The Dark Sky Collection: The Dark Sky Collection

by Amy Braun

  The marauder gave me a disgusted glare. “You more afraid of some bloodsuckers, or an old man? Make the damn deal, and get us something to eat. Spring’s coming, remember?”

  Yeah, spring. Also known as Westraven’s season of torrential downpour.

  Too tired to argue, I nodded and walked to Davy. The old farmer scrambled to his feet, holding up his fists, but there was resignation in his eyes. Even if he managed to get some hits in me, Stanner and Dylan would come back and trample him.

  I fisted his shirt and yanked him close. Then I lowered my voice to a menacing growl and said, “Go down when I punch you. It’ll hurt and I’m sorry for that, but we’ll never bother you again. I’ll see to that myself.”

  Davy’s dark eyes searched mine, looking for a lie, an ulterior motive, anything that would prove my falseness. But there was nothing. I didn’t come here because I wanted to be a tough guy. I was trying to keep an innocent woman from getting hurt.

  “You’re a terrible marauder,” he said with a snarl.

  “Wasn’t my life’s goal,” I muttered back. I used my other hand to grab his shirt and shook him roughly. “Now tell me where it is!” I shouted.

  Davy jumped at that, throwing his hand out to the right, showing me a small shed tacked onto the side of his house. I flicked my eyes at it, then to him.

  “You better not be lying to me,” I warned, for both the Stray Dogs at my back and the helpless old man in front of me.

  Davy scowled, but didn’t do anything to make me doubt him.

  It made me feel even worse when I laid him out with a solid punch to his temple. I dropped the unconscious man and walked to the shed. The door was built of cheap wood, and easy to kick in. The crates and bags were neatly labeled, so I took a crate of dried meats and fruits, then heaved a sack of potatoes and another of grain onto my back. Assuming Dylan or Stanner found and picked up the crate Sawyer left behind, we could have enough for the next few months if we rationed. I didn’t want to think about the Runts, and how little they would have.

  Not with all the guilt already weighing on my soul.

  Chapter 5

  We made it back to the Barren a couple hours after dark, and thankfully didn’t encounter any Hellions on the six hour walk, which was made longer by having to stop, rest, and alternating who carried the food we stole from Davy, and who carried our still unconscious prisoner. We were exhausted and breathing heavily when we crossed over the broken wall and into the vast, stone and shamble wasteland, but motivated by finally making it home alive.

  As soon as we crossed the Barren and through the trap doors leading to the underground tunnels, Sawyer woke up. We didn’t know he was conscious until Stanner got too close and earned a kick in the face. Sawyer scrambled to his feet and dashed for the ladder that would lead to the surface, but I was quick to catch him. I shot out my arm like a clothesline and caught him across the chest. Sawyer’s body flipped back and landed on the hard earth. He groaned.

  “I’d say that was a nice shot,” he rasped. He coughed to clear his voice. “But it hurts to breathe now.”

  I stifled a laugh. I hooked my arms under his and dragged him to his feet, spinning him so his back was to me.

  I honestly didn’t mean to put him directly in the path of Stanner’s fist.

  Sawyer’s head snapped back so hard it almost bashed into mine.

  “You cheap-shot bastard!” Another punch slammed into Sawyer’s stomach, doubling him over.

  “Calm down, Stanner,” I barked. “It’s your own fault. You didn’t pay attention.”

  The Stray Dog gave me a murderous look. If his eyes had been blades, I would have been a flayed piece of meat by now.

  “Relax, Stan,” assured Dylan, hauling up one of the crates and one of the sacks. “We’ll let Ryland see him first,” his smile was wicked, “and then we’ll make him bleed.”

  That morbid promise soothed Stanner, and unsettled me. But there was nothing I could do. That was the way things were with the marauders. Nearly being wiped out by the Hellions didn’t change what they were. What they would always be.

  What I was trying not to become.

  Stanner and Dylan lifted the crates and continued down the tunnel, the shadows cast by the dim light bulbs all but swallowing them whole. Sawyer finished gasping and regained his breath. He exhaled painfully as he found his footing. I started pushing him forward.

  “Don’t suppose I can ask you to untie me and let me go,” he mumbled, raising his rope-bound wrists.

  “Probably better if you don’t.”

  Sawyer sighed. “Shame. You seem like a sympathizer.”

  I was glad he couldn’t see the way I gritted my teeth, or the guilt that burned my cheeks. “Do yourself a favour,” I advised. “Don’t talk back to Ryland.”

  Sawyer chuckled at that. “Thanks. Now do me a favour.”

  He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch my eye. A crooked smile crossed his face. “Don’t give me useless advice.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head, telling myself that I didn’t care what Ryland would do to Sawyer if he really were a living, breathing Kendric. Or what he would do if he weren’t, and Ryland wanted some new entertainment in the Crater. Either way, Sawyer would never leave this place as a free man.

