Shadow Fray

by Bradley Lloyd

The next instant, pain. The cold press of a gun against his injured temple. Shit.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” Scarecrow said, driving the gun painfully into the knot on Justin’s head.

  “There’s two reasons right behind you, asshole. One of them is cocked.” The click of a gun’s hammer filled the church. “The other one is me.”

  Oh God. The voice. It was Gin.

  Justin was paralyzed. He saw Gin standing with her gun leveled at Scarecrow. Scarecrow turned to look but kept his gun hard against Justin’s skull.

  “I’m guessing from the striking family resemblance, this must be your sister,” he said, looking back down to Justin.

  “Fuck off,” Justin rasped. In no position to make demands, the words were unfortunately feeble—a cliché for the powerless.

  Scarecrow’s eyes showed the smile under his mask. He didn’t appear afraid. He’d even taken his eyes off Gin. “Your brother here is the one in the habit of killing his handlers,” Scarecrow continued. “To be quite honest with you, I don’t think you have the balls to pull the trigger.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Justin’s never killed anyone in his life.” It was her turn to smile, while Scarecrow’s smile appeared to be fading. Perhaps he read in Justin’s look that she would do this. Had done it before. Even through the mask, Justin saw the dawning of fear.

  “Gin—” Justin said. Just the warning, pleading, in saying her name. This situation was insane, and he couldn’t think it through. But he needed her safe. Would do anything.

  “If I don’t kill him now,” Scarecrow spoke in a more pacified voice, “he still belongs to me. It can happen another time. You can’t always protect your brother. So why don’t you just shoot me now?”

  The silence stretched. The smile never left Gin’s face, but she also didn’t have anything to say. She didn’t make a move. So Justin did. Scarecrow had to be bluffing. He shifted to stand, but Scarecrow jammed the gun into his temple, forcing him to stay put.

  “You stay,” Scarecrow said and then turned to Gin. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “Your brother needs me. Without me he’s out of the game. Not to mention they’d come after him if I disappeared. Handlers can’t keep showing up dead. I can always get other fighters. The truth is, you need me a whole lot more than I need you.”

  “I know,” Gin said. Her tone of voice was unwavering, like she wasn’t intimidated by this revelation at all—like she had planned for it. “That’s why I have a proposal for you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Every time my brother loses a Fray, you get to fuck me.”

  Justin felt as still as the statue at his feet, feeling broken into just as many pieces.

  Scarecrow laughed as though truly amused. “What makes you think I’d wanna? As beautiful as you are, I can buy beauty, and the kind I buy won’t have a cunt like a steel trap. You’re a fuckin’ psycho bitch if you think I’d get near you.”

  Gin raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t finish,” she said. “Every time my brother loses, you get to fuck me… without a condom.”

  “Gin—don’t.” Justin pushed the words through gritted teeth. But she wouldn’t look at him, keeping her eyes on Scarecrow. Determined.

  “I menstruate,” she said, “so I’m fertile. I’m guessing whatever you buy won’t let you put it in ’em like that. Ever thought of being a father? Ever want some part of you to live on when your miserable little life is snuffed off the face of the dying planet?”

  She paused, her words like gravity, before going on. “What I’m offering you isn’t just a fuck. It’s a chance for immortality. Men kill for it.”

  Scarecrow paused a long minute, considering. Why would he of all people even think about—

  “Gin, stop!” Justin said, desperation helping him find his true voice. “He’s not gonna fuckin’ kill me. I had Black Jim. I had him. You don’t need to do this.”

  Scarecrow finally removed his mask. He put away the gun, and Justin saw a smile spread across his face. No.

  He’d pushed Scarecrow over the edge. Scarecrow would agree. Justin should have kept his damn mouth shut.

  Justin looked away to the floor, the broken stone angel, the puddle of holy water.

  “How do I know you’re not on the pill?” Scarecrow asked Gin.

  “They make blood tests. I’ll take one.”

  “And how do I know you’re clean?”

