Amber Sky

by Amy Braun

  I grimaced, keeping hold of Davy as I slid my eyes to the right. Standing beside me with a steady hand, a cold expression, and fiery tawny eyes, was Davy’s supposed enforcer. Sawyer.

  “You walked away once before,” I growled. “Better do so again if you still want to use your legs.”

  The rogue grinned at my warning. “Guess I’ll have to take the risk. That’s my supplier you’re threatening.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Not anymore. Get lost.”

  He nudged my head with the pistol. “Might be a good idea to remember that I’ve got a gun.” Sawyer’s grin vanished. “Now let him go.”

  I stared the marauder down the same way I would an opponent in the Crater. He must have seen my tattoo. He obviously knew that I was taller and outweighed him. And it didn’t seem like he cared. I didn’t know whether to be offended, or impressed.

  I dropped Davy and rose to my full height. Sawyer’s eyes never left mine, and his gun only moved so he could keep it trained on my head.

  “Smart man,” he said. “Now, this is what’s gonna happen. You’re going to take your own advice, and walk away while I still let you. Tell Ryland to back off once and for all, or the hell I’ll rain down on him will make The Storm look like a spring shower.”

  I continued staring at him, trying to figure out just what his damn deal was. He acted like he was a captain himself, not a servant. Which was impossible. Like me, he would have been no older than ten during The Storm.

  But as the seconds ticked by, he mentioned no master, no Clan. He pointed the gun at me with incredible arrogance and waited for me to comply.

  Something I hated to do.

  Nodding slowly, I held up my hands in defeat. Davy’s relieved sigh was louder than he probably intended. Sawyer didn’t move the gun, but his cocky smirk was back.

  “Good Dog,” he taunted. “Now run back to your master and tell him if he has a problem he’d like to take up with Davy, he can crawl out of his hole and handle it himself. Unless he’s the bitch of your litter.”

  If he hadn’t insulted me first, I would have smiled with him. Instead, I took a step back, then another, hands still raised.

  Sawyer was so sure he’d been triumphant; he failed to see that I put myself in the most basic fighting stance. Worse for him, he underestimated just how long my reach was.

  Too bad for him.

  Lightning quick, my right hand shot out and snared his wrist. Sawyer blinked in surprise. I tightened my grip until the pressure became too much and he was forced to drop the pistol. I kicked it away as he swung a punch at my face. I knocked his hand away and snapped my left elbow into his jaw.

  Sawyer’s head rocked to the side. It was amazing he didn’t lose a tooth. When I hit someone, I never did so lightly.

  I pulled back my left fist again, ready for the knockout punch. But Sawyer proved to be an excellent actor.

  A sharp jab pounded into my ribs, jerking me out of control. His fist moved again, driving into my chin. The punch dazed me, but not enough that I missed his foot flying toward my face.

  Letting go of his bruised wrist, I stopped the kick. It got me another punch in the ribs, but Sawyer moved in too close. I punched him in the chest and forced him back. I swung a kick at his head, but he ducked down and skittered away. I rushed him, grabbing his around the middle and driving him into the ground. He was dazed, unable to stop me when I smashed my fist into his temple.

  I had to give him credit– he was trapped, but he didn’t give up.

  And the son of a bitch was smart.

  Sawyer stopped my next punch before it could break his nose. He jabbed me sharply in the throat. I choked and gagged, my body reacting through my mind told me to keep fighting. While I coughed and struggled to breathe, Sawyer was moving again. His fist slammed into my stomach, pushing more air out of my strained throat. He shoved me until I was the one pinned on the ground. A solid jab crashed into my head just as I regained my breath. I grabbed Sawyer’s fist as it fell again, using my other hand to punch him in the kidney. He shouted against the pain, defenseless when I struck him across the jaw. Still holding his wrist, I pitched up and hurled Sawyer onto the ground. He slammed his fist on my wrist, sending a painful shock through it and forcing me to let him go.

  Sawyer scrambled back and got to his feet. I did the same, raising my hands to keep the fight going.

  Intense anger burned in his gold eyes, but there was something else there. I could have sworn it was amusement, of all things.

