BloodMarked (The Fraktioneers Book 1)

by Lu J Whitley

  “Is this… It?” She would’ve stared, open-mouthed, but that would’ve only exposed her to more of the odor. Instead, she gritted her teeth and hoped this was just an elaborate ruse to fool invaders into thinking they’d stumbled upon an underground sect of cave-dwelling primates.

  “Home sweet home,” Stein said, a bit too brightly.

  “Where is everybody?” She’d at least expected some movement, some sense of urgency. Her sadistic father could be torturing Jami this minute. “Shouldn’t they be scrambling the jets or something?” Stein gave her a nervous half-chuckle, but his heart wasn’t in it. She’d only known the big man for a short time, but he’d always seemed to have a laugh ready, even in the worst possible situations. If she hadn’t have been looking right at him, she wouldn’t have seen the flash of agony that washed over his features. He looked away and silently began to make his way across the room. “Oh Christ,” she wailed. “They’re not going after him, are they?” Stein’s back stiffened, and he slowed to a halt. The expansive room suddenly seemed much smaller as she focused all of her energy on the back of his head, willing him to turn and face her. Telling him telepathically to say something. All she got was a barely visible movement. The slow shake of his head from side to side as he put one foot in front of the other and walked away.

  ★Chapter 15

  “Brandt!”

  Someone blindsided her, making Greta finally take her eyes off the door Stein had disappeared through… How long ago? She didn’t know. “What the hell! Watch where you’re going.” She looked up and met a pair of emerald eyes. “Oh my God! Jen!”

  Jen wrapped her long arms around Greta’s neck and squeezed a little harder than necessary. “They told me you were here. Where the fuck have you been?”

  “Jen,” Greta squeaked, trying to push wind up her throat, “I’m dying here.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right.” Jen’s arms retracted slowly. “Sorry. But seriously, where the fuck have you been? I’ve been cooped up in this place for like a week, and no one will tell me anything. They won’t even give me a phone call. Isn’t it customary to give a prisoner a phone call? You look like shit. BTW.”

  “They’re not keeping you prisoner.” Greta moved to one of the stained couches and sat down.

  “Really,” Jen huffed, standing over her with her hands glued to her hips, “Coulda fooled me.”

  Greta set her elbows on her knees and laid her head in her shaking hands. She didn’t have the strength for this conversation right now. “It’s for your own safety.”

  “Geez, Brandt. You been drinking the Kool-Aid around here? That’s all anyone keeps telling me.”

  “It’s the truth.” Greta patted the cushion next to her, signaling Jen to take a seat. “It’s a long ass story.”

  Jen sat and sidled up to her, circling her shoulders with a toned arm. “Want to tell Jen about it?”

  Greta sobbed, her heart cracking inside her chest. “Mama’s dead.”

  “What? No,” her friend shrieked in her ear, adding her sobs to the chorus. Greta couldn’t do anything but nod. They hung their heads together, like they’d done over the years when Jen’s favorite cat had died or when Bobby Goldman had dumped Greta two days before homecoming. Their tears mingled as they fell, the droplets sliding down Greta’s arms and being absorbed into the frayed sofa cushions. Jen’s sobbing slowly decreased to a wet sniffle. “What happened?” Greta wasn’t really sure how to answer that question. Not without going down a long twisted path of shit she’d rather not talk about at the moment. She shook her head, and Jen nodded, knowing she’d spill everything sooner or later. “So who are these people? Where are we?”

  Greta sucked back a nose-full of snot and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “This is Fraktion. They’re like the CIA, I guess.”

  Jen looked around with a cocked eyebrow. “I guess their budget is worse.” Greta snorted, trying not to expel a load of mucus on her friend. Christ, she’d missed Jen.

  She ran a hand over the sofa’s worn arm. “I dunno. Maybe these are designer distressed.” Her voice cracked, and tears were still running down her face, but Jen didn’t seem to notice. She let out a hearty laugh and leaned back into the couch, sliding her hands behind her head. They fell into their easy way of talking about nothing in particular. Greta felt like a weight had been taken off of her, and when she looked into Jen’s smiling face as she told her about some designer who was boning his secretary, which was only scandalous because he was supposed to be gay, she felt almost normal again.