  “You don’t, except that I have never had unprotected sex in my life. I don’t care to get sick. And honestly, between the two of us, I’d say you’re far more likely to be a carrier.”

  “I don’t want to raise a baby with you.”

  “You think I want to raise one with you? Hell no. If I get pregnant, it’s yours.”

  “Starting tonight.”

  “Starting tonight.” Her voice was steady and strong.

  Justin looked up at his sister, pleading with his eyes. Don’t do this. It’s not too late. But she’d put her gun away and wasn’t looking at him.

  Scarecrow returned her gaze, their eyes locked. “You’ll meet me four days after sex at the train station in Racine for a follow-up test. I don’t want you taking an after pill.”

  Gin frowned. “Fine.”

  “And you expect me to do all this for the chance at having a kid?”

  “Do what you want. I won’t be crying any tears if I don’t have to fuck you. I’ll just collect my brother and go.”

  In his frozen mind, a glimmer of hope. This was crazy. It wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t happen.

  But then Scarecrow flashed his yellowed teeth in a smile, his wide eyes like a predator’s. “Your place or mine, sweetheart?”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. We do it right here, in the church, but first we get my brother to the car.”

  Justin tried not to drag his feet as they carried him out. Time and distance couldn’t be measured in steps. All the pain and fog were back, but he didn’t care. He willed his body to shut down, to stop feeling, but crouching into the car was still an exercise in agony.

  “I’ll be back in five minutes,” Gin said to him as she closed the passenger door. With numb fingers Justin finally removed his mask.

  Black Jim may have beaten him, but this was far worse. Now he had truly lost.

  LEANING BACK against his bike, Hale bent forward just far enough to pour another bottle of water over his head. He reveled in the shocking coolness of the water as it ran across his aching face, but in a few seconds, the pain was back full force. He threw the bottle aside, hearing it rebound against the cement foundation to settle with the other debris. He was under a roof in an old garage, away from any drones that might be making low patrols in the darkness. He hadn’t heard any, but his attention was not on his surroundings.

  He gingerly pressed a fresh white cloth to his face. The black makeup was only a good idea if he could make it through a fight relatively unscathed. The rubbing was agonizing. The cloth came away more red than black. Damn. He was probably going to need a couple stitches.

  Christ, that kid had done a number on him. The Visitor’s hands were like pistons, landing punch after punch in dizzying succession. Hale had to admit the kid’s hands were faster than his own, at least tonight. He had underestimated him. He grabbed another bottle of water from his saddlebag and wet another cloth, which he put around his neck. He’d be surprised if he had any range of motion at all tomorrow. As it was he could barely look from side to side.

  His ribs ached with every breath he took, his wounds still leaking with the unavoidable rise and fall of his chest. He forced himself to carefully drink the remainder of the water in the bottle before tossing it aside. He took out two more cloths—his last two. He held one to his face and one at his side to stanch the flow of blood.

  Shouldn’t he be pissed? Scared? Someone had come after him with a weapon. It was difficult to work things out when he’d taken so thorough of a beating. Maybe a punch had broken his brain muscles.

  The trut
h was, though, he couldn’t help feeling a little grateful.

  The Visitor could have hurt him a lot more than he had. The guy could have gone for Hale’s face but went for his ribs instead. He’d tipped his hand, so to speak. Hale’s disarming moves had been pretty genius, but removing the glove could have been a lot more difficult. The kid hadn’t fought it.

  So Hale wasn’t furious—he was intrigued. No, he was fucking exhilarated. He felt like he was coming down from a high, and he missed the pull of adrenaline, the way it had made him feel hypervigilant, the sudden bursts of energy like a stimulant in his veins.

  But it wasn’t just the adrenaline that had been stimulating. He thought of the kid struggling against him, on top of him, underneath him. Even now it had his blood rushing.

  The real drug had been the closeness of the kid’s body to his own. Images of the fight came back to him, their bodies wrapped together, pressed together, bleeding, sweating, and intermingling.

