by Amy Braun
The marauder’s face shot into my mind, and his screams echoed like ghosts in my ears. Guilt stabbed into me. If the pistol hadn’t been empty, would I have been able to save him? Would he have let me? I should have at least warned him.
Reason overrode my regret.
He wouldn’t have listened to you. He’d have attacked you. Brutalized you. Fletcher would be furious if you failed the job. You protected yourself. Dead men don’t need power.
I was good at lying to people. I was even better at lying to myself.
Chapter 2
After The Storm hit, Spruce Tailor shop was my first choice for hiding. I’d been poor before the Hellions began ravaging Westraven and Aon, the country beyond, so I knew the streets. I robbed men and women blind until I was fifteen, long after my father had been murdered in a street brawl and my mother went missing. Spruce was central to everything I needed––restaurants, mechanic shops, main streets, manhole covers if I needed to escape from the surface all together.
The two story brown brick building boasted a forest green roof and matching door, a pleasant, defiant contrast against the blinding white that most of Westraven’s buildings used to have. The shop sold suits and dresses, most of which I used as spare clothes when I couldn’t wash mine. Some of the thicker material could be used for blankets when winter hit.
The upper floors once belonged to the shop owner and his wife, who was the seamstress for the store. Thinking about George and Allison always put a twinge of pain in my heart. When I was an orphaned street rat, they were kind to me. Offering me small coins or extra food, so I never stole from or for them.
The memory of dragging their lifeless bodies out of the shop when the Hellions killed them always cut straight into my heart.
Still, I couldn’t turn away from Spruce. Not when it had dozens of curtains and blankets to hide behind, a warm bed, easy access to the roof, and was relatively intact. It was a place where I could feel safe.
Or, that was what I thought before I noticed the front door to the shop was open. I paused at the front entrance and frowned.
I never left the door open like this. Spruce was mine, and if the door was open, then thieves, survivors, or marauders had welcomed themselves in.
Or my employer, the last man I wanted to see right now.
Not knowing who––or what––was in my home meant I couldn’t waltz through the front door. I glanced at the two caved in apartments on either side of Spruce. Their top halves had been cleaved off in a diagonal slash, the edges of the windows permanently blackened from old fires. There were a few survivors living in those buildings, but we never crossed paths. They knew who I worked for, and avoided me at all costs.
Trudging through the water that was nearly up to my shins, I vowed to beat the stuffing out of whoever invaded my home. I was tired, sore, soaked, cold, starving, and now I could add cranky to the list. The last thing I wanted to do was get into a fight with some selfish bastard who didn’t know what a closed door meant.
Then again, maybe that was exactly what I needed to clear my mood.
I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite.
I walked to the apartment building on the right and shoved open the door. Water sloshed around my ankles and swept into the lobby. I sighed, dreading the mess I would find when I kicked the intruder out of my house. So much for dry clothes and makeshift blankets.
The lobby was pitch black, the sloshing water around my ankles booming the only sound. I dragged myself onto the stairs, but the trek was exhausting with all the water weighing on my clothes like lead. The railing had been torn out of the wall at some point, so I used my hands to paw at the wall and made my way up to the third level.
I left the corridor and finally stood in the hallway, panting to catch my breath. Rain water drizzled from my clothes on to a floor that smelled like moldy carpet. Dim beams of stormy light came from the open or broken doors on either side of the hall. I started to the left, glancing at them as I passed.
Planks and boards were nailed to the walls inside the apartments, a hastily built defense in case Hellions ever chose to raid the buildings. They liked to watch their prey from the Behemoth, able to see them with clarity before they began their hunt, but they weren’t opposed to random scavenging.
I fought back a shiver when I thought about the Hellions who hunted me tonight, the ones who killed the marauder. I assured myself that I was safe. Even if the Hellions figured out I wasn’t in the library, the raging storm was too strong for them to sense and track me. I hadn’t seen any other skiffs descend, so for now, I was safe. I wouldn’t stay that way for long, but what was life without some danger and adventure?
