by K. A Knight
I step through the front door of Nan’s and with chagrin realise they followed. Can’t a girl catch a break? One of the twins steps in front of me blocking my way.
“Just hear us out,” his voice is the smooth one from earlier. I hear a whistle and with a sigh yank him out of the way of the flying blade. He turns and looks shocked at where the knife is now sticking out of the wall where he was standing.
“Look greenhorns. I don’t know where you’re from, but here in The Rim no means no,” I walk around them grabbing the knife as I go.
I test the weight in my hand and look up at the person who threw it. Two big men in leather stand there looking like it’s the funniest thing in the world. I smile my shit eating grin at them and then throw it with deadly accuracy. It embeds in the wall in the tiny gap between both of their heads. Their expressions make me laugh as I make my way to the desk. I ring the bell and wait.
“Yeah, yeah.” Nan shuffles around the corner and glances at me. “You get that raper?”
I nod and lean on the desk, sliding the bill across to her. She nods and throws it on the pile on the desk.
“You got any more?” I grab my knife and clean my nails as she looks behind me. I wonder if I knocked myself out on the desk, would they leave me alone? Nah, probably would sit around staring at me creepily until I woke up, persistent hot bastards.
“Ya brought company girl?” She asks, no doubt stroking her gun under the desk. They don’t exactly fit in and Nan knows I don’t take anyone back to my room. There’s something about having a sanctuary that no one else can go in, plus it means I know there’s nothing hidden in there.
“Not with me,” I say and turn to watch this go down.
“What ya motherfuckers want?” She snarls at them. It’s safe to say they look shocked at her language, I laugh before I can stop myself.
“They are just passing through Nan, ain’t that right boys?” I arch my eyebrow at them, the leader steps forward.
“We are her new job,” he says nodding at me. Motherfuckers, Nan was right.
“That right girly?”
I narrow my eyes at her in warning. “No.”
She ignores me, smiling she stops stroking her gun.
“Sure, sure. Ya boys need a room ya pay.”
The dark-skinned one leans forward and offers her some money.
“The one next to hers.” He jerks his head at me, asshole. I put my knife away and push off the desk, done with this whole conversation. I stomp off towards my room, ignoring everyone.
“I’ll slip tha job under ya door girly!” Nan shouts after me. I flip her off over my shoulder. I can hear them murmuring something to her, but I pointedly keep walking.
CHAPTER FIVE
Russian Roulette
There’s a knock at my door. I ignore it, knowing the only people in this joint stupid enough to do that are the four guys from before. They carry on knocking and I heave myself up pissed; slamming open the door with a snarl. Before I can talk, they barge past me and into my room. The silent twin offers me the job slip from Nan. Snatching it, I quickly glance through it. It’s easy enough: last seen whereabouts in the Wastes, travelling to The Ring. That's usually where the jobs start, a clan puts in a bill or a job there and then they slowly work they’re way around to The Rim.
“So you’re going that way anyway.” The leader says. I stay near the open door with my back to the wall and let the bill loosen in my hand.
“So?” I cross my arms over my chest, which puts my hands closer to my blades.
“So you can take us,” he says. The twins sit on my bed and I nearly fling a knife at them. Pushy bastards don’t seem to know what personal space means.
“No,” I say instantly.
“Why?” The twin with the green eyes asks with his head cocked.
“You guys stick out like a sore thumb. That’s a sure way to get killed. It’s easy for me to get in and out. But you?” I scoff.
“That’s why we have you. Also, we can fight.” Green eyes proudly shows off his arm muscles as he speaks. I eye their muscles and weapons and don’t doubt it, but even the best fighters can be outnumbered out here.
“I don’t tangle in Wasteland business. You got an issue with any clans up there-“
“We don’t.” The dark-skinned man interrupts. I grind my teeth and debate my options. I know they won’t leave me alone until I say yes. That much is evident. Maybe if I charge enough they’ll fuck off.
“My pay is one hundred for each day.”
The leader nods. Sands below, I should have asked for more.
“Done.” He looks smug. I’m so fucked. This is such a bad idea. I let my hands drop from near my blades. What the hell am I going to do? Eying them again, I decide what the hell. The likelihood of them wanting to carry on when we get out there is slim; I’ll probably be bringing them back in a couple of days. At least I will have some good money to show for it. Calmer now that I have a plan, I nod my head in agreement.
“You get injured, do anything stupid, or lag behind and I leave you. Understood?” I say sternly, fighting the urge to punch something. It would probably be his smug pretty boy face.
“Sure thing Cap.” The talkative twin says with a smile, his green eyes alight with amusement. Why is he so happy all the time? Just another thing about them that pisses me off.
“Ok. We leave at six a.m. Now get out,” I point at the door just to make sure they get the point. The twins stand and both stop before me, making my room feel claustrophobic with their tall frames blocking everything.
