Hardened by Steel

by J. B. Havens

  “Is that an Indian proverb or something?”

  “We prefer Native American, if you must call us something. And sort of. It’s more common sense than anything. Don’t worry, Mic, it doesn’t take away from your looks.” Rook was filling a syringe with a local anesthetic.

  Is this day every going to be over?

  I held up my elbow, trying to get a look at the wound just as Jackson and Jones stepped into the jet.

  “Motherfucker!” I yelled with feeling. The cut had gone right through one of my tattoos. The Archangel Michael was cut neatly in two, right across his regal face. “Mother fucking crazy-ass bitch. Look at this. She ruined my tattoo!” I held my arm up for them to see.

  “Mic, really?” Jackson glared at me in disbelief. “You almost died for the second fucking time today and you’re pissed about your tattoo?”

  “Well, yeah. Almost dying isn’t that bad. Actually dying is. I’m alive. Besides, that crazy ass never had a chance in hell of killing me. I ranted.

  “Wow. I’m impressed,” Flynn said from behind Jackson, trying to see around his large frame. “The captain is going to kick your ass when he sees the mess you made of his jet, Mic.” Jackson and Flynn followed the muddy trail to the back of the jet.

  As soon as the words finished leaving Flynn’s mouth, the cockpit door popped open and the captain stuck his head out, pulling his ear buds out as he did so.

  “What the fuck happened to my jet?” Fury was etched onto his face.

  “It should be fairly obvious, Captain. We had a shitty-ass day. Took you long enough to come out; thanks for the concern.” My pain was hitting an all-time high. I stared at my legs dangling off the edge of the small table; mud and blood mixed with water puddled under my boots.

  “Tufo’s new Zombie Fallout book is on Audible... Talbot has this plan…” Shamefaced, he ducked his head back into the cockpit.

  “For fucks sake…” Jackson rubbed his hands over his face. “Mic, sit your ass down over here on the pull-out.” I slid off the table and followed orders like a good little soldier.

  “What the fuck, Mic? Can’t you get along with anyone?” Rook said.

  “No, I guess not. You lot are the only ones who can stand me.” I said, laughing, but quickly wished I hadn’t. The pain from my rib and collection of wounds could no longer be ignored.

  “Rook will get you an IV and some pain meds. We’ll knock you out and stitch you up while you’re sleeping.” He pushed on my shoulder gently, forcing me to sit down. Any thoughts of resistance flew out of my head as soon as my ass hit the softness of the seat. I reclined slowly, trying to spare myself as much pain as possible. The only injuries that hurt worse than ribs were ones to the back. You don’t realize how much you use those muscles until it hurts to move them. I’d had a hell of a day. God, it feels good to lay down right now…“Sounds like an excellent idea. Where’s Jordon?” I stopped Rook who had a needle at the ready. Jordon was the only one not seated around me.

  “I’m here.” He spoke from above me. “Everyone’s on board and accounted for, Mic. Don’t worry, we’ve got this.” He was leaning over the seat back, looking down at me. Rain water dripped off his hair and ran down his cheeks; a few drops hitting my face. His green eyes shone with something I couldn’t name. A flash of sharp pain hit me as Rook started the IV. Before I knew it, my eyes wouldn’t stay open. They were weighted down and I didn’t fight it. Jordon’s concerned face was the last thing I saw before I slipped easily into a black void where there was no pain and no fear. Peace enveloped me and I welcomed it with open arms.

  Chapter 27

  Beatrice paced the floor of Jackson’s room. He’d told her to use it if she wanted while he was away. He’d reassured her that she was perfectly safe here, that even if someone found this place, no one other than a member of Steel would be able to get inside.

  Bea had been gone for over a day and Jackson nearly as long. The phone hadn’t rung and the door hadn’t opened. She paced and prayed. Her family was out there, fighting for what was right. She was so proud of the woman her niece had become, but that wouldn’t stop Beatrice from worrying about her.

  The shrill ringing of the telephone had her running to answer it, tripping and stumbling her way across the room in her haste.

  “Hello!” She nearly shouted in excitement.

  “Beatrice, its Jackson.”

