As Charity left him alone with Simon, Ruin choked back his rage. He was going to gut the asshole out front. Slowly, inch by incremental inch. First, he needed to get Simon down. The ropes were buried in the torn skin at his wrists and ankles and would need to be cut last, otherwise, Simon’s body weight would tear free of each nail. That left Ruin with two choices. Cut each nail close to the skin, then pull Simon free, or cut the nail close to the wall, and then dig out each one. Both options intensified the sickness roiling in his gut but didn’t make a dent in his determination.
There were very few individuals Ruin considered his—Vex, Havoc, Reaper, and Simon. No way in hell was he giving up. Eyeing the nail driven through the centre of Simon’s palm, he positioned the pliers as close to Simon’s skin as possible and clipped the end. Simon’s fingers jerked, and his head lolled to the side, a low groan cutting through the room. ‘You hang on, Si,’ Ruin whispered.
Blood streaked Simon’s dark skin, highlighting the cuts and bruises inflicted by bare knuckles. One eye was swollen shut, the other fluttered open, awareness flickering through the bloodshot eye. ‘Ruin?’
At the sound of his name, relief threatened to drop him to his knees. ‘Who else would chase your sorry ass, Si?’
The split and swollen lips twitched, as Simon drew in breath to reply, except words never came, drowned out by a harsh, wheezing cough. The abrasive sound indicated internal injuries. Ruin gritted his teeth, knowing Simon was in an agonising hell. He found an unmarred spot on Simon’s shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. Lame ass comfort, but all he could offer. ‘Don’t speak, just hold on a bit longer.’
Simon’s eye fluttered shut as awareness slipped away just as Charity came back with an assortment of cloths, and a water-filled container. Taking advantage of Simon’s unconscious state, Ruin shared his plan as she tugged the ratty-ass mattress in front of the empty fireplace. As she set up the cloths, he focused on cutting the nail heads off, doing his best not to think about what was coming.
Despite Simon’s occasional moans, Ruin kept a steady pace. As the last piece of metal dropped to the floor, he threw away the heavy pliers and stepped back. His chest heaved as he considered his next step, his hand opening and closing in useless fists. The barest touch on his arm snapped his attention to the silent woman beside him.
Her face was pale with a slight sheen of sweat but resolute. ‘Ready?’
The denial lodged in his throat, but he gave a jerky nod.
Her eyes were a dark, stormy blue, so different from their earlier electric colour. ‘You brace his body, I’ll pull him free.’
Her logic made sense. Simon was almost as tall as him, no way could she keep Simon high enough not to put added pressure on the nails. Charity took her position to his left, and Ruin stepped in close to Simon using his body to brace Simon’s against the stone. Simon’s head rested on Ruin’s shoulder, his breath a faint tickle against his neck.
‘Okay.’ Her answer came out soft as if she was psyching herself up to move. She stepped into place next to him, feet braced as she slid one hand between the wall and Simon’s hand, and used the other to brace his wrist. ‘On two. One. Two.’ She pulled.
Simon jerked with a short scream. Ruin held his friend’s head in place between his shoulder and neck with one hand. ‘Si, it’s alright. Don’t fight, let me get you free.’ He continued his muttered reassurances as Charity relentlessly continued her grisly work, her jaw tight and hard. By the time both of Simon’s arms were free, Ruin was more than happy to leave him in the minor reprieve of unconsciousness.
Charity wiped her bloody hands on her jeans, then pulled her knife free to work on the rope at Simon’s wrists. She turned her head enough to confirm she had Ruin’s attention. Silent tear tracks left trails in the grime covering her face, but her hand was steady. ‘Brace.’ The harsh one-word warning was all he got before she cut through the last of the rope.
He crowded close as Simon’s torso slumped against his. Wrapping his arms around his friend’s bruised and battered chest, Ruin couldn’t ignore the warm blood seeping through his t-shirt. His voice was hoarse as he continued to murmur to Simon. Didn’t matter if he wasn’t awake, no way was he letting Simon think he was alone in this.
At his side, Charity crouched down, her voice coming out rough, ‘I’ve got to start at his feet and move up because I’ll need your help with the ones in his hips and thighs.’
With Simon in his arms, he couldn’t see her, but he could feel her. He positioned himself so Simon’s legs were outside his. He could feel Charity’s movements, her muscles bunching before each tug, and then she braced against his leg before pulling Simon free. He dropped his head against the wooden wall and kept track of her as she moved to his other side to repeat the process.