  His skin prickled, a pleasing sensation that penetrated the pain, as he pictured the kid’s body marked with streaks of black paint. The Visitor would bear a lot of other marks tomorrow too, no doubt, but Hale owed him. The kid had left claw marks on his ribs, probably on his bone. For that, Hale owed him teeth.

  He had the urge to bite him. Lick him. Taste him.

  Fuck him.

  He jumped as he heard heavy footsteps to his side and winced as he turned his head too quickly.

  “Easy man, it’s just me.” Benz. “Cameras are all down. I kept an eye on the kid like you said.”

  “Did he wake up?”

  “Yeah, he’s awake.”

  “Will he be okay?”

  “Well….”

  Hale’s pulse quickened. He felt sick. “I don’t know what came over me. It was like I couldn’t stop. I should have backed off at the end—”

  “No, no, no, Hale. The kid’ll be all right. You had to. You had to make a point. I meant he’d be better off without that hooded prick for a handler. Guy’s a real piece of work.”

  That was an understatement. Was the kid in trouble? But Hale rephrased his question for Benz. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t stick around for the whole thing, but I saw them leave. Why all the interest? And God, you look like shit.” The large man looked at the ground. “I’m sorry. I should have found it.”

  “Shut up, Benz. It’s not your fault. I was pissed at you for all of one second, and then I got over it.” Damn, talking was difficult. Hale’s lips were swollen and his speech was slurred. He’d need to speak in shorter sentences.

  Benz raised his gaze from the floor to look Hale in the eyes. “It won’t happen again.”

  Hale tried to look up at the man, but the twinge of pain in his neck put a grimace on his face that probably matched Benz’s sorry expression. “I know it won’t, man. I trust you.”

  Hale rubbed his neck, examining Benz. Benz wouldn’t let this go. Dammit. Here Hale was the one who could barely stand and probably looked like he had gone through a meat grinder, and yet he was going to be the one to offer Benz comfort. Even having that thought made him a real asshole, he supposed.

  “Benz, seriously. You saved my life. You’ve had my back more times than I can count, and not just in Shadow Fray. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. So do me a big favor and let it go. Please.” So much for shorter sentences.

  Benz nodded slowly. “I’ll try.”

  “I wanna get back to the kid. Tell me about what happened after I left.”

  The pained expression left Benz’s face. He cocked his head and stared at Hale quizzically, like he was working something out. “The kid’s a piece of shit for what he did,” he said at last.

  “Maybe. I’m not so sure.”

  Benz snorted. He reached in his back pocket, drew something out, and tossed it to Hale. It landed in his lap. The glove.

  “Thought you might want a souvenir. I was gonna keep it as a reminder, but maybe you need the reminder more than I do.”

  Hale picked it up. He bent the leather to expose the short metal spikes. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see—his own blood, perhaps? But they looked clean. He stuffed the glove in his saddlebag.

  “Tell me about the kid,” Hale insisted again. Why was Benz being so tight-lipped?

  “I watched for a while. Scarecrow and a girl took him to a car. Then they went back inside the church.”

  “He’s in the car now? Alone?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Close?”

  “Just a few blocks.”

  Could he go talk to him? But as if Benz sensed the thought, he warned, “Don’t even think about it. It’s against the rules.”

  That didn’t stop Hale from feeling an almost magnetic pull to find him. “Maybe rules don’t exist anymore.”

  “Funny. That’s what I told Scarecrow before I told him to watch his back.”

  Hale snorted. Painfully. “Is that all you said?”

  “Nope.”

  “Shame on you, Benz. That’s breaking the rules.”

  “Yep.”

  “Tell me more about the kid.”

  “Jesus. What do you want to hear? That he could barely stand? He looked like you do—beat to hell.”

  Hale winced at the rise in volume. “No. I want your read on the fight. He could have hurt me a lot worse than he did.”

  “You played that smart, brother. You got it off quick. If you hadn’t, then—”

  “No. He didn’t want to hurt me like that. I looked in his eyes. He was scared.”

  “If he didn’t want to hurt you, why wear it? If he was forced, punch a damn pillar. The glove ain’t that sturdy.”