  ★ ★ ★

  “You should tell him what he wants to know,” a whispered voice came from Jami’s right. He opened his eyes to the oppressive glare of sunlight. Still fucking shining. As the first blinding rays had touched his skin this morning – he’d lost track of how long ago that was – a team of Takers had been dispatched to him. They cut away all of his clothes and erected a thick fabric screen between his body and the scorching rays of the sun. Brandt had soon followed with his questions, and he and his guards had been toying with him all morning. His body had been unable to heal itself from even the most minor cuts with the damnable bands around his throat and arms.

  Blood caked his chest. His face. He spat out a mouthful in the general direction of his new companion. “Why would I want to do that?”

  The young boy stepped into his field of vision, a wet cloth dangling from his fist. “He’ll kill you.”

  Jami narrowed his eyes at the boy, trying to get a good look at his face. Pale green irises stared back at him. Human. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m to clean you up. So you’re fresh for this afternoon.”

  “No. Why are you here? Brandt doesn’t keep humans.” The boy cast his gaze to the floor and bit his lip between his teeth. He wet the cloth again, even though it was still dripping, and came toward Jami, hand outstretched. The water was cool against his fevered skin, falling in shallow rivers down his chest from where the boy was clearing the blood away from the metal cuff encircling his neck. “Why are you here,” he repeated.

  “I li…live here,” the boy stammered, wiping his opposite hand across his forehead to clear away a thatch of thick black hair.

  “I lived here once too,” Jami sighed wistfully. “With my mother.”

  “My mother’s dead,” the boy huffed.

  “Mine is too.” Finally, he’d gotten the young pup’s attention. The boy stared at him, his hands wringing out the cloth into water that was now crimson with Jami’s blood. “What’s your name?” The boy shook his head and chewed his lip again. He dunked the rag in the water and moved on to Jami’s wrist. “Afraid to tell a dead man?” Jami chuckled, the pain of the movement spearing through him.

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Prove it.”

  The boy squared his shoulders. “I’m Gustav. Gus.”

  “Gus.” Jami rolled it around on his tongue. “Nice to meet you, I’m Jaromir.”

  “I know who you are. My fa… My master has told me all about you and your witch.”

  “My witch?” Jami gave a genuine laugh at that one, considering the boy with a canted glance. The hair was right. The features, similar.

  “The girl we had captive. She blasted the master with her magic and injured some of our men.”

  “She’s a feisty one, that one. Pretty too. Did you get a good look at her?”

  Gus shook his head and kicked at the stone floor with the toe of his shoe. “I stay in the kitchens. For the most part.”

  “Is that where your father works?”

  He shook his head again. “I don’t have a father,” he said somberly, his hand shaking a little as he scrubbed at Jami’s wrist.

  “An orphan? How terrible.” Jami tried to turn his head so he could see the boy better. He couldn’t be more than fifteen at the most. The last vestiges of prepubescence still hung on his features. “Your accent is strange. Have you always lived here?”

  Gus’s eyes darted back and forth within his sockets. “I’ve lived a lo
t of places.” The door creaked open and the boy startled, jumping back a few inches.

  “I bet you have,” Jami chuckled.

  “Get back to the kitchen,” one of Brandt’s guards hissed, a knife that was still caked with Jami’s blood clutched in the Taker’s hand. What a terrible way to treat a knife, he mused. Gus cast a wary glance at him over his shoulder as he grabbed his bowl of water and beat a hasty retreat. His gangly limbs tripping over themselves on the way out the door.

  “So,” Jami said, cocking his head in the boy’s direction, “That’s interesting.”

  The guard thumped him against the cheekbone with the hilt of his knife. “Stay away from that one,” he warned. Jami could feel a trail of blood trickling down from a new wound, the salt of it stinging his chapped lips. Very interesting.

  ★ ★ ★

  “Miss?”