A safe one.
Stomping on the mushy carpet to ignore that naive voice, I made my way to the window at the far end of the hall. No survivors came out to see who was barging through their territory. I grabbed the bottom of the window and thrust it up, the icy wind and slashing rain greeting me again. I scowled back and slipped outside. Still nothing from the apartments behind me. The people who lived here were smart.
Crouching on the ledge of the window, I reached down and grabbed the grappling hook I’d nailed beneath it. None of the apartment’s residents knew it was here since none of them ever used this exit. It was too close to me, and my associates.
Roughly jerking the rope to make sure it was secure, I hauled it up until I had the grappling hook in hand. I knelt on one knee and glanced at the apartment ten feet away. A patch of the green roof was stripped off, and would lead me into the main hallway. It might give me a clue about who was in my house. I twirled the grappling hook in my hand, then glanced at the sky.
The Behemoth sat immobile in the clouds. I cringed when lighting crashed behind it, reminding me too much of the tempest that came with The Storm and the Hellion’s invasion. Clouds like smoke, lightning like daggers, and thunder like a god’s scream ripped open the sky, bringing the Hellions with it.
This thunderstorm was nothing compared to the one from eight years ago, but knowing that wouldn’t chase the nightmares away. I doubted anything would.
Pushing away the memories threatening to clog my mind, I waited for the thunder. Moments later, a bone-shattering thunderclap detonated through the sky. It startled me so fiercely I almost lost concentration. But rather than slip off the ledge or lose my grip on the rope, I hurled the grappling hook onto the eaves trough under the roof. It connected with a sharp clang concealed by the thunder and stretched the rope tacked to the wall tautly.
As the thunder rumbled into angry silence, I tugged the rope sharply. Satisfied that it would hold my weight, I slipped down, grabbed the rope, and began to slide my way across it.
I moved quickly, not wanting to let myself dangle more than necessary. The rope still felt secure from the nailing I’d set under the ledge, but I didn’t want to think about how secure it really was. How one day the rope would just collapse, and let me fall to a bone-shattering death.
Luckily, I made it to the roof and hauled myself up, reaching under the overflowing trough to pry the grappling hook free. I let it swing back to rest against the apartment behind me, not caring that it just hung there. No one would bother looking for it. If they did, there would be consequences coming from my fists.
Twisting around, I crawled up to the roof and peered through the jagged hole torn into it.
There didn’t seem to be anyone in the hallway. I slithered around the roof, checking all angles and trying to see anything, even a shadow. I couldn’t see any better when the lightning erupted behind me, so that left me with only one choice––jump down and take the threat head on.
Good thing I was looking for a fight.
As soon as the next round of thunder bellowed, I swung my legs forward and jumped into the apartment floor of shop.
I landed in a crouch, one hand immediately falling onto my belt and grabbing the hilt of my knife, just as a man left my bedroom and entered the hallway.
I didn’t think about who he was.
I didn’t care. I rolled in his direction and snapped out my leg. My ankle hooked his and I tugged, jerking him off balance. I sprang onto his chest, grabbing his dark hair and pushing my knife against his throat. My eyes narrowed with recognition as he grimaced.
“Tyler,” I snarled. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to enter a lady’s bedroom without her permission?”
His growl matched mine. “You’re no lady, Gemma. You’re just a bitch.”
He swung his fist to punch me, but I knocked his hand away and pushed the knife deeper into his throat, drawing a line of blood.
“The options are explain or apologize, Ty. Think carefully before you talk again.”
“Gemma,” another voice said.
My hand didn’t move, but my body froze. Damn it, damn it, damn it!
“Get off of him.”
I would much rather have continued bruising Tyler’s ego––and his face––but Fletcher wasn’t the kind of man you ignored if you wanted your head to stay on your shoulders.
Keeping my eyes on Tyler the entire time, I stood up and backed away from the engineer-turned-thug. Tyler shot to his feet, arching his arm back to hit me. I kicked him between the legs instead.