  They said people went crazy if they spent too much time on the surface.

  Movement from the right of my vision captured my attention. Sawyer didn’t fall for the feint.

  Except it wasn’t a feint at all. He never saw Stanner coming until the much larger, stronger man crashed into him. He started pummelling the young man who could no longer protect himself. For a moment, I considered grabbing Stanner’s arm and stopping him. A heavy hand clamped on my shoulder and held in me place. I looked for its owner, and found myself staring at Dylan.

  “Quite the show, Nash,” he remarked. “Didn’t think such a scrawny kid could beat up a tough guy like you.”

  I scowled and shoved him away. I turned and marched to Stanner. I grabbed his fist and pulled him off Sawyer. The Stray Dog yanked his arm free and glared at me.

  “What the–”

  “That’s enough,” I stated. My hands were still tightly clenched, ready to hit Stanner if he made a move for Sawyer or me.

  Judging by the hateful look on his face, he wanted to do exactly that.

  “You’re defending some piece of shit that you were just fighting? What the hell is with you? Ryland sent us to make sure you were still loyal, you idiot, and now you want to look after some asshole you don’t even know?”

  Stanner punctuated his anger by kicking Sawyer hard in the ribs. He grimaced and rolled to the side, groaning in pain.

  “Wait a minute,” Dylan said, shouldering past me. He grabbed Sawyer’s hair and jerked his battered face into view. Sawyer gritted his teeth and glared murderously, but didn’t say anything.

  “Where’d you get that coat?”

  “Living men get cold,” remarked Sawyer, struggling to rise. “Dead men don’t.”

  Dylan scrutinized Sawyer’s face. “Your eyes. I’ve only seen that shade once.”

  “Keep it in your pants, mutt. You’re not my type.”

  Dylan buried his fist in Sawyer’s stomach. The young marauder gasped in pain when the air was driven from his lungs. Dylan dropped Sawyer’s head and whirled to face Stanner. “Do you know if Robertson Kendric had another son?”

  The question seemed random to both of us. I had never seen Davin Kendric, and had no way of answering. Though if it was true, I was looking at a surviving member of the deadliest marauder Clan in the history of Aon.

  “I don’t know,” Stanner looked at Sawyer. After a moment, his eyes widened. “But… Yeah, I’ve seen that coat before. Ryland and me, that one time we fought Robertson Kendric.”

  “You were close to him for a few seconds, did you see his eyes? Were they gold?”

  Stanner squinted at Sawyer, who attempted to regain his footing. Stanner’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped.

  “Yeah, yeah, now I see it. The coat, the eyes, the untouchable attitude. He’s just like Robertson and that bastard Davin.”

  Sawyer tried to stand up, but Stanner lashed out a violent punch that smashed into his temple. The young marauder dropped forward onto the hard ground. He didn’t get up again. Stanner marched over and started to strip Sawyer of weapons. He used his belt to tie the man’s wrists.

  “How much you think Ryland will give us for him?” Dylan asked, walking forward to help Stanner.

  “Don’t know,” grunted the other Dog, heaving an unconscious Sawyer to his feet. “Don’t really care, either. Long as I get a shot in at the bastard. I’ll get some rope and tie him up.”

  Dylan grinned at that, and walked forward to carry Sawyer. It would be a
long walk back to the Barren, and I had no doubt they were going to tell me to lug our captive around at some point. I bowed my head and started following them.

  “Hold up there, kid,” Dylan said, sharply rapping his knuckles against my chest to halt me. He ignored my glare and pointed over my shoulder. “You came here for a reason, remember?”

  I followed his arm, to where Davy as still sitting on the ground with a shocked look on his face. I wonder if he knew who Sawyer really was. Or, supposedly was. There would be no way to confirm Stanner’s over-eager suspicions until Ryland saw the hostage. He’d encountered Robertson and Davin Kendric during his high-days as a marauder, and escaped them by the skin of his teeth.

  I glanced at Dylan. “Come on, it’ll be dark by the time we get back.”

  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 agitated 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.