  Probably not as a living one, either.

  Once the Stray Dogs got their teeth into someone, they didn’t let go until they were begging for mercy, or dead.

  ***

  None of the Runts paid any attention to Sawyer when we brought him through the den. Their wide eyes were solely on the crates and sacks of food Dylan and Stanner hauled. Some even licked their lips, and I heard more than a few complaining bellies.

  The two marauders didn’t stop walking. They marched to the exit of the tunnel, never giving the Runts a second glance, not caring at the mournful whimpers behind their backs. Sawyer was looking at all the faces, probably with horror, disgust, or both. I found the ground to be much more interesting.

  When we passed through the tunnel and entered the Alpha den, the other Stray Dogs took notice of us. They stopped what they were doing– sharpening weapons, sleeping, sparring, cheating each other at cards– and marched toward us. They noticed the food first, but quickly took notice of our captive.

  Most of the Stray Dogs were older than me, in their late thirties or early forties. They were old enough to remember the way Robertson Kendric ruled the skies with relentless gunfire and ruthless command. They would have heard or seen the tortures Davin Kendric would indulged in for fun. Attacking ships for no other reason than to burn the crews alive. Crucifying men to the sterns of a ships and speeding away until their skin ripped off the stakes and they plummeted to their deaths. Torturing women in the most barbaric fashions until he was bored and heeded their wishes to be killed.

  Uncomfortably, I wondered if Sawyer had done those things. Given who his father and brother were, I could only imagine the things he’d seen and been forced to do. He would have been raised rough, any chance of a decent childhood ripped away to make him strong and brutal. He looked my age, but his eyes spoke of a soul that had been hardened too soon.

  I knew the feeling.

  But the Stray Dogs didn’t see that. They saw an outlet. A punching bag for all the shots they never got to take against the Kendrics. I wasn’t sure how many recognized him–– if anyone did at all–– but from their accusatory stares, it was fair to say that some kind of memory was prodding at their minds. Sawyer tensed in my grip as they drew closer, but too his credit, he didn’t flinch or cower back from the two dozen men that would rip him limb from limb if they learned who he was.

  Benson’s voice carried over the crowd until he shouldered his way through. He narrowed his eyes when he saw Sawyer.

  “Who’s this?” he grumbled.

  Dylan’s chest puffed out. He was proud of his magnificent find. “The son of Robertson Kendric,” he boasted loud enough for the entire den to hear.

  Low gasps and agitat
ed growls rose up from the marauders behind us.

  “Can’t be,” Benson gaped, his eyes widening. “Davin Kendric’s dead.”

  “We know,” Stanner agreed impatiently. “But this brat is wearing his coat, has his eyes, and looks like them the more you think about it. Maybe Robertson fucked the same whore twice and got another bastard out of him.”

  Sawyer stiffened again. Whether out of shame or anger, I didn’t know.

  “Found him squaring off with our champ here,” Dylan nodded to me. “Thought the boss would want to see him. Settle an old score.”

  “Tell him he can get in line,” Sawyer grumbled. “The rest of you ugly mutts can do the same.”

  He must have known that statement would draw two-dozen sets of angry eyes and practically make the Stray Dogs foam at the mouth, but he didn’t seem to care. I twisted his arm until he grunted in pain.

  “Then why don’t we take you to get your wish?” I said, loud enough so the rest of the crew would hear me. “Ryland’s waiting.”

  “And we wouldn’t want that to keep him that way,” Sawyer snarked.

  Benson growled at the captured marauder, then spun on his heel and marched through the crowd. He barked at the men to go through the new crates, set up the rations, and get back to work. Stanner and Dylan followed, obviously wanting to boast about their catch to Ryland in hopes of a reward.

  The Stray Dogs hardly moved as I pushed Sawyer forward.

  We entered a gauntlet of deadly stares, vile curses, and savage promises. Marauder crews weren’t known for their manners, but some of the things they said to Sawyer simply shocked me.

  Breaking his bones with hammers. Roasting him alive. Cutting out his heart and feeding it to him.

  Sawyer continued to walk forward. With his back to me, I had no way to read him. No way to tell if these words were hurting or scaring him. No way to tell if he cared at all.

  I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the lone marauder. Yes, he pointed a gun at my head. Yes, he gave me some pretty good bruises. Yes, he could be related to the most feared and hated marauders in the world. That didn’t mean he deserved this kind of abuse.

  Finally cleared of the infuriated crowd, Benson approached Ryland’s door. The gigantic guards on either side hadn’t moved during Sawyer’s entrance, but they shook with rage when they saw him.