Tyler shrieked in pain and cupped himself, instantly making the night a little better.
I wanted to push my luck, but my arms were suddenly and roughly grabbed by two men who appeared from behind me. I glanced at both of them––the thick-necked, scarred face of Boyd on my right, and the leering, wandering blue gaze of Morris on my left. Morris pressed his body too close to mine, his knuckles brushing the sides of my breast. I pinned him with a warning glare, but he just laughed and pulled me into the bedroom.
Standing with his back to the smoky window, wearing a ratty and stained gray dress coat, was a man who didn’t look nearly as threatening as his guards. He didn’t have the lean size or sharp temper of Tyler, wasn’t the behemoth size of Boyd, and didn’t have the lecherous tastes of Morris. With his wire thin frame, thin blond hair, warm brown eyes, and welcoming smile, Fletcher Devlin looked harmless. When he took me in off the streets and offered me a future, I thought of him as a stepfather. Someone to look after me and shelter me after all I had lost.
I wasn’t always the best judge of character.
“Gemma,” Fletcher crooned. “You know better than to hurt your brother like that.”
I was about to blurt my retort that Tyler was my brother like a spider was a brother to a fly, but held my tongue.
“Apologize to him.”
My restraint didn’t last long. “I’d rather kiss a Hellion.”
Fletcher sighed and shook his head. Lightning quick, he crossed my room and slapped me across the face. Pain exploded in my cheek, the strike loud enough to rival the thunder outside. My head snapped to the right, and I heard Morris chuckle.
Bony fingers dug into my hair and twisted sharply. Fletcher wrenched my face to his. Disappointment filled his formerly lifeless brown eyes.
“Gemma, I’ve told you repeatedly. You must obey my wishes. You must respect your brothers. You are new to my family, but this doesn’t make you exempt. It doesn’t make you special. Do you understand?”
A thousand words of defiance formed in my head. True, I’d only been with Fletcher and his group for six months, my “brothers” boasting five years or more, but it wasn’t fair that I was picked on, probably because I was the only girl, and the smallest and greenest of the group. I should have left ages ago.
But where else are you going to go? Who else would want you around? Fletcher would find you and bring you back. You got yourself into this, Gemma. You have to deal with it. Your life isn’t going to get better than this.
Fletcher pulled my hair again, forcing my head back. I winced at the pain.
“Tell me you understand.”
“I…” I want to kick you in the balls right now. “I understand.”
“Good girl.” He released my hair. Patted it into place. “Now, apologize to Tyler.”
He beckoned my “brother” over to his side. Tyler appeared like the obedient dog he was. If he was still in pain––and I damned hoped he was––I couldn’t tell. There was too much rage on his face.
“Tyler…” I would rather eat glass than talk to you. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t put any effort into sounding apologetic.
He snarled and lunged for me again. Fletcher put his hand on the taller man’s shoulder and held him in place.
“She apologized, Tyler. Now she’s going to share her findings with us.”
He nodded to Morris and Boyd to let me go. Boyd dropped my arm like it was on fire, while Morris stroked the side of my breast with painful slowness. I narrowed my eyes on him, though his gaze was glued to my chest.
“Touch me again,” I warned, “and you won’t piss straight for a week.”
That got Morris’s attention. His head snapped up, eyes going wide, like he was realizing I had a face for the first time.
“Gemma.”
I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Fletcher’s punishment again, so I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the electron-cell. Fletcher eyed it with hunger, snatching it from my hands and opened it like it contained the secrets of life.
He dropped the black box on the ground and held up what looked like a rectangular battery. Four flat connectors sat on the top, naked without wires to wrap around them. I didn’t know a lot about electron-cells––to me, engineering was about as interesting as a brick wall––but they were hard to find. I figured it acted like a generator. Strap it to an electric source, turn it on, and you had enough power to keep you warm or to power some kind of device.
