Charity let out a long, quiet breath as Ruin’s overwhelming presence moved down the hall. She clenched her fists, trying to still the tremors running through them. Her shoulder ached like a bitch, but taking one of the painkillers was out of the question. The man on the floor needed them much more than she did. Despite nausea invading her throat as she took in his numerous wounds, pity welled. That he was still breathing said a great deal about Ruin’s friend and his will to live, none of which surprised her.
Based on Ruin’s warning as he left, it was obvious Simon meant a great deal to him. Something she found intriguing since the stories surrounding Fate’s Vultures portrayed them as fiercely loyal to one another and beholden to no-one, not even Crane, which made for an interesting conundrum. What had Crane offered that kept them at his side, even after his death? Perhaps the answer lay with the man in front of her? Not that it mattered right now, especially if she failed to save him.
Unclenching her fist, she noted her hands were now steady. Good. She threaded the needle and went to work. Knowing there was no way Simon would stay under during the whole process, she began talking out loud, hoping if he knew the hands causing him pain were now trying to help, it would keep him from striking out. Plus, it gave her something else to think about instead of the fact she was setting tiny stitches into human flesh with the barest of medical supplies.
‘You’re a lucky man, Simon. Loyalty like Ruin’s is hard to find. Not to say it doesn’t happen, but I can count those who have mine on one hand. You even know one of them. Boden.’ When Simon’s breathing hitched, she looked up and caught his wince. She tied off the stitch she was setting, then grabbed the wet cloth on the side of the basin and wiped his face. ‘Sorry. I know it hurts, but we can’t leave you leaking. Just hang in there for me, yeah?’ She set the cloth aside and picked up the needle. ‘Okay, here we go again.’ With that, she bent over Simon’s arm and began stitching again. ‘How about I tell you how I met Boden? Maybe it’ll give you some blackmail material for when you’re back in Pebble Creek.’ Besides, it was one of the few things she could share without giving everything away.
‘I was living in New Seattle. Correction, surviving in New Seattle.’ A place guaranteed to chew you up and spit you out if you didn’t have the right connections. Something she learned damn fast when her parents made a serious mistake and ran a grift on the wrong person. Memories crowded close, but with the ease of long practice, she shuffled them back to the dusty confines where they belonged. ‘Anyway, I was heading back home—’ home being a tucked away space in a crumbling building one good shake of the earth away from collapse, ‘—minding my own business, when this giant stumbles out of an alleyway. The fool was bouncing off the walls like a drunk rubber ball.
‘Since it was the end of a craptastic week, I figured the appearance of an easy mark was the universe’s way of ending on a high note. So I made sure we ran into each other. Unfortunately for me, he wasn’t drunk, he was quick. He managed to snag my wrist as I snagged my haul. Then something small darted from the shadows at his feet and jumped between us. Next thing I know, I’ve got an armful of squalling fur while trying to keep hold of my handful of city credits, and the giant is standing there glaring at me. Then he rumbles—,’ she dropped her voice to mimic Boden’s deep tones and tied off another wound, ‘—‘Hand ‘em over, missy.’’
Shaking her head, she snorted as she set another stitch. ‘Missy. What a way to piss off a teenage female. I refused, of course. Not very politely. No way was I handing over the credits or a defenceless cat when it was obviously running from him.’ Discounting an animal’s reaction to a human was a sure-fire way of getting your ass in trouble. Animals were spot on when it came to humans and their intentions. ‘That’s when the poor, abused cat decided to decorate my arms with her claws.’ Years later she still carried the thin white scars from that little hellcat. ‘Boden went to help, me or the cat, I’m still not sure, but all I saw was a big man making a move. Instincts kicked in. The cat was on her own, and I managed to nail Boden in the balls.’ Her lips curved a bit as the memory replayed. It soon faded as she kept working. ‘Life on the streets teaches you to expect the worst and never hesitate.’ Noting old scars decorating Simon’s skin, she added softly, ‘Something I’m thinking isn’t news to you.’
She fell silent as she manoeuvred around a particularly deep tear. Simon’s soft groan drew her attention. His eyes moved under his lids, but he stayed under. Barely. ‘Shh, I know. I’ll be as gentle as I can,’ she murmured. A tense minute or two passed before she moved to the next wound and picked up her story. ‘It was raining—’ because it was always raining in New Seattle, ‘—and despite my well-aimed kick, Boden managed to snag my leg even as he tried not to puke. That’s when this crazy-assed woman decided to join our little party. She came out of the alley, practically nude, yelling at Boden about letting her precious Maddy-girl out in the horrible weather.’
It was one of the most surreal situations she’d ever experienced. Boden’s hold on her ankle had been firm, but not cruel. He hadn’t twisted to take her to the ground in retaliation for picking his pocket or kicking him, and it left her off balance, literally and figuratively. ‘When Boden let me go, I was so caught up in the drama that I stayed to watch this itty-bitty thing, she couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, in a wet, transparent robe, verbally rip a giant of a man to pieces.’ Actually, she was stunned that the man stood there and took the verbal abuse, never once raising his voice or his fist in retaliation. Looking back she wondered if Boden had been the first one to find her after her parents’ death, who would she be now? Not that it mattered anymore.