Finally, she rose and met his gaze, concern evident in the lines around her eyes and mouth. ‘There are two nails on each side, high up on his thigh. I’m worried they’re too close to the major arteries. If we pull him free, we could nick one.’
Ruin lifted his head and shifted enough to ease the protest of his stiff muscles. ‘Can you cut between the wall and Simon?’
Shaking her head, she grimaced. ‘I don’t think I have enough strength to cut through the metal at that angle.’
‘Then we trade places.’
She nodded absently, her gaze roaming the room, then coming back to him. ‘Hold him for just another minute. I think there was an old crate I can stand on. It should put me high enough to take your place.’
Not waiting for his response, she darted out of the room. Soon after, the sharp clatter of heavy objects spilling across the floor sounded. Then she was back, a weathered crate in hand. Awkward though it was, he shifted back enough so she could place it directly between him and Simon. Then she climbed on.
Despite the gruesome situation, Ruin couldn’t ignore the faint scent of wildflowers buried under the sweat and dirt, or the warmth of her body inching its way through the tense chill of his. Standing on the crate put her almost even with Ruin. She braced her feet apart, and slid her arms under his, preparing to take Simon’s weight.
Pressed so close together he could feel each bump of her spine and the shift of muscle as she got ready. He kept his arms above hers, waiting until he was sure she was steady. Once she seemed in position, he asked, ‘You good?’
‘Yeah.’ Her reply was a bit strained but solid.
Taking her at her word Ruin inched his arms away. The wooden crate creaked ominously but held. If he moved too fast, or Charity slipped, Simon’s weight would cause his body to rip away from the remaining nails, causing catastrophic damage. Something Ruin wanted to avoid since the Raiders managed to do a fuck-tacular job all on their own.
Once he was certain she was good, he grabbed the pliers and crouched down, adjusting one of the lanterns, so there was enough light to work by. ‘We need to angle him, otherwise this won’t work.’
Charity inched her feet, shifting her and Simon at an angle. The move caused her and the crate to wobble. Ruin shot up, stepping in right behind her, ready to brace them both. ‘Got him?’
‘Yeah, move fast.’
Heeding her warning, he crouched back down and carefully positioned the pliers before snipping the two remaining nails. Before repeating his actions on Simon’s other side, he braced Charity as she shifted. Despite his occasional pained sounds, Simon remained blessedly unconscious.
Finally finished with his grisly task, Ruin dropped the pliers and helped Charity move Simon’s battered body to the nearby mattress. Together they laid him out. The water and a pile of neatly stacked cloth bandages, the material nothing more than cut pieces of clothing and bedding scoured from the cabin, sat within reach.
‘We’re going to need a fire,’ she murmured. ‘And the first-aid kit.’ She didn’t wait to begin cleaning the multiple wounds decorating Simon’s shuddering body. ‘The kit’s in the saddlebag Boden gave us. There was a wood pile out around to the side of the cabin.’
‘On it.’ He stood up and moved to the doorway.
‘Ruin?’
He pulled up short and looked back.
‘Don’t kill him.’ The fact she was warning him off the piece of shit in the front room, made him wonder how much of his rage was leaking into his face. Then she went and added, ‘Not yet.’
Taking in the fragile movements of Simon’s chest, he clenched his fist. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep him around.’ The fact his answer skated the edge of a threat and only rated a sigh from her was a clear indication Charity understood exactly where he was coming from. Good, because he wasn’t one to waste time on pointless explanations.
He strode out of the room, his focus narrowed on the muffled whimpers coming from the front room. Each step he took was a scrape against the flint of his rage, striking the tender fuel of revenge. Nope, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let the mangy excuse escape by dying easily. Not until he got the answers he wanted on why his brother in all but blood lay dying in the other room.
As Ruin entered the front room, the whimpers cut off. He deliberately ignored the pathetic being huddled on the floor in the corner. Knowing Simon was in bad shape kept Ruin on point. He almost made it to the door before the piece of shit decided to speak.
‘How do you like our home improvements, asshole?’ The question was wheezy, but audible, as was the phlegmy cough that followed.