Fletcher wasn’t an Electrician, but as the former intelligence complier for Westraven’s once glorious military––the Sky Guard––he was ambitious, and quite pleased.
“Well done, Gemma. I’m proud of you.”
My chest hurt. Those were words I’d wanted to hear again for so long, but they seemed hollow. Was it because Fletcher’s approval was false, or because I was ashamed of myself for stealing from a man who’d been brutally murdered while I ran?
“What happened to the mark?” he asked absently, still focusing on the electron-cell. No doubt it would be used to create a lure for any survivors looking for shelter. Fletcher didn’t talk much about his past, but I made my own assumptions. That he’d been isolated and stepped on for his entire career with the Sky Guard. He was ignored and alone. Now that the Sky Guard had been wiped out by the Hellions, it was his chance to rebuild his spy network. To create his own family.
Two birds, one stone, and a smiling trapper.
“Hellions,” I answered. Fletcher didn’t avert his gaze. “He’s dead.”
Not so much as a blink.
“Good,” he muttered. “That means he won’t come looking for it. One less marauder to wreck havoc on our lives.”
I wasn’t exactly thrilled at his remarks, especially since I could still hear the man’s screams as his flesh was stripped from his bones, his blood becoming wine for the Hellions, but I wasn’t a fan of marauders. It was said they were the reason the Hellions had broken out of the veil between our worlds––the Breach––and attacked us in the first place. It was a rumor I believed.
Pushing away old horrors, I took a deep breath and scraped up as much confidence as I could.
“It’s good to see you, Fletcher,” I glanced at the three men with him, “all of you. But why are you here?”
Fletcher flicked his dark eyes from the electron-cell. His hands stilled, and I swear the temperature fell to freezing.
“It’s been so long since you’ve seen your family, Gemma. Did you ever think I brought us here to see how you’re faring?” He glanced at the peeling wallpaper and broken roof. “You deserve better than this.” He nodded to my bed, nothing more than a lumpy mattress covered in torn, rumpled fabric. “I can’t imagine you’re comfortable here.”
“You can share my bed,” Morris rumbled. I slid my eyes
to him and his yellow smile. “Bare skin will keep us warm.”
“Morris, the only time we’ll share skin is when my fist connects with your face.”
His eyes widened again. Good to know he was getting the picture.
“Gemma.” Fletcher was starting to sound impatient. “I want you to come home.”
And that was it. The thing I couldn’t do. Deep down, I knew what Fletcher was. A liar and manipulator tempting me with a sense of belonging. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted his disarming smile and sweet promises from the outset, but I’d been too scared to live on the streets alone.
Though I also knew what would happen if I ever went to his home again.
Fletcher wanted a family to replace the one he never had. He wanted fresh “sons” happy and strong.
I was the only girl he could find.
“I’m not ready, Fletcher,” I said. “I need more time.” To figure out how I can get away from you.
A sad look came over his face and I shrank back. Fletcher was temperamental and unpredictable. I had no idea if he was going to cry, complain, or punch me. With him, anything was possible.
“Give me another job,” I offered quickly. “There must be something else I can do… For now.”
His eyes brightened like exploding stars. Why did I have to open my big mouth?
“As a matter of fact, there is.”
He smiled and put his hand on my shoulder, drawing me closer. My feet dragged and my head screamed for me to run, but I let him pull me into an embrace and stroke my hair. I balled my fists until my nails pinched my skin and tried not to shake.
“You are important to me, Gemma. A key member of my family. I trust you, which is why I know you won’t fail me now.”
I drew back, but Fletcher’s hand clamped on the back of my neck, ensuring I couldn’t run. He smiled with cold affection, leading me over to the bed and sitting me down. He stroked the back of my neck with his thumb, sending icy shivers down my spine.
“There are two men who’ve been taking scrap metal from the industrial district and the Junkyards,” he said. “They’ve encountered all sorts of trouble, from Junkers to marauders, even Hellions. And they continue to walk away from their battles.”