NECROSIS (Nerys Newblood Book 2)
Page 17
“Jolene’s in a pinch,” I say slowly. “Seems she’s made a deal she can’t make good on and she’s borrowed a bit too much. Tanks are gonna be sending their boys after her real soon if she can’t pay up.”
“That little bitch wants money?!” Richie’s face is redder than spilled blood, eyes bulging out of his head. The bell at the front door dings as two new patrons enter.
I shrug. “It’s either that or let the Tanks have her.”
It wouldn’t be a pretty sentence. Of the many gangs that fill the streets of Tartarus, Tanks are among the worst. They’re known for their brutish looks and cruelty towards women, especially women who can’t pay back their loans and interest. Only the desperate would even chance going to those murderers for a loan. If or when they got ahold of Jolene, she’d be sold to make up for their losses and if no one wanted to buy her...well, black market organs had to come from somewhere. Sucks, but it’s the way of life on Tartarus.
“Dammit,” Richie curses. “Give me my money back, bitch! I ain’t paying for that whore daughter o’ mine.”
I step back with a scowl as he reaches for me. “Not happening,” I snap with force. I learned well enough from Kida that to be a woman in this world, you can’t be afraid of standing up for yourself and making a few people angry. Richie would never even think of demanding his money back if I were a man. “You wanted the message. You got it. That’s what you paid for. No refunds.”
“Hey, yo!” a masculine voice calls over my shoulder distracting Richie for only a moment. He scowls at the newcomer once before returning his attention to me.
“I want my money back,” he repeats.
“Too fucking bad,” I say, stuffing it down the front of my shirt and into my bra cup. “You want it back, you’ll have to earn it.”
His eyes widen, before his face slowly morphs into a relaxed, smug grin, showing a row of dirty, rotted teeth. The sight leaves me feeling more than a little uneasy. “Ya a bettin’ girl then, are ya?” he asks.
I pause, narrowing my eyes. I hadn’t exactly meant it like that, but his tone of voice suggests that there’s something he’s talking about that I don’t know. I hate not knowing. “I’m a winning girl,” I clarify, pursing my lips.
“Well then, I bet I got something your pretty little eyes will wanna wager on.” Richie reaches behind him and pulls out a classic Smith and Wesson revolver and places the firearm on the bar top. My eyes widen.
“Where the hell did you get that?” I demand a bit breathlessly. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. My eyes shoot left and right, noting that we’ve caught a few interested onlookers and I press myself closer out of instinct. There’s no fucking way this thing is real.
Guns are hard and dangerous to come by. Only enforcers are technically allowed to have them. When Arawn and its four under-cities had been launched into the skies with the last of humankind, nongovernmental weapons such as guns were forbidden from being brought on board. Of course, there were still people who disregarded that declaration; the evidence sat right in front of me.
It’s old, dirty, and probably wouldn’t fire worth shit if its owners for the past several hundred years hadn’t taken care of it, but still, the hunk of metal is a thing of beauty. I want it so much my hands itch to take it. I try to beat back the desire in my eyes that I’m sure Richie can see.
Is it worth it? I ask myself. If I’m caught with contraband like a gun in my possession, I’d be sent back to a sky village below the great cities. I might never be allowed back on Tartarus. And if I’m not allowed back on Tartarus, there’s no way I’d be able to make it to the other cities or to find Kida. And I have to find the only person who’s ever given a shit about me, without exception.
Just having the gun will make others wary of me. Even if I have to dump it on someone else, it’ll be a great bargaining tool. For the love of humanity, it could be my ticket off Tartarus! It could be Kida’s ticket too! The money I’d get from selling it alone would be enough to get a ticket to any of the other cities and it might even jump start a new life.
“Hey, Rich! I got a favor to ask!” The same voice from before interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to the rude bar patron only to glare up at a gruff, pale face. I blink, startled; he’s a lot taller than I expected with big, brown eyes and a head of curly, dark hair that stops an inch or so above his shoulders.
Doesn’t matter, I snap at myself. He’s ruining a possible deal.
“Back off,” I practically growl at the guy before turning back to Richie. “Now, tell me, where’d you get it?”
“Who pissed in your slop?” the guy behind me mutters, but I ignore it.
Richie’s grin widens. “I’ll tell ya. For a challenge.” I debate with myself once more. Revolvers are easy to use—simple pea shooters. Point and shoot. Firearms are illegal for common citizens, but that doesn’t mean much here in Tartarus.
“You want your damn money back?” I ask. “Fine. The revolver for the fee.”
“I ain’t givin’ ya this beauty here fer no pocket change,” Richie scoffs.
“What’s going on here?” I almost growl as the damn annoying curly haired man from before inserts himself yet again. I snarl his way and slip a hand into my coat pocket for my switchblade. “Whoa, nice piece there, man!” His eyes run over the revolver with interest.
I curse as several of the interested eyes from before move closer “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say loudly, leaning forward, tugging my hand out of my coat pocket sans knife, to cover the revolver. Richie yanks the gun out of my reach before I can even brush my fingers across the metal barrel. I don’t blame him. Most people in this city are thieves whether they’ve got honest work or not. Most people were raised that might makes right.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Richie wags a finger at me dramatically. A muscle ticks in my eye. Is he trying to draw a crowd? He firmly tucks the gun away in the back of his waistband. “That ain’t how ya go after what ya want.”
