The Dark Sky Collection: The Dark Sky Collection

by Amy Braun

  He paused as the memories came back to him. I didn’t see any horror or disgust about what happened. Only distance. He remembered this fateful day, but he had blocked off almost every emotion surrounding it.

  Every emotion but rage.

  “He didn’t see the sense in killing men quickly. Oh, he was efficient. Make no mistake. He cut off the limbs of any man he could see, crippling them so they couldn’t run. By the end, he wore as much blood as your father. When my men were overwhelmed, he went back to the ones he’d cut down. He didn’t forget their faces, any more than they forgot his.”

  Ryland took out a knife from his belt and held it toward Sawyer’s face. The younger man recoiled back, but Ryland was quicker. He clamped his hand on Sawyer’s shoulder and squeezed until his captive grunted with pain.

  “Davin liked to watch men die. While his father was sending out orders to grab all the remaining loot and hostages before we came back, Davin was slowly stabbing the men he’d sliced into. Most times, he stabbed them in the stomach.”

  I heard Sawyer’s sharp hiss as Ryland slowly pushed the tip of the knife into his belly, just enough to cause pain and terrorize him. I was about to take step forward, then stopped myself. If I intervened, Ryland would take offense, and Sonya could get hurt. I hadn’t seen her since I came back. I had no way of knowing if she’d been beaten further while I was gone, and I couldn’t risk it for someone I didn’t know.

  But it infuriated me all the same.

  “Davin did it slowly,” Ryland continued, pulling his arm back. “In different areas.” Another wheeze of pain. This time Sawyer slumped forward, held back by Ryland’s claw-like grip.

  “He smiled every time they screamed, laughed every time they begged for mercy, and did it again. I watched it all from my ship, where I’d been trying to help my wounded men and salvage as much as we could. Ten of us died in the battle with our target ship. Forty more were on it when Robertson and his devil son attacked. I’m a damn good pirate, but I know how to survive. The dozen men I had left would be no match for Robertson and his entire, energetic crew. I ordered my remaining men to set sail. We all knew it would be too late for the others. If we didn’t leave then, our ship would never have made it.”

  Ryland pulled his arm back from Sawyer again. The young pirate groaned painfully and lowered his head to his chest.

  “The moment we unfurled the sails and dropped the lines, I heard another scream. A sharp one. The kind no man could possibly make.”

  Ryland closed his eyes and shook his head. If I didn’t know better, I would have said he was still grieving. But the look on his face was one of annoyance, not sorrow.

  “Mira was always getting into trouble. Too damn curious. Always sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.”

  He lifted his head, fixing Sawyer with a menacing glare.

  “Davin called to me. Said I forgot something. When I turned around, there she was. My Mira. He had her by the hair, a knife to her throat. She screamed for me, begged me to come back. That she was scared. Davin pulled her away, had his men tie her to the middle of the ship’s’ netting. Cut off all her clothes.”

  Horror filled me. I wanted the story to stop. Sawyer took a deep breath. “I wasn’t–”

  “Didn’t see much of what happened next,” Ryland overrode. “Our ship was moving too fast. But I heard enough. Used a periscope and saw how his arm moved with the knife. He didn’t hold back.” He paused, as if considering something in the memory. “I’m guessing he missed the vitals at first. He must’ve, because even after I saw a dozen of those stabs, she kept screaming.”

  Ryland tilted his head. “Were you going to tell me you weren’t there? All right, I’ll believe that. But did Davin tell you what he did? Did he boast about it while he was covered in my wife’s blood? Did you think it was as funny as he did?”

  Sawyer said nothing. Did that mean he was stowed away on his father’s ship, forced to listen as Davin and the rest of the Wanderers boasted about their easy score? The tortures they’d inflicted?

  Or had Sawyer seen them all from a distance?

  “I’m not like them,” was all the captive managed to say.

  It was all I needed to hear.

  That was a voice I knew. A deep, exhausting weariness from a man constantly fighting the odds. Battling against a family name he didn’t want. There was no faking the hurt I heard, the sound of defeat, as though Sawyer knew no one would believe him. He was alone with a bloodstained legacy that would never be washed clean.

  Ryland nodded. “If you say so.”

  The leader of the Stray Dogs rose from his crouch and looked at me. So much for being forgotten about.

  “Where did you find him?”

  “With Davy,” I admitted. “They made some sort of deal.”

  Ryland shot Sawyer a callous look. “With a knife in the old man’s gut, no doubt.”