“I'm Drax,” green eyes points to his own chest, “this is Jax.” He gestures at the silent grey-eyed twin who just watches me. I nod and Drax smiles as he struts out the door, his twin silently following. The dark-skinned man stops by me and offers me a small smile.
“I’m Thorn, darling.” He walks through the door without saying anything else. The leader steps up and offers me his hand. I hesitantly shake it.
“I’m Maxen, you are?”
I look into his eyes which blaze with determination, a look I used to see in my eyes before I came to The Rim.
“Worth.” That’s all I offer him. His lips twitch and he nods.
“See you in the morning, Worth.” He closes the door after him. They’re going to get me into trouble, I can just tell.
◆◆◆
After they leave, I start to clean my weapons, preparing for the journey ahead. I even bathe knowing I’m going to be stuck in the waste for at least a week. When I’m as clean as I’m ever going to get, I pull out my map and plan my journey, avoiding the major clan areas.
The job from Nan is in The Ring which is a couple hundred miles into the Wastes, a straight up journey. But to get there you have to pass through clan territory. Maxen never mentioned where they were going. I’m hoping they’ll get to The Ring with me and decide they want to turn back and return to wherever they came from. Reading through the reason for the bill makes me feel sick. The son of a bitch killed a whole family. Not just killed, but tortured as well. I shove it in my bag, done with the in-depth description of his crime.
Stripping down, I lay on the bed letting my thoughts turn to where they always do when I’m alone and sober... the past. Closing my eyes, I try to remember my family. My dad and brother’s faces come clear to me, but I can hardly remember my mum’s now. I focus on my dad as he smiles at me as we sit around a fire in the back garden of some empty house. It was just after we decided to head North and avoid the chaos in the cities. My brother throws a twig at me as our dad smiles and watches us bicker. The memories change and I see him shouting for me to run as four black bikes charge towards me. Men are jeering as I cry. I turn back to see my dad and his face changes so I'm looking at the smirking face of the man who haunts my every moment. Those deep black eyes locked on mine, his long black hair pulled back in his ‘warrior braids’, some coloured with blood until they shine red in the light. His crown made of skulls moving as he leans towards me.
“Miss me pet?”
I can almost smell the blood on his breath and feel his slimy hands as he cups my face lovingly from where I sit shackled to his chair like a dog. He leans forward, his whip coiling next to him like a snake. My eyes snap open as I swallow the bile in my throat, breathing through it and counting back from thirty.
I'm free, he can’t hurt me anymore. I'm free, he can’t hurt me anymore.
I repeat my mantra until the need to be sick disappears and then I jump up and grab my pack from the floor next to me. I might as well do something useful if I can’t sleep tonight, so I go through it and note what I will need to take with me. It pays to be prepared. And I would do anything to keep my mind firmly in the now and away from the pain of my memories. Looks like I’ve got everything I will need, I just need to fuel up my bike and-
Bike, shit. I need a new bike. Mine’s rusted and probably would make it but it’s not fast and if there’re more than me travelling, I need to be the fastest, just in case. The slowest will be the one who dies and I don’t plan on dying. I debate my options and with a snarl at what I will have to do, I get dressed while making sure to strap on my weapons. I lock the door and head out to the buzzing city. The scavs and roadies are out in full swing now that the sun has set.
Heading to the other bar in town, I slip through the crowd like a ghost. The sign above the bar proudly declares it The Hole-- I know, us roadies aren’t very original. Making my way through the quieter area of the bazaar, I descend the steps to the lower bar. It’s different than the one up top. People come here for reasons other than drinking. The Hole is what it says on the tin, a hole in the ground where you come to prove yourself and if you’re good, you win. You lose? You guessed it, you tend to die. Either that or they make you their bitch as they take your belongings. Games range from Russian Roulette to a ring. It’s a way to let out the aggression without bringing the city to its knees. Most fighting between scavs and roadies is settled down here.
It’s busy tonight, there must be a gang passing through. I circle the crowd trying to decide what game I want to play. I need a new bike which means that I need a roadie, scavs sometimes have bikes but not always. I don’t want to risk it. The music is muted down here so that you can hear the winners and the crowd, the cheering almost sending me spiralling back to my past.
The Hole is one large square underground room which runs below the bazaar. A bar is placed at one end of the room to the right of me with a skinny man working behind it. No serving girls work down here. This place is strictly for the games. You don’t want to accidentally kill a woman, after all. The floor is a combination of stone and packed dirt and is covered in dried blood from the fights over years. The only tables are the five which feature the games. They are placed in a diamond shape with the main one in the middle. Along the back wall directly opposite me is the raised staging area for the fighting. A crowd is gathered around as they watch two men beat the shit out of each other. It’s a poor imitation of the fights at The Ring. I steer clear of it unwilling to go down that rabbit hole again. Bright flood lighting hangs from the rafters, making it easy to see and I have to crinkle my nose at the smell of dirty unwashed bodies and blood.
