Under the obscuring curtain of night-blind skies, Math dropped the lifeless form of the last of his tormentors. With the immediate threat eliminated, his adrenaline levels dropped and his battered body protested the abuse levelled against it. The howl of a distant wolf snapped him out of his pain-addled daze, leaving the edges of his mind frayed. He dragged the body to the narrow ditch hidden among the shrub-infested wasteland. At the crumbling edge, his strength flatlined and he dropped to his knees. With reserves he didn’t know existed, he shoved the corpse over, letting it roll down, a trail of dirt and gravelling following in its wake. He sat back on his heels like a man in supplication, before dropping his head into his hands to consider his recently hard-earned lesson.
Never let your ego coldcock your brain.
Normally this was the core of his daily mantra, but the bait proved too tempting this time. Once his arrogance took centre stage, he willingly stepped into the role of the reluctant guest of the four men sent by the queen bitch. Greer. Her name alone caused his simmering rage to boil over. For nine years he held the lid down, even as escaping steam scorched his hand. He couldn’t allow it to blow now. Not when the stakes were so high. More than simple vengeance, Math craved restitution. He would collect his pound of flesh.
One of his people, Cam, was caught in the traitorous bitch’s claws. Thanks to the talkative idiots occupying the nearby ditch, he had an idea of where Cam might be stashed. It was the only thing keeping the faint kernel of hope alive in his cynical heart.
It hadn’t always been a diamond-hard lump, once it thundered—for his family created by bonds of loyalty so deep the scars still ached. They were called the Strix, a tightly woven clan of assassins who rose from the ashes of the Collapse. Their creation stories varied—remnants of covert government operatives so dark as to be invisible, descendants of crime families whose reach spanned every corner of the grimy underworld. No matter the truth of their beginnings, when society fell into chaos, the founding members took their lethal skills and carved out new profit arenas. If the price was right and the situation doable, the Strix handled the dirty jobs for the emerging powers.
Math stumbled into the welcoming arms of the Strix while reeling from the loss of his blood family. His new clan recognised his natural skills in things better left in the shadows, and honed them to a lethal edge until he became one of their most skilled. A position he enjoyed until the power shifted.
Greer slithered in on the coattails of Michael’s name and wound her lethal coils around the Strix’s leadership. Math didn’t know if Greer was acting under Michael’s orders, or furthering her own personal agenda, when she slaughtered nearly all the assassins. Only a combination of luck and skill ensured Math, and a scant handful of others, escaped the brutal, nightmare-inducing massacre. When they regrouped, Math became the de facto leader, and in return, he vowed to make Greer pay.
But responsibility made for a ruthless mistress, and Math’s resolve to protect the remains of his family was a fact Greer counted on. When she took Cam, she eliminated the buffer of detachment which made Math the efficient operative he’d become. To get Cam back, Math’s careful plan disappeared in a puff of smoke. Instead, he spent the last couple of days at the not-so-tender mercies of the men currently taking a dirt nap. Once the entertainment of torturing Math faded, they sat around the fire, drinking and talking.
Math could’ve ended his stay sooner, but he would endure anything for Cam, the one man who managed to slip into the ragged hole labelled brother.
In the end, Math’s pigheaded obstinacy paid off. Thinking he was out cold, his captors spilled their guts, first figuratively, and in the end, literally.
Through the bits and pieces he picked up, he now had a location, even as he waged an internal war. His brain demanded he go to New Seattle and hunt down Greer. His heart dictated he get Cam first. Instinct warned if he didn’t play this just right, Cam would disappear, because once Greer realised Math was on Cam’s trail, she would ensure nothing remained to be saved.
No way could he chance that shit happening. He needed back up, but who the hell could he reach out to?
With the echo of a timer relentlessly counting down, he braced his hand on the ground and forced his body to move. Once upright, instincts and training kicked in. He took the time to gather the scattered items belonging to the strike team, which wasn’t much, and tossed them in the ditch. Keeping anything which could be traced back to this scene, was ill-advised.
In an effort to offset his lagging energy, he choked down a bit of food and water. He kept a few essentials—a knife, a half-filled canteen, some dried nutrition bars, and a marked-up map. After studying the notations and landmarks under a match light, he scanned the surrounding terrain. It took him a moment to recognise the droning noise in the distance as a waterfall.
Armed with that bit of information, he bent back over the map. Using the knowledge of where he encountered Greer’s fumbling minions, his finger began to trace a path until he found his location. A harsh laugh escaped, cutting through the night.
Wouldn’t you know it? His closest option for help was the furthest thing from a friendly asset he could imagine. Not that it mattered. With Cam’s life in the balance, he’d make a deal with the devil, no matter how much it chafed his ass. Damn good thing his soul was used to dirty bargains, because things were bound to get nasty.