  “No,” I defended. “Davy’s alive. We brought back some food. I let him know where his priorities were, and will remain.”

  That was putting it in the loosest sense, but it placated Ryland. He even offered me a proud smile. I wanted to punch it off his face.

  “So you did step up from the Crater. About time.”

  I stared at him with empty eyes. “I held up my end. What happened to Sonya?”

  Ryland shrugged. “Nothing besides the usual. She’s still got a pretty face if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  He ignored my glare.

  “I’ll even send her to your quarters. You could do with some relaxation before you go into the Crater tomorrow night.”

  My shoulders slumped.

  “Don’t sound look so distraught, Nash. This is going to be a special, embarrassingly short fight for you. After all, I’m going to want all the men to get their shots in. It wouldn’t be fair if you broke him all by yourself.”

  Ryland’s cryptic words and icy smile put me on a knife’s edge.

  “I don’t understand,” I said cautiously. “Who am I fighting?”

  Ryland rolled his eyes and sighed, the way he would as if he were speaking to a dimwitted child he was too lazy to hit.

  Then Ryland nudged Sawyer’s shoulder with his boot. The prisoner sprawled on his back. Two small spots of blood coated his tunic. His eyes were pinched shut to hide the pain from his bruises and cuts.

  Ryland said, “Him, of course.”

  Chapter 6

  Sonya watched me pace my room nervously. Her clothes were still on, but she held the blanket tight to her chest as if she could hide from me.

  I wasn’t just in a bad mood. I was in a dangerous one.

  “They’ll rip him apart,” I said, spinning on my heel and stalking to the left wall. “He’ll be scraps by the time they’re done.”

  “You mean by the time Ryland is done with him,” she said.

  I glanced at her. Aside from a couple bruises on her upper arms, Sonya looked unhurt. She assured me that no one had laid a truly harmful hand on her since I left to seek out Davy. I decided to believe her. I was close to snapping with rage, and I didn’t want to frighten Sonya more than she already was.

  “We both know that Ryland will want to be the one who kills him,” she went on, “if the story you told me about his wife is true. Even if it’s not, he’ll do it just because the man is a Kendric.”

  “And he wants me to start the whole thing. To pummel an already beaten man so the others can act like animals.”

  I stopped pacing and shook my head.

  It was one thing to pit me against men that I knew deserved a beat down. The bullies, abusers, rapists, and killers I shared this hovel with. It was another thing entirely to start the slow, agonizing execution of a man who, in my mind, had done nothing to deserve it.

  Maybe Sawyer wasn’t good man. Maybe he was faking all of this and just as ruthless as his father and brother.

  I no longer cared.

  “I’m not doing it,” I said.

  “What?”

  I tur
ned to Sonya. “I’m not going to let Ryland and his thugs kill Sawyer. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life as a fist for the Stray Dogs.”

  Sonya shot to her feet and crossed the room to me. “You’re leaving?”

  I nodded. “With you. And Sawyer.”

  Her jaw practically dropped to the floor. “Are you crazy?” she hissed. “You have any idea what Ryland will do to you if he catches you?”

  “Same thing he intends to do to Sawyer, I assume.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she stuck a finger into my chest. “Don’t you dare joke about this, Nash. No one has ever left a Clan and lived.”

  “First time for everything, right?”

  “Damn it, Nash, this is serious!”

  I held her gaze for a long time. “Why do you think I’m talking about it?”

  Sonya’s eyes turned fearful. I was the only person who defended her, refused to use her as a plaything. But there was no denying that my plan was utter suicide.

  “If you don’t want to risk leaving with me, Sonya, I won’t blame you. But if that’s the case, please don’t draw attention to what I’m going to do. You know it won’t buy you anything for long. Ryland will leave you alone for a few days, and then it will be back to the usual routine. The men won’t want to lose their chance to hurt you.” I lowered my voice. “And I know they have, Sonya.”

  She didn’t deny it, but she chewed her lower lip as she thought my words over. Obviously, she assumed I wouldn’t see the way she limped around some days, holding her ribs and using her hair to obscure her face. I did what I could to protect her, but it wasn’t enough. It never would be.

  Not unless she let me help her escape.

  “Even if you got out,” Sonya said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Where would we go? There’s nothing aboveground, and no way past the barricade.”

  I decided not to tell her that was my plan– to get over the barricade and see how the rest of Aon had favoured. After eight years, there must have been survivors. We couldn’t be the last living city in the world.

  Could we?

  Ignoring that thought, I offered her another idea. “You can go underground to one of the colonies. There are tons of them.”

