Havoc (5 page)

When he lunged at her, she spun to the side, nearly slamming into Martine, who aimed a scowl at her. Dred was better with her chains than close-up with knives; she knew better than to let the man grapple. He had better reach, and Silence's crew was fast with their garrotes. He could slice clean through her throat if she gave him an opening.

She lashed out, first with her right hand, then her left, but he blocked both strikes. He nearly snagged her wrist, but she twisted out of the attempted hold and came out with her knife still in her hand.
You've gotten sloppy, relied on the chains too much.
Dred tried to remember old techniques and circled her knives so he'd be watching those instead of her feet. When she was sure he was waiting for a blade strike, she kicked him in the crotch. Silence's men still had testicles apparently; he flinched enough to give her an opening and she slashed a line across his throat. The skin peeled back in a wet red bubble, then he toppled.

Martine and Jael had already dropped theirs, but Tam was still working. He said without turning, “Feel free to wade in. We need to get those supplies back.”

Jael ended the fight with a closed-fist blow to the man's temple. He didn't look strong enough for that to be a one-shot kill, but the enemy dropped like a stone. Martine regarded him with a speculative expression, gaze skimming down his lean frame, taking in the ropy musculature and the deceptive breadth of his biceps.

“Secret technique?” she asked with a raised brow.

Dred wasn't sure if the other woman could be trusted, but her options for lieutenants had shrunk with all the dying, plus Wills's betrayal after the massacre on Grigor's turf. The fact that they'd won in the end didn't change how many men she'd lost, and there would be no reinforcements. She was watching Martine, for sure, but she couldn't afford to cut her out of the loop. The woman was fierce and ruthless, and she wasn't psychotic, which was more than could be said for most of Perdition's inmates.

“I studied for decades with a bunch of monks,” Jael said, straight-faced.

“I'm sure. Because our people are known for discipline.”

“Our people?” Tam asked.

“Convicts. The lawfully challenged, if you prefer.”

Jael laughed. “Lawfully challenged. I like that.”

Dred interrupted, “The longer we stand here, the likelier it is we run into more trouble. Let's get these supplies back to Queensland before they decide we've abandoned the place, and Ike's facing a revolt.”

“You think that could happen?” Martine wanted to know.

Dred shrugged. “In here? Probably. We need to be there, reminding the men that they can't believe that merc's promises. Otherwise . . .”

“It would be a massacre,” Tam predicted.

She couldn't look directly at the threat of complete eradication without the shakes setting in. Though Tam had built the mythos of the Dread Queen, she wasn't a leader and never had been. Outside, she had been a solitary killer, a vigilante who hunted in the shadows. And she didn't know if she had the strength to hold Queensland together.

Not through this. But I don't know how to give up, either.

4

Echoes in Darkness

Queensland was in an uproar when they got back. Long before they reached the first checkpoint, Jael made out shouting voices, arguments raging in multiple corridors.
Too much to hope that they're all clever lads.
Though a few of the big brutes who had built the barricades might've seen through the empty promises, others weren't so savvy.
If this rot runs too deep, we'll have to cut our losses and run.
But Jael understood well enough that it would be the same as admitting defeat. While a smaller group might be able to hide longer, they'd have even less chance at taking out Vost's crew.

Dred wore a thunderous scowl as the sentry stopped them though they were obviously laden down with provisions. “Is what the merc said true? People have been saying it might not be a bad idea—”

“If you fight us,” Dred cut in, “then you stop being a Queenslander. You can go join Mungo or Silence. They'd kill their own because an outsider said to. We don't.”

“Artan did,” the man muttered.

“And he's dead now. Maybe you want me to end you, too.” Dred took a step closer, and even without her chains, she was both terrifying and beautiful. She pulled a blade from her thigh sheath and set it gently to his throat. “Just say the word.”

Dred flicked her wrist, and a pinprick of red appeared on the man's throat. Neither Jael nor Tam would dream of intervening. For her part, Martine looked downright eager.

The guard gulped and dropped his eyes. “No. Sorry. I'll man my post.”

“See that you do,” she said.

They pushed past with the supplies, then had to pass them across the barricades; the debris was piled nearly to the ceiling, with just a meter or so clearance, barely enough space for the crates. The last two containers, Jael shoved from the other side until the carton left scrapes on the ceiling.