  Greta shot to attention like she’d been struck by lightning, throwing out a fist and connecting with the soft give of someone’s gut. That someone dropped to the ground clutching said gut, and Greta felt a wave of guilt come over her sleep-addled brain. “OhmygodI’msosorry.” She bent down, nearly falling headlong over the edge of the sofa she’d been occupying. The guy on the floor put up a hand to stay her. Or keep her from doing any more damage.

  “I’m fine.” He wheezed an ‘I’m not fine’ breath, but Greta let it go.

  She pulled her legs up onto the sofa, ready to vault over the back if need be. Was he friend or foe? She hoped, if he was a friend, he was the kind of friend that would forgive being beaned in the gut by a half-asleep stranger. If he was foe, well then he got what he deserved. He made to get up from the dusty floor, and she put her hands out in full karate chop fashion, ready to knock him back the fuck down if he tried anything. “Who are you?” She didn’t really give him a chance to answer before she yelled the question a second time. Maybe she was just a little on edge.

  “I’m Frederick.” He held out a shaky hand toward her. “But everyone calls me Fredi.”

  She ignored it. “Well, what are you doing here, Fredi?”

  “Um. I work here. What are you doing here…” He left space for her to supply her name, but she ignored that too.

  “Stein brought me here.” Big Stein. Scary Stein. Stein, who will kick your ass if you look at me sideways, Stein.

  “Ah, so you’re the infamous Greta Brandt?”

  “Infamous,” she snorted. Right. He gave her an easy smile. His dark eyes lit behind sooty black lashes, and she couldn’t help but give him an appraising once over. He didn’t look like an ax murderer, but then, ax murderers rarely did. His features were boyish, but handsome. Not rugged, like Jami or Stein, but nice to look at all the same. He had a mop of black hair that dipped low over his eyebrows, casting one side of his face in shadow.

  Fredi coiled his long legs beneath him and rose slowly from the floor, watching Greta cautiously to see if she was going to deck him again. She honestly hadn’t decided yet. “Seems you’re all anyone talks about these days.” There wasn’t a hint of resentment or humor in his voice, just a simple statement of facts.

  “So you’re a Fraktioneer,” she chuffed, noting his long legs and tattooed forearms. The way his shirt rode snugly over carefully honed abs. She was starting to think Fraktion was some sort of front for a modeling competition. Bad Boy of the Year? Mister Dark and Deadly? “Do you have a tail too,” she found herself asking.

  He looked insulted. “Do I look like a troll to you?”

  “Stein’s a troll?” What? “Like a grind-your-bones-to-make-my-bread kind of troll?”

  “That’s giants.”

  “Wha?” Greta jumped so high at the sound of Stein’s gruff voice from behind her, she nearly shed her skin. She hadn’t heard a peep. How the hell did he do that?

  “Giants… Grind bones. Make bread. Trolls live under bridges and steal babies.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal. Which she would’ve believed, if the big man hadn’t looked like he was ready to take Fredi’s head off his shoulders. “Johansen,” he gritted as he inclined his head in the other man’s direction.

  “Stein,” Fredi returned, giving the troll – sweet Jesus - a matching nod. A silent pissing contest began to take shape around her, neither man willing to look away.

  Now, Fredi had some balls. Just to stand up to Stein’s glare took a steel set. She couldn’t deny that. But even though Greta wasn’t exactly Stein’s biggest fan at the moment, since he’d pretty much told her he was abandoning Jami to his own devices, she’d put her money on the big man in a fight. Any day of the week.

  She had a momentary lapse in judgment. Just long enough to consider how hot it would be to see the two duke it out. And to mentally fan herself. Where was Jen when she needed her? “Stein.” Trying to get his attention was like talking to an 80 year old at a rock concert. “Stein!” She stood, digging her feet into the wilting couch cushions and putting herself squarely between the two men. Her hands were cocked on her hips, and her best disapproving mother look was plastered across her face. “Okay, boys, that’s enough.” Stein grumbled underneath his breath as she turned her head in his direction with a raised eyebrow. She could hear Fredi cracking his knuckles behind her, but she ignored him. She literally had a bigger problem to deal with. “Where’s Jen?”