  “Oh, Fisher, it’s so good to hear your voice. Did you find her? Is everyone okay? When will you be back?” The questions rushed out of her mouth.

  “Slow down,” he said, chuckling. “Everyone is fine, more or less. We found her. We’ll be back at the Wonka House in an hour or so. I waited to call you until I knew for sure when we’d be back.” He paused and his voice became grave. “Now Beatrice, I need you to listen to me.”

  “What is it?” Anxiety gripped her; fear washed over her body in cold shivers.

  “We found Mic, but she’s hurt. Not anything life-threatening, but... she was cut. Her face, Beatrice. Her face is cut open. She has a broken rib and some bruises. A few other cuts. She’s going to be fine. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

  “Oh, Fisher…” she trailed off, beginning to sob softly.

  “Don’t cry, baby. She’s okay. This is Mic we’re talking about. I don’t know anyone stronger. She wouldn’t want you to fuss over her. She’s more pissed off that one of the cuts messed up one of her tattoos than anything else.”

  “Okay. I’m okay. Just bring her home, Fisher.” She wiped her tears and straightened her back. Her girl was amazing and strong and beautiful. Something like a scar wasn’t going to affect her too badly.

  “I’ll see you soon. I’d let you talk to her, but she’s sleeping. We knocked her out while we stitched her up. She’s been through a lot and we figured she could use some rest.”

  “I’ll have food ready. I hope you and the boys are hungry. And by the way Fisher, your bed is very comfortable, but it would be better if you were in it with me.”

  He growled in response and the volume of his voice dropped. “Woman, you are going to be the death of me. You can’t talk like that when I’m around my men.”

  Beatrice laughed in his ear and quietly hung up the phone. She grabbed her apron and tied it on as she went. She wanted to make sure they had something they loved ready for them when they got back. These were her boys. And her girl. And her man. She wanted to spoil them all.

  ****

  I was awake and enjoying the view. This was so similar to when we had gotten back from Colombia: me injured and watching the mountains out my window. Instead of late summer though, this time it was early winter. Heavy fog hung on the mountains and all of the leaves were gone from the trees. The sky was heavy with grey clouds that looked like they might hold snow.

  The compound appeared below me as we began our descent. We would land here, then drive to the Wonka House. The jet needed to be left at the compound, since we’d be returning tomorrow. I wanted to get my iPod from my cabin before we drove back; I needed my music right now.

  I touched my cheek lightly, feeling the neat, tight stitches under the bandage. At least it was just a pad taped to my face, I hadn’t been a big fan of the gauze head-piece. The stitches pulled and stretched a little as I moved my jaw around. The pain was down to a dull ache, nothing I couldn’t handle. My leg had needed ten stitches, but Rook said he had put over fifteen in my face. The scar would be long and narrow, but very prominent. The tape holding my rib in place itched and stretched my skin as I tried to move. As uncomfortable as it was, having it on was still better than going without.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about the scar yet. I wasn’t the type of girl who worried about her looks too much and I was pretty used to people staring at me. With my tattoos, how I dressed, and the company I kept, eyes following me through a room was nothing new.

  The jet landed with a soft bump and a screech. The others were all standing, grabbing rifles, and getting ready to disembark. I joined them, limping only
slightly.

  “Come on Mic, I want to get going in ten.” Jackson spoke to me over his shoulder as he descended the steps.

  “I’m coming.” I followed him down the stairs, grasping the railing tightly. Jordon stayed close in case I needed him.

  “Whose vehicle are we taking?” Flynn asked from where he was standing just inside the hangar.

  “Unlike some of you, I think ahead.” Jones pointed to his left. I radioed ahead and had one of the guards bring the Suburban back over for us.”

  “Everyone has ten minutes to get a change of clothes, then we’re leaving,” Jackson said.

  “Jackson, why are we still staying at the Wonka House?” Rook asked. The Vega cartel is destroyed; the threat against Beatrice is over.”

  “I second that,” Pierce said, raising his hand and staring longingly at his cabin.

  “She made us a meal or something. We’ll transfer back here in the morning,” Jackson said, forcing nonchalance.