“Put your back into it,” Martine teased.

He leaned to the side to give her a look. “I shove any harder, and I'll pull off the ceiling panels.”

She grinned back. “Men always overestimate their abilities.”

Tam, Martine, and Dred wrenched hard from the inside, and centimeter by centimeter, the boxes shifted. At last they had the goods on the right side of the blockade, where their people could use them. A pang went through him.
What the hell. When did I start thinking of this flotsam as mine?
But he felt protective of this place even though it was a cesspool, maybe because of Dred. Her inner circle took their cues from her, treating him like a person, like he was worth something. This was the last place where he should trust anyone; intellectually he knew that. She'd probably kill him if it came down to his life or hers, but the hard facts no longer felt quite so incontrovertible.

“Where should we put this stuff?” Martine asked.

Good question, since with the bitching he heard in all corners, looting might be a problem. Dred looked thoughtful as Tam answered, “I know of a storeroom where the electronic lock still works.”

“Nobody can hack it?” Jael asked.

“Unlikely,” Martine said. “It would require high-tech equipment to bypass. It's not like an analog lock you can open with picks.” At their collective stare, she added, “What? I had a life before I ended up in here.”

Dred grinned. “Sounds like an interesting one.”

“I did all right.”

“Did the teeth come before or after?” Jael wondered aloud.

He expected the woman to threaten to bite him, but apparently she considered him enough of a friend to answer. “I filed them my first week in. Men were less interested in trying to rape me when word got around that I bite the penis off anybody who touches without permission.”

“I take it you did that at least once, to prove a point?”

She smiled. It was impressive. And startling. “Doesn't taste like chicken.”

Tam was regarding her with new interest. “We
must
get better acquainted.”

“You serious?” Martine seemed surprised, but Jael heard the pleased skitter of her pulse. Tam had never shown interest in anyone that Jael had noticed—of any gender or species.
Until now.

“Most definitely.”

“What was it, the biting? Don't worry, I don't have to chew all the way through.”

“I feel like we should leave these two alone,” Dred said.

Jael nodded. “Likewise. You stay with the goods. Dred and I will make two trips, then you can lock up, Tam. Sound good?”

Ordinarily, the spymaster would help with the hauling, but he seemed quite distracted by Martine.
Right, then.
Since the other two didn't answer, Jael followed Dred down the hall to the storeroom. The low murmur of conversation started as soon as he stepped away; he could've eavesdropped, had he been so inclined, but there was no reason to spy on a personal exchange though he'd done it as part of a contract more than once.

“So
that
was interesting.”

“I'd wondered what rang his bell,” Dred said.

“Now we know. Do you think we should leave them alone for a while?” Jael spoke in a light tone, hoping the nascent spark between Tam and Martine would distract her, even for a little while.

Her smile was fleeting, and it revealed how troubled she was. “No time.”

The door swooshed open at her approach.
Looks like the motion detectors are still working.
She slid into the room and carried her crates to the back wall before setting them down gently. Her careful restraint, so obviously a sign that she was holding on to her composure by her fingernails, made him feel . . . something, but damned if he knew what to call it. Tension rode low in his stomach, like he wanted to pull her close for a few seconds, but she wouldn't stand for it, even if he wouldn't feel like an arse doing it. They didn't have that sort of relationship, and he didn't even know if he wanted it. Each step closer to her made him feel like he was walking on razor blades with a pit of spikes below.

“Let's get the second load.”

The next trip went quicker, as Dred seemed driven, like someone would steal the supplies if she didn't get them locked up fast enough.
Hell, maybe she's right.
Tam and Martine were talking earnestly, though the woman wore a pert smile. For his part, Tam showed more animation than Jael had witnessed from him previously, and his heartbeat was a little fast. Jael stopped himself from checking for other signs of interest.

Not my business.

Martine turned at their final approach. “You ready?”

Dred nodded. “Lock it down, Tam.”

Jael expected that she'd leave them to it, but Dred supervised the securing of the storeroom. He tracked her eyes as she memorized the code. The door swished shut, and her shoulders relaxed. Tam stepped back, wearing a satisfied expression.