One of the assholes who threw the knife earlier is at the table in the middle. I can tell he’s a roadie from the others gathered behind him. I heard him boasting earlier about heading out tomorrow, which means he has a bike. With a smirk, I head his way. The crowd parts for me and I stand behind the empty chair, which his unconscious opponent just got kicked out of.
“Who’s next?” He shouts triumphantly. I don’t say anything, just pull out the chair and sit down. He glances at me and swallows, his smile slipping for a second. He regains it well and sits down with his grin fixed in place.
“You want to play?”
I nod and lean back. The ref steps forward from the waiting crowd, I nod at him out of respect; he used to call the fights I was in and he’s always been fair. At least there's something going right today.
“Winnings?” He asks in a bored voice.
“My bike,” I declare loudly to be heard over the crowd.
“My bike too.” The roadie boasts. He’s confident and I can’t wait to wipe that away. The others are shifting in the crowd either knowing why I’m unfazed or hearing it. I nod my agreement to the ref. The mummers increase, but I tune them out. The ref nods and steps back after placing the knife on the table. About the size of my forearm, it’s a mean looking bastard. I should know, it’s mine after all. The ref tosses a coin and my opponent calls it before I can, just like I knew he would.
“Heads,” he shouts looking mighty pleased with himself. Some people cheer, the group of morons. I watch the ref, his lips twitch as he puts the coin down to reveal tails.
“Worth first.” He calls over the crowd. My opponents face darkens and he finally loses his grin.
The rules of the game are easy. It’s all about ways to intimidate and show how tough you are without fighting your opponent. It’s a fucked-up version of Russian Roulette. You get to slash your opponent's arms until they either faint, die, or withdraw. You can go deep, but you can’t hit arteries, that is it. I take my jacket off, gently putting it on the chair. His shirt is already thrown off from his previous match. I look at his arm. His last challenger only got two cuts on him, what a pussy.
He lays his forearm down, palm facing up, and smiles at me.
“Give it your best shot.” He leans his body back leaving, his arm outstretched, trying to act casual. I can see the tightening around his eyes and mouth, though and it’s obvious he doesn’t understand why most of the crowd isn’t cheering for him. I grab the knife, flick it in the air, and catch it. He gulps, I hide my smile and lean towards him. Without touching his arm, I use the knife and run it lightly across one of the cuts already made, deepening it and reopening the wound. He doesn’t make a sound, but he makes a fist as more blood wells, leaving tracks down his arm as he clenches.
“My turn.” He grits out, pulling his arm back and grabbing the knife from me with sweaty hands. I reveal my left arm, placing it palm up and let him see the scars. He pales before he looks back up at me, finally realising who I am.
“Your go.” I’m openly laughing now and the crowd laughs with me. He hesitates before leaning over me. He makes a big cut; not deep, just long. I don’t look, knowing that would make me seem weak. I don’t even move as the blade parts through my skin like butter. He watches my face for a reaction and pales further when he doesn’t get one. I grab the knife and wait for him to lay his arm out. He does it slowly, almost reluctantly. I smile at him sweetly as I widen the cut from earlier. I wiggle it around, cutting deeper as the skin parts. This time he grunts in pain. From my years of experience, I know cutting over the same spot hurts more than a new one, and this big bastard of a cut has got to hurt like hell. The blood runs faster down his arm and onto the already stained table. The red harsh against his skin.
He grabs the knife and yanks my arm out. I don’t make a noise, just let him do it. He doesn’t give me any time before slashing down vertically. I grab his arm and yank it out like he did to me. Done with playing, I slowly drag the blade from elbow to wrist, making the pain wretch higher as it crosses over where I cut before. He howls and yanks his arm back, making the knife drag in deeper. He looks at his arm and goes deathly pale.
I lean back and count to myself.
3, he watches the blood, not even bothering to try and stop the bleeding.
2, he swallows rapidly as his skin tints.
1, his head hits the table.
I grab the drink from his side and down it, watching his unconscious body. The ref offers me something to bind my wounds and I nod my thanks while turning to his friends.
“Tell him to bring his bike to the gate. Six a.m sharp or I'll finish the job.”
They mutter a reply, looking uneasy.
“Thanks, boys.” I wink and turn to leave. There, watching at the edge of the crowd, is my new annoyi
ng tagalongs. Rolling my eyes, I go to walk past them.
The silent twin steps in my path, I think his name was Jax.
“Why did you do that?” His voice is rough, probably from disuse. It so different from his twin that I hesitate.
“I needed a new bike if we are going to get anywhere. I knew he would lose,” I say confidently. Drax steps up next to him. “They always lose,” I add when they don’t say anything. With both of their stares locked on me and their bodies hovering over me, I have to fight not to step back.
“You can’t know that.” Jax frowns at me.
“I created the game, one that doesn’t focus on physical strength but inner. I have never lost so it was a fair bet I wouldn’t tonight. If I did, all he would get is a rusted piece of shit bike anyway.”