Ruin froze in place. Fury broke through his self-imposed lock burning everything, including logic, to ashes. Taking his time, he slowly pivoted, his gaze zeroing in on the sweat-glazed face of the man on the floor. Cruel pleasure curled through him when the fool failed to hide the fear crawling underneath his pain, even as he tried to maintain his snarling defiance. A stupid pretence as he was weaponless and his lifespan could be measured in a handful of hours. With a deliberate stalk, Ruin crossed the room and withdrew one of his knives to play it through his fingers with deceptively casual ease. The fevered gaze of the wounded Raider darted between his face and his hand, a small wavering flame of hope flickered under his growing fear. Oh yeah, the dumbass was betting a quick end against Ruin’s temper. Too bad his temper was made of much colder, crueller things. As each of Ruin’s steps brought him closer, the Raider tried to back further away. Difficult to do with a wall at his back.
When Ruin’s boots brushed the mud-covered soles of the Raider’s, he dropped into a slow crouch, knife still twirling in a mesmerising dance of metal. Flickers of fear and panic chased each other across the Raider’s face and pleased the vengeful beast pacing inside Ruin. Like waving fresh meat before a hungry vulture. A distant part of him found the image amusing. He kept his voice low. ‘Now, see, when it comes to home improvement projects, most people are all about the end results. They follow the step-by-step directions, believing that’s the only way to get the desired results. But I’m not one for rules.’ His lips curled into a lethal grin. ‘I’m more apt to try my hand at unusual techniques. The end results are amazingly more exciting that way.’
The blade came to a stop, the point resting just under the Raider’s chin. He jerked his head back, even though the sudden movement caused an emergence of a new red stain lower down. Undeterred, Ruin traced the blade’s sharp point over the bobbing Adam’s apple, ignored the seeping gunshot wound up near the collarbone, and continued down the chest, leaving a thin red line in his wake. He didn’t stop until it rested just above the crimson-stained hand trying to keep the Raider’s innards in place.
‘Home improvement is a tiring endeavour, and I’m sure you want to call it a day, but I have a better idea.’ He drove the point of his knife into the back of the Raider’s hand, twisted, then pulled it free, all in the space of a blink.
The Raider’s pained cry was choked off when Ruin slammed his other hand over his mouth. The Raider’s eyes bugged out as he tried to breathe around the tightly clamped hand. Ruin leant in and growled, ‘You sit here and decide if you prefer a tried and true approach before we chat, or we can try out a few of my more ‘unusual’ techniques.’ He yanked his hand back, wiping it on his thigh.
‘Play with your chew toy later.’ The feminine drawl came from behind him.
Ruin stood and turned, watching as Charity moved into the pathetic excuse for a kitchen, her bloodstained hands holding the plastic basin of water. ‘Chew toy?’
She continued to the sink, tipped the container, and emptied the stained water. ‘Did I stutter?’ She pulled up the handle on the faucet causing the pipes to groan before spitting out water. A minor miracle that meant the cabin must have access to a well. She quickly rinsed and refilled the basin. ‘I need that kit. More to the point, he needs that kit.’ She tilted her head in the general direction where Simon lay, suffering.
Bossy little thing, but she was right. ‘I’m going.’
Basin in hand, she turned from the sink and began to head back. She stopped at the beginning of the hall, her gaze falling on the Raider. An implacable hardness set her delicate features into a cold mask before she turned back to Ruin. ‘When you come back, make sure he talks. We need answers.’ Without waiting for his response, she continued down the hall.
We? Now wasn’t that an interesting twist? What kind of answers was she expecting to hear?
He turned back to the now silent Raider and wasn’t the least little bit surprised to find him staring back, all signs of his earlier defiance gone. ‘You heard the lady,’ Ruin murmured as he pivoted on his heel to retrieve the first-aid kit and firewood. ‘Better make your decision fast, or I’ll make it for you.’ He stormed out of the cabin.
As he made his way to the horses, he ignored the bodies and stopped to collect his discarded cap and blanket. Leading the horses back to the relative safety of the cabin gave him a moment to consider all that had happened.
Things weren’t adding up. Crane had established a ruthless reputation with Raiders decades before and ruled with an unforgiving fist. What would drive the Raiders to attack now? They tended to hit targets that guaranteed a sweet haul. Targeting Pebble Creek was like playing Russian roulette, with the lone bullet being a successful hit. The only thing that could encourage the Raiders to take on Crane would be the promise of a huge payoff. And the only power players with enough resources to afford a big payoff would be Michael and Lilith.
Crane created and held one of the most pivotal territories this side of the Mississippi. Between the rising oceans devouring the western coastlines while widening inland rivers, and the collapsing infrastructure, the majority of what used to be the western states was now held by three people: Michael, Lilith, and Crane. Michael’s reach extended from Washington to Oregon and most of California to the Tahoe Forest, while Lilith played queen over Colorado, and what remained unclaimed of New Mexico and Texas, which included Albuquerque and the now coastal town of Houston.