  “And break his hand? You ever punched marble before?”

  Benz sighed. “Could be you’re right. I don’t know. Ask me tomorrow. This is all too… fresh. I feel like punching some marble, you know? Like maybe it’d be a good idea.”

  “I want you to follow him.”

  “What?” The man raised his voice for the second time.

  “If you really feel bad about tonight, then follow him.” Hale was being a manipulative bastard, but he didn’t care. He wanted this. Badly.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Ask me tomorrow.”

  Benz glared at Hale, silent.

  “It’s a feeling I have, man. Please.”

  After a pause, Benz nodded once, turned his back on Hale, and left.

  Hale got ready to ease his helmet on and attempt the drive home. No, not home, to the place he slept. Or tried to sleep.

  Everything was so screwed up. So depressing. But this feeling he had about the Visitor—that feeling was something he could hold on to.

  Hale had to find out who he was.

  Chapter 13

  “TALK TO me, Justin. Don’t go to sleep yet.”

  But it hurt to talk. It hurt to think. He held his T-shirt against the right side of his face where the blood still flowed. He’d either opened old wounds or received plenty of new ones. Probably both. “Why’d you do it?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Because I love you.” Gin’s face was blank, but her eyes were alive. Her short black hair was pushed behind her ears as she drove, her hands at ten and two on the wheel. She looked fierce and wary, but not sad. Not hurt.

  “You didn’t have to do it.”

  “I wanted to. You don’t have to be my savior. This chivalry thing you’re doing isn’t cute. You watch too many movies. Women rule this world. I might occasionally use sex to get what I want, but that’s my choice. I have a thousand other capabilities. This choice was just a little less bloody than my other 999 would have been.” She paused for a few seconds and then added, “I’m not Mom, you know.”

  Justin avoided looking in her direction. He kept his eyes straight ahead as they passed through mostly deserted streets. Buildings out here were left to fire, rats, and drugs, but every few blocks were signs of a living civilization, usually in clusters of buildings about fo
ur stories off the ground. Some subdivisions displayed barbed wire, particularly those in ancient, shorter buildings that housed gardens on upper floors and rooftops.

  “Did he hurt you?” Justin asked.

  “Phht. Says the boy bleeding in the passenger seat. No, I’m not hurt. I’m fine.”

  “But what if—”

  “What if I get pregnant? Chances are it’s not going to happen, and if it does, we’ll deal with it then. I’m not going to spend time worrying until I have to. But it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and there’s always options. Maybe some will even work to our benefit.” Her voice was steady. Justin wasn’t sure he agreed with her logic, but the way she said it deterred any disagreement.

  He sat in silence for a while as the car bounced over potholes in the rough road. With every bump, he felt as though his brains were rebounding off the sides of his skull.

  “I just don’t like it,” he said. “I don’t like any of this.”

  “We don’t have to like it. But we do have to survive. I’m not going to spend time feeling bad about what I do for people I love.”

  Shit. Charlie. “Where is Charlie?”

  “I told you I wouldn’t leave him home alone, and I didn’t. He’s with Devin and Griz.” So she hadn’t lied. She just escaped on a technicality.

  He closed his eyes. He was so tired, but he forced them open again. “How did Griz know you killed Joe?”

  “I asked him that.” Gin pursed her lips, like she was deciding how much to reveal. She took her eyes off the road to look at him. “He said he knew you wouldn’t kill anybody. That’s how he knew.”

  “He knows I’m weak.” The words were hard to get out. The admission felt like gravel in his throat. “He knows you’re strong.”

  “No. He knows you’re stronger than any of us, and that’s why you wouldn’t do it.”

  Bullshit. That wasn’t strength. “Yeah, well, I’m thinking I could do it. Right now I’m thinking about all the different ways I could kill Scarecrow.”

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s nothing. What about you? Is anything broken? You gonna be all right?”

  “Nothing’s broken. My head hurts. My face. Eyeballs too. Is that weird?”