  Sonya scoffed with disgust. “And end up doing the same thing I’m doing now for an Electrician instead of a marauder? I don’t think so.”

  I held back my sigh. “Then what do you want to do?” I asked, adding hesitantly, “I, uh… I don’t know what kind of skills you have.”

  She smiled weakly at that. “I’m good with plants. My mother used to be a gardener.”

  Sonya looked down quickly. I had a feeling that the memories she might have of her mother gardening were bittersweet now.

  “Maybe we can get you a job with a farmer,” I said. An idea began to form quickly. “Sawyer knows Davy. They’re not really friends, but they had some kind of partnership going on. He’s old, and could probably use the help, even if he won’t admit it.”

  Sonya’s worried eyes began to turn a little more hopeful. She wanted to leave this place as badly as I did. Everyone who wasn’t a Dog wanted out of the den. To at least give ourselves the illusion we were free with the Hellions looming above us.

  “Let’s say for argument’s sake, that I’m agreeing with you,” she said. “What’s your plan?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, then fell silent. “I was going to break Sawyer out.” I sounded cocky and not the least bit intelligent.

  “I got that part,” she teased. “I meant how.”

  I paused, trying to think of something that sounded plausible. I couldn’t come up with anything but the truth.

  “Honestly, I was just going to find Sawyer’s weapons, knock out the guards, and hope he doesn’t shoot me in the back while we run out of the tunnels.”

  Sonya’s eyes widened. I didn’t think my plan was that bad until I said it aloud.

  “Probably not the best method,” I admitted with a weak smile.

  “’Definitely not,” she agreed. A wily grin crossed her pretty lips. “Lucky for you, I have another idea.”

  I tilted my head curiously. “Really? What?”

  Sonya’s grin brightened. “Distraction.”

  Chapter 7

  Much to Benson’s chagrin, I was able to meet Ryland again. I told him there was no point in delaying the fight. The men were eager to spill Sawyer’s blood, and if it wasn’t offered soon, he could be dealing with a riot, if not a mutiny.

  Both Benson and Ryland scowled at the accusation that the captain’s leadership could be questioned, but I wasn’t even lying. For the last two hours, two dozen Stray Dogs sweated rage and sharpened blades, each one more eager than the next to slice Sawyer to ribbons. The Stray Dogs were ruthless in their methods of persuasion, and they constantly sought distraction.

  I assumed the only reason Sawyer was still alive was because Ryland told them what he was planning for the next Crater challenge. They were waiting there now, each of them eager to literally rip a strip off of Sawyer.

  While there were few lights to guide me, I veered away from the main tunnel leading to the Crater and turned to the one on the left, where we held prisoners.

  This space wasn’t usually occupied. On some scavenging missions, the Stray Dogs would find someone with a tough spirit or a precious skill that they believed would benefit the Clan. They would be brought back, usually kicking and screaming. Ryland ordered them into the cages to break them. It didn’t take more than a few days of beatings and starvation to change their attitude. Anyone who refused to break was thrown in the Crater for entertainment.

  As I came around the corner that would lead into the small cavern, I heard voices arguing. I pressed my back to the wall and peered around the corner.

  The only light came from the single lamp on a crate in the corner. It was still bright enough for me to see what was going on.

  Sitting in the middle of the room in an iron cage, looking impossibly bored and irritated, was Sawyer. His hands were unbound and wrapped around his stomach, but he didn’t seem to be sweating or gritting his teeth. Hopefully that meant the stab wounds Ryland gave him weren’t very deep. Puncture wounds aside, he didn’t look much worse than the last time I saw him, though the bruises on his face were as dark as the circles under his eyes. Any sleep he might have wanted was denied to him, thanks to the ranting and raving Dog in front of him.

  I recognized his back before I saw his face. I nearly rolled my eyes. I suppose I should have expected Stanner to taunt our captive, but his animosity toward Sawyer was almost as pronounced as Ryland’s. And far more obnoxious.

  Sawyer’s cutlass, flintlock pistol, and knife were resting at Stanner’s feet. Clearly in Sawyer’s view, but completely out of reach for him.

  But not for me.

  Stanner kicked the cutlass. “Doubt a pretty boy likes you gets any use of that. You look like the kind that would retch if he smelled something his pretty nose didn’t like.”

  Sawyer shrugged, his shoulders jutting against the top bars of the cage he was squeezed in. “Give me some credit. I can smell you from here and I haven’t thrown up yet.”