  “So, let me test my understanding here.” Flynn said, cheekily. “We’re staying at our secret hideout another night, unnecessarily, because Beatrice cooked for us?”

  Jackson glared at him. “Yes. That a problem, Corporal?”

  Flynn did his best to hide his grin, but it was a wasted effort. “Not at all, Master Sergeant.” He let loose his laugh as he walked away to a safe distance.

  I stood there watching the exchange, wanting to question Jackson about his growing relationship with my aunt. I decided to wait until I saw her; I knew she would explain it to me.

  I glanced over at Jordon who was standing silently nearby. He hadn’t followed Jones and Rook to the cabin they shared. Instead he was studying me.

  “Can I help you with anything, Jordon?” I asked, limping closer to him.

  “Not yet, Bea. But soon you will,” he responded cryptically before spinning on his heel and turning away.

  Shaking my head as I went, I made my way slowly to my cabin. I didn’t have much with me, just the machete dangling loosely from my right hand. One of the boys had cleaned it for me while I was out. It was once again sharp, well-oiled, and free of blood.

  Entering my cabin, I debated about taking off my boots. If I did, I wasn’t sure that I would be able to get them back on again by myself. After a moment, I made my decision. Sinking carefully onto my loveseat, I took my boots off and then stared at the machete in my hands. The blade was nicked and gouged in places, no doubt from hitting bones or the like. It seemed macabre to keep it, but I didn’t think I could part with it just yet.

  I looked at my arms, what wasn’t bandaged or bruised was coated in blood. I was a real fucking mess. I didn’t have time to spend an hour in the shower like I wanted to, a quick wash-up would have to do.

  Plugging the drain of the bathroom sink, I filled it with water as hot as I could stand. Refusing to look up into the mirror, I plunged my arms into the deep sink. The water immediately swirled with brown and pink, getting darker with each passing second.

  I scrubbed soap all over my arms, up to my elbows, trying to make at least a little effort to keep my bandages dry. I scrubbed until my skin turned pink, ignoring the overly hot water. My mind drifted back to that room and the monster who had held me.

  I felt the blows all over again. I felt the sickening fear, and I smelled the dankness of the basement and the stomach-churning stench of death. My hands were shaking and my breath was coming in short gasps. I licked my lips, tonguing the swollen cut on my bottom lip. I remembered the sting and burn of the slap exploding across my cheek, followed by the cracking pain of Julio’s fist knocking me out.

  The rope burns on my wrists felt like fire in the water. My mind replaced the feel of the hot liquid with the sensation of the ropes holding my wrists tight. My arms began to ache in memory of their painfully awkward position. I was cold and shaking; I could feel a cold draft on my privates and shame tore through me anew.

  I kept scrubbing, trying to feel clean, hoping that if I washed enough I could reach the dirty feeling inside me.

  “Mic!” Someone was screaming near my ear. Rough hands jerked me from the sink and pulled me away, shaking me violently. I struck out blindly, slapping and kicking at whoever was holding me. I was screaming unintelligently. My voice shredded my vocal cords; feeling like a trapped animal, I became one.

  “God dammit! Mic, fucking stop it! It’s me, it’s Chris!”

  His eyes... I knew those eyes. The bright green orbs were filled with worry and fear. His hands cupped my shoulders. I felt so tiny and fragile in his hands. I followed along the strong angle of his arms with my eyes. His tattoos swirled and rode along his biceps in thick graceful curves. My gaze reached his face, and suddenly I was coming back to myself. The familiar cheekbones and tempting lips comforted me.

  “Bea, baby. Please... stay with me,” Chris pleaded. I grasped his face in my wet hands which caused dirty water to run down his cheeks and neck. His skin was so warm against mine; his jaw was covered in thick whiskers that rasped against my palms. He put his hands over mine, holding me to him.

  “I’m here,” I whispered. I drew his face down to mine, for the first time initiating a kiss. His lips found mine and stayed there. He groaned into my mouth and held me closer. The pain in my mouth quickly brushed aside by the pleasure of his lips on mine.

