help one of ours.”

  His staunch position swayed by facts he can’t deny, and her appeal to his moral conscience, it takes only a few seconds of deliberation before he relents, tucking the gun back in its place.

  “Fine, keep the wench.” He spots a length of rope lying on the ground beside the tracks, swipes it, and holds it out to Silver. “But tie her mitts up.”

  “What for?”

  “Just bloody well do it,” he snarls, forcing her to take the rope from him.

  Silver is about to object further, but Ria steps between them, cooling Silver’s temper instantly.

  “It’s all right.” She holds her wrists out. “I don’t mind. You can bind me if it’ll make everyone feel safer in my company.”

  Silver’s eyes soften. “I don’t feel unsafe in your company.”

  “But they do.” Ria tips her head to the Deltas, keeping her wrists extended. “So do as they ask, okay? I don’t have the energy to fight with anyone.”

  Silver pulls the rope through her palm, feeling how coarse it is, wincing at the burning sensation caused by the friction. “This isn’t right.”

  “Trust me,” Ria insists, “being tied up by an attractive woman is the very least of all the indecencies I’ve suffered of late. In fact, it’s almost rather pleasant.”

  Smiling, Silver deliberately ties the rope loosely, binding Ria as gently as possible. “I’ll try my best to tilt the scale in that direction.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to try too hard.” The words slip out of Ria’s mouth before she has a chance to edit herself, and she quickly backpedals. “I mean, you saved my life. Everything from here on in that doesn’t result in death or torture will represent a massive improvement in my situation.”

  Done with the rope, Silver moves stray hair away from Ria’s face, checking her for any signs of injury. “Did those men hurt you?”

  “Nothing that won’t heal.”

  Aware that the rest of the group is moving on without them—Bold, Mason and Tomkin sticking together, Linx hovering close to Alex, and Luka trying to latch onto a wholly uninterested Carmen—Silver and Ria lag behind.

  In silence, Silver strokes her thumbs over Ria’s cheekbones, cupping her face, silently wondering how such a delicate creature could end up thrown into a dry canal bed several hundred feet beneath the earth, tormented by a gang of violent thugs.

  “How about you?” Ria asks, breaking the mounting tension between them. “How’s your face?”

  “Huh?”

  “You let Slade hit you. Why did you do that?”
<
br />   The wallop impinged on Silver’s mind so little, she’d almost forgotten about it.

  “I needed him to lash out so that he’d be close enough for me to get him under control, that’s all,” she plays the incident down. “It’s sad really, but provocation is a tactic that never fails to work on men—I learned that a long time ago. A gun might not frighten them, but their fragile egos can’t withstand a few well slung insults.”

  “You’re very brave.”

  Silver shrugs. “You say brave, others say reckless. There’s a fine line.”

  “Does it hurt?” Ria reaches up to Silver’s face, tracing a fingertip over the bruise.

  “I don’t know.” Silver watches her intently, poring over her symmetrical cheek bones, full lips, and the sincere look of concern in her eyes. “My mind’s been rather distracted from it.”

  Suddenly shy, Ria lets her gaze drop, breaking eye contact while her fingertip trails slowly down Silver’s cheek, jaw line, and neck. “My mother always used to say that a kiss has the power to make anything better.”

  A smile tugs at Silver’s lips. “That sounds like a theory worth testing.”

  Ria’s eyes quickly dart back up to meet Silver’s, checking for any hint that she might be joking or teasing. To her surprise, she finds none. So, curling her fingers around Silver’s shirt collar, she stands on tiptoe and leans forward, pressing a light, nervous kiss against her cheek.

  “Thank you for freeing me.” She stays close. “I’m indebted to you.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” Silver assures her. “I don’t want you to feel that way. I’m not a mercenary.”

  “Is there nothing I can do for you?” Ria looks up at her, still holding onto her collar. “I don’t have any money, but people in this world seldom do anything for anyone without expecting some form of repayment.”

  She looks so serious, and Silver can’t resist injecting some levity.

  “Are you offering yourself to me sexually?”

  Deeply flustered and embarrassed—the spell well and truly broken—Ria pulls away and dips her head, striving not to burst into tears.

  “No! Oh, my god … I … I’m so sorry.” A single tear escapes and she backhands it away, hoping Silver didn’t notice. “I shouldn’t have—”