“Rich,” the stranger says, trying to catch the bar owner’s attention again.
Richie turns to the man and sighs. “I’ll talk to ya in a bit, Thayer. Let me deal with business first, eh?” The man nods before stepping back, though he continues to linger, curiously watching the exchange.
“Alright,” I say, giving in. “How much?”
Richie smiles, reaching across the bar to snatch an apple from a burly leather skinned man. The man stares, debating whether it’s worth a fight before Richie slams a beer in front of him. The words “on the house” has him nodding and walking away with a tall glass of piss-colored liquid without batting another eye. Richie tosses the apple in the air before catching it again and rubbing it on his shirt to clean it for a big bite.
“Ya gonna pay whatever I ask?” he asks as he chews.
“If you’ll tell me what you’re damn well asking,” I say through gritted teeth. “I might.” His grin widens as he reaches under the counter and pulls a big bottle of clear moonshine out from under the bar. I blink at the full forearm sized bottle, glancing between him and the firewater.
“If ya can outlast me, it’s all yours. If ya can’t, I get my money back, I keep the revolver, and I get to take a shot at ya with it. Deal?”
“Rich, she’s just a girl. There’s no way–”
This, I can handle. “Deal,” I snap, interrupting the man—Thayer, Richie had called him. I turn my glare on him as Richie smirks and reaches back under the counter for two shot glasses.
Thayer is tall, broad shouldered, and looks like he belongs in the underground fight ring that meets every so often in the basements of various pod complexes. Just last month, I had stumbled upon one several floors down from my own pod. There’s no denying that this man is gorgeous, and his dark, synthetic-coffee, brown eyes are sharp too. There’s no dull haze from intoxication or stressed irises from the addies—too many users end up with that stressed out, hollow look. He’s so far from hollow, he’s practically vibrating with vitality.
With that ever-present smirk of his, he knows he’s beautiful and just for that, I glare all the harder as I take my seat at the bar and slam back the first shot Richie hands me. His eyes widen when I don’t even flinch as the burning liquid scorches a path down my throat.
“Maybe I should keep you two company,” he says slowly as he slides onto the stool next to mine.
“Fine by me,” I reply. I’m not going to let him distract me, I tell myself as Richie leans over and takes his own shot. The older man blinks once before refilling both of our shot glasses.
“What’s your name?”
I suck back another mouthful of clear alcohol before answering. “Depends on who’s asking.”
Thayer watches as Richie takes his next shot and I take mine. The more I drink, the easier it goes down. But there’s a reason this type of alcohol is called firewater; nothing can erase the hard bite to the liquor’s taste or the acidic aftertaste that lingers on the walls of my mouth and throat.
“Thayer Stone.” He holds out his hand.
I shake my head and swallow more firewater. “Then I’m no one,” I say after a breath.
He drops his hand when it becomes obvious I’m not going to take it. The remaining grin on his face only deepens.
“And why’s that?” he inquires, lips twitching in amusement.
“Because,” I slam back a shot and so does Richie, wobbling a bit as he stands across from me, murky eyes glaring, “you’re a little bit too cocky and I don’t like cocky.” I grip the edge of the bar top.
“How did I say–” He breaks off, shaking his head as I slap my shot glass back onto the counter with more force than necessary. “Never mind.”
Swallowing against the numb muscles in my throat, I feel the churning alcohol in my stomach. A glance at the bottle tells me we’re almost at the halfway point. Richie curses after his next shot and yanks a bar stool around to the other side of the counter before collapsing onto it.
“How ya doin’ over there, Rich?” I blink furiously as spots of light and dark blurs dance in front of my eyes.
“Ja’ fine.” Richie pauses, leaning into the bar top, wavering even on his stool as he attempts to formulate his next words. He mouths them slowly before they come out clipped at each end as he over enunciates each to keep from sounding as drunk as he is. “Take. Your. Shot.”
“What’s going on?” The low modulated voice comes from a blonde intruder. I suck back another mouthful, my eyes watering as I hold it on my tongue for a second before swallowing.
The newcomer sidles up next to Thayer, hazel eyes bouncing between Richie and me. Thayer turns slightly, keeping the both of us in his sights as Richie downs another shot. I pray to the universe that he’ll pass out soon. I’m not so sure how much more I can take. Thayer says something to the newcomer and I blink because whatever he says is lost to me. I can’t hear him. In fact, I can’t hear anything anymore. Not Richie choking on his next shot, not a bar patron—who had been watching quietly from several seats down reach for the glass bottle with barely any alcohol left. And certainly not the scanner on my wrist alerting me to nearby enforcers. The next shot is my last.
Sky Cities series
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Sky Cities Series
Heart of Tartarus
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About the Author
USA Bestselling Author, Lucy Smoke is most known for her Iris Boys series. She is a self-proclaimed creative schizophrenic that suffers from a severe case of wanderlust.
You can find her either hanging out with her dog in the Southern United States or planning her next trip abroad.
Lucy is a writer of dark romance, new adult and young adult romance, and various other sub-genres therein. Her main writing focus is on various forms of romance. She loves to experiment with her characters and storylines.
If you want to know more, check out Lucy Smoke’s website at www.lucysmoke.com
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