Cage jolted awake, not entirely able to discern what had woken him.
For three nights now he'd barely slept. They’d been in the cave, then, last night, they’d been shoved here, into the back room of the little house. Every time he did start to rest, he came alert at the slightest shuffle or noise. The cave echoed sound and the room was full of others also shifting in their sleep. This was almost too quiet.
It appeared none of them slept deeply and Cage was no exception.
He opened his eyes into the pitch black of the night—nothing seeped through the blackout curtains. Maybe it was the early morning hours, but still he was grateful that no one could see him. With effort against the pressure of his pulse, he tried to keep his breathing low and slow. Whatever had alerted him needed to not know it had done so.
He'd watched Terrence the past few nights as they were all shuffled out into the desert for long treks. It was the same story both times. Something was carried out in backpacks and duffel bags and left for a small, heavily armed contingent to gather it.
Connor, it appeared, never touched the stuff. Terrence handled everything, Connor only pointed, sometimes with just the barrel of the silver Colt he liked to wave around. If he had to handle anything, he only did it when he was wearing leather gloves.
Cage was beginning to wonder if Brown Eyes even touched it at all. Maybe even they didn't know what it was and were merely content to be the distribution center using teenagers and young adults as their mules.
A soft shuffle from across the floor now told him something moved. Cage didn't.
Near him, one of the teenage boys rolled over on one of the mattresses that had been thrown on the floor, a soft mutter coming from his throat. What Cage now recognized was that the footsteps didn't stop with that noise.
Time for a test.
Cage breathed in deeply, a heavy sigh that hopefully signaled deep sleep, then he shifted just slightly onto his right. This time he closed his eyes. Though he hadn't adjusted yet to the dark, there had to be a small amount of light leeching in. He wouldn’t want someone to have the advantage of dark adaptation and see his eyes open. Cage would have to go by what he could hear.
As he rolled over, the footsteps paused.
Shit. Whoever it was was paying attention to him.
He couldn't help but tense every muscle in his body, though he worked hard to make it seem on the outside as though he were still asleep, still relaxed, still oblivious to the world.
It was an indeterminable amount of time before he heard the shuffling softly begin again.
The steps seemed closer. Had he missed a few? Had he possibly dozed off for just a moment?
Cage knew he was tired enough that anything was possible. What he was certain of though, was that it was Terrence and that it wasn’t anything good.
Another step, another shuffle. He was close now, almost in striking range.
One deep breath.
Cage heard the footstep right near him. He considered rolling away but instead he rolled toward the feet. Just as he heard the fabric of the mattress rip behind him from something sharp aimed at where he’d been lying.
If he hadn’t rolled when he did . . .
It might not have killed him, but it would have done serious damage. Lord knew, in here, infection was a high possibility. No more. He wasn’t going out like this.
Cage used his momentum and kept rolling, crashing into the legs of his assailant. He wrapped his arms around the other’s calves as he moved his own legs and tried to get to his feet.
Sure enough, there was a heavy thud and a startled ooof! as the kid hit the floor on his back.
The sound alone was enough to tell him it wasn't Terrence.
Son of a bitch.
Cage was on his feet, rolled upward on his toes, his knees bent, his hands out at his side, finally able to make out a little light coming in from the gap at the top of the room that he could match to the sounds he heard.
The kid scrambled to his feet quickly, backing away.
As he swept his gaze, Cage was glad to see the room became clear. Cage had been in the dark for some time now, and he was adjusting. To top it off, the metal of the blade was dull, but it was still enough to reflect a bit of light so that Cage could see where it was.
And that he was too late.
The blade had been palmed and was already swinging at him again. The unpracticed hand was thinking to slash rather than stab and twist.
It should be easy enough to block—two fists up and swinging to the left. Cage knocked both his fists down across the striking arm and heard the noise in response. He would have liked to take control of the kid’s arm to grab the knife and gain charge of it. But it wasn't that easy.
The kid wasn't that good. He jumped out at the contact. That kind of strike didn't feel good, Cage knew that much.
It had been too hard, too painful for some kid whose heart wasn’t in it. His fist opened almost involuntarily, dropping the knife to the ground.
But Cage couldn’t tolerate attacks. Grabbing the boy, Cage used his forward momentum against him and slung the kid back onto the mattress. Of course, that didn’t go as planned either.
The boy tripped on the edge of the thick piece and went sprawling, his head hitting the wall with a slightly sick thud. It was a worse sound than when he'd hit the ground.
Fuck, Cage thought.
He turned for a moment to check on the boy, but the kid stayed down, slumped against the mattress. His assailant ended up with his hand to his head, not knocked out, but willing to be down for the count.
Another noise popped from behind him. Whirling around, Cage found what he thought at first now turned out to be true.
Even though the kid attacking him hadn't been Terrence, it had clearly been Terrence’s plan. Terrence was on his feet now.
Cage had had enough.
He stared at Terrence in the dark. Just enough light came in to let him know he was looking the young man in the eyes. “Not man enough to do your own job?”
Confident that would enrage him, Cage was happy when it elicited a snarl. Still, he couldn’t afford to outwardly react. It worked almost too easily.
“I run the show,” Terrence growled out.
Cage couldn't help it. The laugh bubbled up out of him. “The show you’re running is a shit show, Terrence, and the way you're running it you're not going to be king for long.”
Cage gestured with his hands out to his sides, showing off Terence’s “kingdom.”
He’d been cocky, trying to bait the asshole. Cage wasn't prepared for the hands that grabbed him, locking onto his forearms, fingers tightening down hard enough to bruise.
They held him tightly while Terence picked up the abandoned knife.