Simon shifted restlessly, causing her to pause until he settled. ‘You should’ve seen it. You would’ve laughed your ass off.’ She went back to her painstaking work. ‘Her rant was cut short when the little fur menace decided to step up and get busy wrapping around its mistress’s ankles. Boden’s woman of the moment went from bitch to angel in seconds. She grabbed her pet, gave Boden one more accusing glare and left.’ Years later the whole thing still left Charity shaking her head. ‘Me being me, I told Boden his skills with the ladies and their pussy cats was liable to get him killed.’ That night, teenage bravado and the need to disappear was all she had, and she used it. Except Boden was far from a fool, and under the violence-hardened exterior existed a cautious vein of compassion. Something she surprisingly managed to tap into. ‘Instead of being pissed, he laughed. Standing in a stinking alley, rain pouring down, his chances of getting laid walking away, he laughed.’
Her voice softened as she tied off another stitch. ‘Old man takes pride in flaunting expectations, makes him hard to predict, even back then. Instead of demanding his credits back and kicking my ass, he fed me. He even offered to train me in hand to hand and if I showed potential, a job, but I had other promises to keep first.’ She fell quiet as she continued her work, her mind caught in the past.
Consumed by grief and anger, her single-minded focus on getting revenge put her feet on the road that brought her to the current situation. Luckily, Boden wasn’t one to give up easily. His offer—come train with him—didn’t come with an expiration date. Two weeks later, when she’d finished her devil’s bargain, she tracked him down and for the next three-and-a-half years trained, honing her innate skills and strengthening their unusual friendship. In her deepest heart, she acknowledged that Boden stepped into the empty space left behind from her parents’ violent death. Not that she ever told him.
A harsh, guttural scream from the front room froze her hand and snapped her head up. Another pain-filled scream erupted, only to be cut short. Turning back to her task, she concentrated on tying off the thread. ‘Sounds like someone’s having fun,’ she muttered. Reaching for her knife to cut the thread, she was unprepared for the fist that nailed her. In a well-practised move, she dropped to roll out of range, forgetting her injured shoulder until she hit the floor. Hissing at the sharp crease of fire, she came up to find Simon awake, but not so aware.
Half-turned on his side, despite his wounds, his non-swollen eye glared at her, while unintelligible noises came from his abused throat. He tried to get to her, his jerky movements knocking the water basin over and scattering the supplies.
‘Dammit.’ She scrambled to her knees, capturing his flailing arms and laid across his torso forcing his back to the floor. ‘Simon! Stop! Ruin’s here!’ She gritted her teeth and put everything she had into holding him in place without causing further damage. She was breathing hard as she pinned his wrists to the floor, her chest pressed against his, and her face inches away.
Under her, Simon bucked, his head snapping up. She jerked her head back to avoid a broken nose. ‘Calm, Simon!’ Warm wetness met her palms as they shackled his wrists, and her heart began to race. He couldn’t afford to lose more blood, and if he reopened her stitches, they were screwed. ‘If you don’t calm down, I’ll call Ruin in to knock your ass out. Do you hear me? Do you want Ruin to hit you?’
Whether it was the repeated use of Ruin’s name or Simon’s sudden burst of strength disappearing, his movements slowed, then stilled. Unwilling to take a chance on another black eye, she stayed where she was as awareness began to filter through the mindless fury in the injured man’s eye.
A moan drifted from the other room, and Simon’s gaze went to the door, then back to her. It wasn’t hard to read his silent question. ‘Ruin’s questioning the last breathing Raider, while I try to patch your sorry hide before you bleed out. Now, will you behave?’
She waited until he gave her the barest of nods before slowly uncurling her fingers and pushing off of him. ‘You need to lie still so I can see what damage you did.’ Thankfully her stitches held, so there wasn’t any work to re-do. Turning, she ran a hand through her hair, forgetting about the blood on her hands until it was too late. Another curse muttered under breath, and then she began gathering up the supplies. ‘You managed to dump out all the water.’ Grabbing a couple of cloth strips that managed not to get caught in the spill, she quickly bound his wrists to stop the bleeding. ‘Now sit tight while I go refill this, and we’ll get back to sewing you up.’
Putting her hand on the mattress, she went to push up to her feet. Simon grabbed her wrist, bringing her to a stop. Giving him her attention, she waited. Finally, he managed one croaked word. ‘Ruin?’
Giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and a gentle pat on his hand, she answered, ‘He’s pissed but otherwise fine. He’ll be back in a few minutes.’ As if to emphasise her answer, a teeth-gritting whimper drifted down the hall.
Simon’s eye went to the door, then came back.
Carefully disengaging from his hold, she rescued what supplies she could. ‘Don’t worry. Ruin’s got it under control.’ Hopefully, better than she did. Once things were safely set up again, she gathered the now empty bin and stood, trying not to wince as her head protested the move. Between Simon’s right hook and her shoulder, she was going to be feeling it for a while. She looked down and met Simon’s gaze. ‘Do me a favour and don’t try anything until I get back. I’m not sure we have enough supplies to re-do our Frankenstein work if you break open my stitches, understood?’
She waited until he nodded before turning away to go refill the basin. God, she really picked the worst day to visit Crane.