  “Oh, good,” he complained. “More people to add to my line.”

  Veins bulged in the guards’ necks. Anger flushed their cheeks. Benson quickly knocked on the door.

  “Do you always try to aggravate people who want to kill you?” I asked Sawyer quietly.

  “It’s a talent,” he replied. “Can’t tell if it’s a good one to have or not."

  I was sure of it now. Sawyer Kendric was completely insane.

  Ryland’s voice thundered from beyond the wood and iron door. Benson pushed it open and entered, Stanner and Dylan following like hungry dogs. I shoved Sawyer into the gloomy office, kicking the door shut behind me.

  Ryland stood in front of his desk, fists balled at his side.

  “Well?” he demanded. “Did he…”

  The captain trailed off when the other men parted to reveal Sawyer. He stared in disbelief, something I never thought he was capable of. It was as if he were looking at a ghost.

  “Nash came across a familiar face on his mission,” boasted Stanner.

  He grabbed Sawyer’s arm and yanked him out of my grasp. He dragged the younger man in front of Ryland and kicked the back of his legs. Sawyer grunted and dropped to his knees.

  He raised his head to look in Ryland’s eyes. The captain of the Stray Dogs loomed over him dangerously. I was amazed– and oddly grateful– that Sawyer didn’t say anything sarcastic. We waited for Ryland to do something, but he was completely focused on glaring

  at Sawyer.

  “Never thought Robertson would have more sons,” he finally said. “Must have been with a good whore.”

  “Reckon you’ve gotten experience with bad ones.”

  Ryland’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t hit Sawyer. Instead, he smiled. That worried me more than any display of violence.

  “I remember both Robertson and Davin having the same kind of attitudes. I wonder, do you have the same kind of tendency toward brutality?”

  “Cut me loose and find out.”

  Ryland stifled a laugh. He straightened his back and folded his arms over his chest. “Stanner. Dylan. Benson. Get out.”

  The three men looked at one another. They obviously considered questioning their leader’s actions. Why they assumed that would be smart was beyond me. Ryland shot each of them a piercing, warning gaze, and they left the room without another word or glance. I turned and started to follow them.

  “Not you, Nash.”

  I stopped and turned, quickly glancing at Sawyer. “Do you think he’ll be a problem?”

  Ryland smirked. “Not at all. But I didn’t mention your name. So you can’t leave.”

  I thought about lying, saying there were things around the den I could do, training to build up strength for my next fight… but if Ryland was asking me to stay, I could either obey, or face brutal consequences. I closed the door behind Benson, and walked back to the middle of the room behind Sawyer. The rogue stayed on his knees, knowing he was too sore to move past either of us.

  After a moment, Ryland said, “What kind of stories have you heard about the Wanderer Clan and the Kendrics, Nash?”

  I shrugged. “Horror stories, mostly. My parents were market merchants. I never saw much of the sky. Some cannon fire flashes occasionally, but all I heard were rumours.”

  Ryland nodded. “Men like to talk about brutality. Pretend it doesn’t unnerve us. Few of them have actually seen what true monsters are capable of.”

  I held my tongue rather than speak my mind– that I had been kidnapped and forced to live with monsters, so I knew exactly what they were capable of.

  “Some of those stories have come from my men, no doubt. They’ve told you what’s happened when we crossed with the Dauntless Wanderer and the beasts that sailed on her.” Ryland paused. “But they didn’t tell you about my wife.”

  I blinked. Ryland had a wife? I couldn’t imagine any woman who would want to be with a person like Ryland. Either she was as cold-hearted as he was, or she had been taken against her will.

  “Her name was Mira. Red hair, blue eyes,” his grin was lecherous. “Body that men would grovel to touch.” The grin remained on his face, but lost its life. “She was a needy sort, but when I put her in her place, she was pleasant enough.”

  I stared without expression. Sawyer remained on his knees.

  “Couple months before The Storm, we raided a military supply ship. They had big guns and we lost some good men, but the loot was worth it. Enough food to last us a full year, and weapons that would fill up an entire storeroom to the brink. We fought for the spoils. Bled for them. Earned them.” Ryland’s stony eyes dropped to Sawyer. “Seems the Kendrics thought they had a right to take what didn’t belong to them.”

  Sawyer didn’t move an inch. I scarcely heard him breathe.

  “Every time I think about they way they broke out of the clouds, sharply and without a sound, I think of the Hellions. That was what they acted like, anyway. Absolute savages.”

  Ryland crouched in front of Sawyer to be eye level with him. “Your father was thorough. Cut men three times to make sure they wouldn’t rise. Stabbed through their bellies, through their hearts, then their throats. He didn’t seem to be satisfied until he was drenched in blood. But your brother…”