He turned to Dred. “If you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to.”

“Mind if I tag along?” Martine wanted to know.

“Not at all.”

With a tip of his chin in farewell, Tam led Martine away on some mysterious business. Jael didn't doubt it was important though, and beneficial to Queensland. He stretched, rolling his neck side to side. Then he flashed Dred a smile.

“Buy you dinner?”

Amusement flickered deep in her green eyes. “Why not? Let me get my chains first.”

After she picked them up from Ike, they went to the common room, much emptier than it had been when he first arrived. As Jael headed for the meal station, he caught fragments of conversation.

“I'm telling you, it's a mistake not to jump on this—”

“You're a moron.” The smaller man thumped a fist to emphasize his impatience.

The bigger one shoved to his feet, eyes veined in red. He had a fiery bulb of a nose that said he was a drunkard and on his way to liver failure. His knuckles were scarred from turns of issuing brutal beatings. “Let's settle this right now.”

Jael saw the moment when the other man realized things were about to escalate. “That's exactly what that merc wants. You're playing into his hands.”

Jael paused by their table, flattening a palm between them. At the interruption, they both turned with vicious looks that faded when they realized he was the Dread Queen's champion. That was a new experience for him; usually when he scared the shit out of other men, it was wholly due to his own nature.

“There's too much bullshit at this table and not enough eating,” he snapped. “You want some help with that spoon?”

There was a long silence, then the little one answered. “No, we're good.”

The rest of the room took a hint from the exchange, and the arguing died down. He leveled a long look across bearded faces, thin and sallow ones, bloodshot eyes, and sunken cheeks. Once he was sure they'd taken his message, he caught up with Dred, who was talking to Cook. Or rather, talking
at
him.

Cook was a big man, tall as Einar had been but without the bulky muscles; he was burly and broad-shouldered, with pale skin and a bald head that gleamed as if no hair had ever grown on it. His hands and arms were scarred from multiple knife wounds, and a red tattoo snaked out from his sleeveless shirt. Jael studied the characters but couldn't read the word. It wasn't in universal, and his formal education didn't offer a lot of variety.

“There are crates of organic in the storeroom,” Dred was saying. “If you need to restock the Kitchen-mate, talk to Tam.”

The chef's eyes flickered. Smart of her not to mention that he and Martine had the code, also. “So what's on the menu?” Jael asked.

The other raised both brows and gestured to the pot.

“I'll take a bowl.” Because that was the only option.

Cook didn't do special orders or substitutes. And he wasn't fond of complaints either.

To nobody's surprise, the meal of the day was vegetable goulash with synth-protein stirred in. Cook slopped it into his bowl, but Jael had been eating scraps for so long in the Bug prison that the smell was faintly appetizing. Dred took her serving and stood, looking for a free seat. Really, she should commandeer one, but he sensed that she was feeling too tired to carry the Dread Queen crap at the moment.

Vix stood up near the back wall and beckoned. Zediah glanced up to see who she was signaling, and he offered a fleeting smile. Jael touched Dred's arm. “Over here.”

“You know them?” she asked.

“Slightly.”

“They're not much for fighting. No idea how the hell they ended up here.”

That piqued his interest. “They came in together?”

“On the same transport.”

“Wonder if they committed their crimes together out there,” Jael whispered.

Dred frowned at him as they joined the other two. She set her bowl down and started eating at once. Jael winked at Vix as he took a seat.

Zediah said calmly, “Do that again, and I'll pop your eye out.”

“He's protective. Don't mind him.”

Jael knew a fleeting moment of curiosity as to how far back their connection went. Zediah hardly looked old enough to be incarcerated here, but it was possible he'd taken enough Rejuvenex to make him look eerily young. That would mean the man came from money, however, and had a fetish for “older women,” but curious as he was, Jael respected the rules of Perdition, and he didn't ask personal questions while he spooned down the grub.

“Tell me the truth,” Zediah said. “How long before the mercs kill us all? I'm not asking for false promises, mind you. Just an estimate of how long we've got.”

Vix nudged him hard with her elbow. “Stuff the attitude.”

Whatever Zediah might've said was forestalled by the alarm blaring throughout Queensland. “Incoming. Mungo's mongrels closing fast!”