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  She rolled her eyes and pushed her fists against his chest. The troll finally stopped trying to peer around her and met her gaze. “Well, she was here a minute ago.”

  “She went to get dinner,” Fredi called from behind her, earning a scowl from Stein.

  “Well, dinner sounds great.” Her stomach growled loudly as she turned to glance back at a smiling Fredi. “Will you take me?”

  Stein stepped around the couch, putting himself between her and the other man. “Later, Greta,” he grumbled. “Deacon wants to speak with you.” She took Fredi’s sharp inhale as a sign that this was probably either a great honor. Or she was in deep, deep shit.

  “Who’s Deacon?”

  “Head of Fraktion. Big cheese.” Stein shrugged. Again. She preferred the big man’s other personality to this macho thing he had going on.

  “Fine,” she said, stepping down off the couch and craning her neck up to look back and forth between the two men. The staring contest started back up the minute she did. Men, she huffed. She felt so small down here. Insignificant. She put her palm on Stein’s muscled bicep to get his attention, squeezing a little when he didn’t respond right away. “Let’s go.” With an aggressive puff of breath, Stein gave Fredi one last look that seemed to say they’d take this up again later, then he put his big hand on Greta’s shoulder and led her from the room, leaving a steaming Fredi behind. “What the hell was all that about,” she mumbled rhetorically as the swinging doors creaked closed behind them.

  She didn’t expect him to answer. The Fraktion boys weren’t exactly the most forthcoming group of people. So when Stein groused, “He shot me a few months ago,” she nearly stopped dead in her tracks. He didn’t seem to notice, heading off at a fast clip down the hallway.

  “He… Shot you?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “Said it was an accident. That I got in his way.” But he was shaking his head, and she couldn’t help but mirror the movement. “You shouldn’t trust him.”

  “Got it,” she said on a heaved breath, trying to keep up with his long legged strides. He was wound so tightly, she was afraid she’d have to start sprinting to stay with him. “Anyone who says they didn’t see your big ass in their line if sight can’t be trusted.” He slowed a little, turning to shoot her a warning glare. “What? You’re like the broad side of a damn barn.”

  He snuffed a chuckle through his nose. “You’re such a pain in my ass.”

  “Well, I’d try to be a pain in the neck, but I can’t reach any higher.” She grinned, trying to break the tension between them. Was she still mad at him? Yes. But he was also the only ally she had in this place. She didn’t
really want to be on his bad side. He chucked her gently on the cheek with his knuckles as they rounded a corner and came to a severe set of steel doors. Two guards stood to either side, each one almost as big as Stein and armed to the teeth. Christ. They sure knew how to pick them.

  Each guard nodded to Stein and gave Greta a good once over. “You can go in,” one said, and Stein responded with a nod. His palm pressed on the small of her back, signaling her to move forward.

  As they stepped closer to the door, the troll leaned down, his lips just inches from Greta’s ear. The whisper of his breath tickled against her neck. “Don’t say anything stupid,” he warned, “Just answer his questions then keep quiet.” She nodded, feeling him separate himself from her as they stepped around the massive doors. Stein took up position behind her and slightly to the side, standing stock still with his feet apart and his hands clasped behind his back.

  She took a shaky step forward and walked in the direction of a utilitarian metal desk that looked like it was a left over from the Second World War. As did the man, sitting in a matching metal chair. His pale hair was trimmed short and neatly combed with an arrow straight side part. Slim spectacles were perched on his hawkish nose, and he was looking down intently, though she knew he knew she was there. He was ignoring her for effect. She spared a glance over her shoulder at Stein, who was effectively ignoring her as well. Something in the back of her mind roared, demanding attention. “So, you’re the bastard who’s leaving Jami – Ragnarsson - out there to die?” She slammed her palms down on the edge of the desk, the impact reverberating up through her arms. “I’m Greta. Nice to fucking meet you.”