  He buried his hands in my hair, not caring that nearly every inch of me was filthy. He kissed me like he was breathing me; as if I was his very life. He backed me up until my legs bumped into the counter, he grunted in frustration before swiftly picking me up and setting me on the countertop. Stepping between my legs, he pressed against me. I responded by wrapping my one good leg around his hip and gripping his back tight with my hands, holding him as close as I could.

  “Bea…,” he whispered my name, kissing along my neck and ear. Shivers erupted through my body, warming me from the inside and chasing the last of the demons away.

  “Chris... please.” What I was pleading for I didn’t know. I just knew I didn’t want him to stop kissing me.

  Sliding his hands under my shirt and over my stomach, he encountered my blood-encrusted skin. He pulled back from me, taking his clever hands with him. He was breathing hard and coated in a slick sheen of sweat.

  “We can’t do this right now,” he sighed, putting his forehead against mine. “What you just went through... you need time.”

  I pushed him away from me, all at once disappointed, and slid down off the counter. I needed to pack a change of clothes; the team was waiting for us.

  “Why did you come in here?” I snapped, as I walked past him into my bedroom. I jerked open my closet door and pulled random things out, throwing them in a gym bag.

  “The others are waiting. You were in here a long time. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “You accomplished that. I’m okay. Now go.” I yanked the zipper on the bag closed violently. My hands were shaking with anger and embarrassment. I was taking my emotions out on Jordon, which wasn’t fair, but in that moment, I didn’t fucking care. “Get out. I’ll be out in a minute.” I stood facing him with my arms crossed under my breasts, taking a stance of irritation that every woman through time has perfected.

  “Fine, Bea, but this isn’t over. Not for a second.” Jordon left, slamming the door shut behind him.

  I desperately wanted to shower for a week and sleep for a month, but such luxuries weren’t available to me right now. Jackson and the others were waiting, and I knew that if I didn’t get a move on, Jackson would come in here and drag me out. I couldn’t bear to put my boots back on… ever… so I threw them in the trash and slid on a pair of flip flops. My feet would be cold, but better cold and clean than covered in blood.

  Before I left, I took the time to carefully arrange the machete back in its place next to Phillips’s Sig. As I stood staring at them, I tried to figure out why I was keeping them.

  “Fuck it, I’ve had enough self-analysis for today.” Swiping my iPod off the table near the d
oor as I left, I put my ear buds in, switched on shuffle, and cranked the volume high. Crawling by Linkin Park filled my head, the lyrics speaking to my soul in that moment.

  “About fucking time, your highness,” Flynn grumbled at me from the driver’s seat. Jackson was seated next to him.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Jackson cut me off. “Don’t start, just get in the fucking truck.” He rolled his window up, cutting off any further conversation.

  I did as I was told and got in the fucking truck.

  ****

  He sat in his quiet spot, nestled deep within some fallen leaves. Under a large tree, he was well hidden from what few prying eyes there might be. The compound was directly below him. He watched them scurry around like rats; entering and leaving their cabins, clustered together near the large black Suburban.

  He pressed the binoculars tightly against his face, straining to see the one person he hated the most. One of the men came out of her cabin, slamming the door, obviously furious.

  So the bitch pissed him off too…

  She emerged a few minutes later. The sight of her bandaged face and limping gait gave him great joy. He wished he could shake the hand of whoever had marked the cunt up. Maybe when he got to her, he would cut the other side of her face and make her a real hideous freak. It was no more than she deserved after what she had done.

  She was no hero; she was a destroyer of lives…

  He couldn’t wait to get started. A broad smile stretched his face; thoughts of sweet revenge warmed his heart. His hands itched with the desire to wrap them around her fucking neck. Maybe he would give her a true traitor’s death. Gut her... bleed her out slowly... dance on her entrails, and slit her throat. He reached down and adjusted his pants, not at all bothered that the thought of her death excited him so much.

  Chapter 28

  Jordon leaned his head back, ignoring Mic and everyone else as they drove back to the Wonka House. He reflected on the past few days: finding Mic gone; tracking her down; and finding her tied to that fucking table, thinking the worst had happened. She was the strongest person he knew and he didn’t begrudge her the freak-out she’d just had; she was entitled to one.