That left Crane holding Idaho, Utah, and northern Arizona. Unfortunately, after the Collapse, the Mexican Cartels had moved in claiming Los Angeles, Phoenix, El Paso, and San Antonio, forcing the country’s borders to shift. When the dams failed, and the Free People reclaimed all water rights, Nevada was abandoned leaving the barren stretch of desert wide open for the Raiders to set up shop. The current territorial arrangement made any kind of travel treacherous, which played havoc on supply lines, something Crane took unfettered advantage of since he was the most secure bridge between Michael and Lilith.
Ruin tethered the two horses to a post set to the side of the cabin, and dug through the saddlebags on the paint, unearthing a thick first-aid kit in tough canvas. Neither Michael nor Lilith would be stupid enough to upset the shaky peace by taking out Crane. Right? If they could gain a huge advantage, a cynical voice piped up, they might get desperate. But there weren’t any mutterings along those lines, not lately.
Normally when shit was about to hit the fan, he and the other Vultures tended to hear about it as they continually moved between territories. He made a mental note to double check with Reaper, even as he walked back into the cabin and made his way to Charity.
He found her bent over Simon, gently washing along his bruised ribs. She didn’t bother looking up as Ruin crouched next to her. ‘His ribs are cracked, not broken.’
‘How can you be sure?’ He reached around her and held out the kit so she could see it, not missing the sheen of sweat beading Simon’s ashy brow.
‘About damn time,’ she muttered, snatching his offering before crossing her legs tailor-style. She unzipped the case, and rummaged through it, pulling free a small paper packet. Finally, she looked at him as she tore the packet open with her teeth, and dumped two pills onto her palm. ‘I’m not a hundred percent sure, but he’s not bubbling up blood, which I’m hoping means he doesn’t have any internal punctures.’
And if he did, with no equipment and limited supplies there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it here. It also meant getting him back down to Pebble Creek was tricky, if not out altogether.
She turned her head and reminded him, ‘Fire.’
Tipping an imaginary hat, he dropped his relatively clean saddle blanket at the foot of the mattress, then made quick work of bringing in wood and setting a fire in the fireplace. Pulling out a well-worn silver lighter, one of the few things he managed to hold on to from his father, he crouched down and lit it. Arms dangling on his bent knees, he watched the flames devour the wood. Their mesmerising dance drew him away from the rage pacing inside him.
When a soft touch on his shoulder brought his attention back to the here and now, he turned his head to find Charity holding out a slender needle. There was no need for her to put the question into words, he simply took it and held it in the nearest flame, letting the heat sterilise what it could. Here’s hoping the chimney wasn’t falling in on itself or they’d be smoked out. Thankfully, the growing tendrils of smoke wafted upwards, showing no signs of returning. He handed the needle back to her, then straightened, his gaze going straight to his friend. Simon’s chest rose and fell in a slow, barely-there pattern.
Despite knowing Simon’s chances of making it through the next few hours were slight, it was enough to keep the ember of hope Ruin hoarded alive. Staying with him while Charity sewed him up wouldn’t get Ruin the answers he needed, but he still asked, ‘Do you need me?’
She shook her head, the lantern light deepening the lines on her face. ‘No, I’ve got this.’ She studied Simon, her brow furrowed. ‘This will take some time.’ Her gaze slid sideways to him. ‘You’ll get plenty of quality alone time with your chew toy.’
He folded his arms across his chest and drawled, ‘Won’t need much.’
A delicate snort sounded as she shook her head and resumed her spot next to Simon, taking a moment to sort out the makeshift bandages, lines of thread, and a rare tube of antibiotic cream, arranging them with meticulous precision. Ruin was grateful that Boden packed a hell of a first-aid kit, considering Simon’s continued existence may depend on what the woman could accomplish with it.
She didn’t look at him as she warned, ‘If you don’t get to it, there’ll be nothing left to work with.’
Since that wasn’t an option, he turned to leave. At the door, he stopped, hands gripping the doorjamb, and turned his head to the side. ‘Keep him alive.’
With his back to the room, he couldn’t see her face, but he heard her soft reply, ‘No promises, but I’ll do my best.’
Nodding, despite the lump in his throat, he left his brother in the hands of an unknown woman so he could rip the truth from the dying piece of shit in the front room.