Beneath Blood and Bone Page 5

  Nodding my thanks to Adam, I set my untouched coffee on a nearby toolbox before turning to leave. As I passed Tony on his way in, the bald Italian shot me his signature conniving smile that I returned with a glare. Tony might be a great mechanic and damn near expert with all kinds of weapons, both attributes that came in handy in a world such as this, but neither meant I had to like him. If he ever outlived his usefulness, I’d be first in line to twist his bulbous head from his stout body and revel in watching the life fade from his beady little eyes.

  The sun had fully risen during my short visit inside the garage, making the air outside heavy and pungent. Today was going to be another scorcher. I debated for a moment between going to the main drag for food or heading for home, before finally settling on home. I’d eat later, once the majority of Purgatory’s residents were busy elsewhere.

  I was halfway home when I saw something large moving through the tall grass, far too large to be a rabbit. I froze, one hand on my gun, the other poised to reach for my blade. Whether it was food or foe, it wouldn’t have the drop on me.

  And then I noticed the foot. Easy to discern in a sparser patch of grass, a dirty foot was twitching. Not food then and not foe either, considering the foot appeared to be of the daintier variety. And from the way it twitched, I suspected that the owner of the foot was injured or dying. Still, you could never be too careful.

  I tugged my gun free from its holster and took a cautious step forward, cursing silently as the glaring sun momentarily blinded me. Hand shielding my eyes, I inched nearer, pausing when I heard a pained hiss.

  “Come out of there slowly!” I called out, but nothing happened, other than the foot continued to twitch.

  Keeping my eyes trained on that very foot, watching for any sort of movement, I moved forward again until I was peering down at a very dirty, very bloody woman lying uncaring at my feet. I recognized her instantly as the wild one from outside the Cave, the one I’d instantly known wasn’t going to last twenty-four hours in captivity.

  Unsure if she could see me, since she appeared to be staring up at the sky while tears poured from her eyes, I holstered my gun and folded my arms across my chest.

  “Tried to run, did you?” I asked, looking her over. She was sliced up pretty good, courtesy of crawling around in the underbrush, but none of the scratches appeared to be life threatening. Although, considering how filthy she was, infection was sure to quickly follow.

  As if on cue the alarm sounded, and the wailing, warbling siren echoed through the entirety of Purgatory. It was only used if we had an impending situation with the rotters, or to alert the community that someone or something dangerous was loose inside the gates. Everyone was to head immediately to their living quarters while the guards hunted down the threat. And from the looks of this threat, bleeding and half starved to death, she wouldn’t be at all hard to capture.

  There was a tug on my pant leg, her thin fingers scrabbling to grasp at the material. Two wide gray eyes, red rimmed and swollen with tears but bright with pain and desperation, met my gaze.

  “Help,” she whispered hoarsely. “Help me.”

  I didn’t know why I did what I did next. I’d probably never know why I did it, yet as I stared down at her, not giving two shits about her fate, mildly amused at the thought of the armed guards who were running around at that very second, tripping over themselves looking for this lone waif of a female, I found myself bending down and scooping her foul-smelling body into my arms.

  She stiffened upon contact, then winced in pain as I shifted her slight form in my grasp, maneuvering her up and over my shoulder.

  “Stay quiet,” I demanded, and then I stalked off through the grass, headed for home.

  Chapter Six

  Autumn

  Dizzy and confused, I could only manage to hang limply over the man’s shoulder while a siren blared all around us, a sound that somehow I knew was for me. My body ached all over, beaten and bruised during my escape. Pain radiated from my middle in hot waves of scalding fire, leaving my body weak, my head feeling heavy, and my thoughts muddled.

  Too many things were happening. There were too many people here, too many voices, too many noises, too many smells. It was too much, and I’d almost gotten free, almost gotten away. Only, it hadn’t been that simple. I had escaped them somehow, yet I was still here, still trapped inside their gates.

  I couldn’t remember how it had all happened, how I’d ended up in the grass, my legs weakening with every step, my body first too hot and then too cold. Finally I’d been too breathless to move another inch and had collapsed into a heap where I’d stood. But what had happened?

  I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my thoughts to untangle. There had been men in that room with me, two of them, trying to force me to bathe. But I didn’t want to be clean, and I didn’t want their hands on me. I didn’t want anything from these people, nothing at all. Only here, they didn’t take no for an answer. Here they did what they wanted with the weak, and here, trapped in their cage, I was weak.

  I remembered fighting with them as they fought to undress me, attempting to outright tear my clothes from my body. They’d claimed they only wanted to clean me and that they were just following orders, but they’d been lying. I’d seen the gleam in their eyes, the sneering twist of their lips. They weren’t just going to clean me, they were going to touch me, to use me, and so I’d fought them. I’d kicked and I’d clawed and . . .

  The man carrying me shifted my weight and I cried out in pain, the movement causing the pain in my belly to reach new and unbearable levels. He was undoubtedly just as dangerous as the others, but I was out of options. Unable to move and knowing the others were coming for me, I’d taken a chance that maybe he might help me instead.

  And maybe he was helping me. Or maybe he was taking me back to the others. Whatever he was doing, it was beyond my control now.

  Eventually his footsteps slowed, and as he shifted my weight again, I heard the shriek of metal on metal, and then the sound of a door squealing open.

  My eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom around us. Not recognizing my surroundings, I froze as my fear turned to confusion, and from confusion to surprise as I felt myself being laid atop something soft. A lumpy couch, I realized, but not my sofa with the three cream-colored cushions. That was gone . . . long gone. This must be his couch, his home.

  I glanced around, finding things you would fill a home with—a couch, a table, a sink, and boxes and boxes overflowing with stuff. Another room was nearby, and inside it I could see a mattress on the floor covered in blankets. With all these things that made up a home, it should have felt like one. But instead this place felt barren and cold, despite its fullness.

  Just like my cave, this was only a house, a space devoid of comfort and love. A place to keep your things inside and lay down your head. A place to hide, to lock yourself away and block out the evil of the world. Not a place where you lived, but one where you simply existed.

  While I continued to take in my new surroundings, the man moved around the room, his heavy steps echoing loudly, and every once in a while his shadow would fall across me. Each noise made me wince, and each scrape of his boots along the concrete floor grated against my skin. I wished for the strength to get up and run, but every time I attempted even the slightest movement, I found that I could do little more than cringe in pain. Eventually, I gave up trying.

  Soon I began to tremble as a deep chill settled into my bones, working its way through me until my teeth chattered. I needed to sleep. My body was failing me, and my mind was quickly fading.

  A large shadow fell over me, and as I peered up through matted hair and sticky lashes, I found him looming over me, far too close for my comfort. I tried to snarl but it was halfhearted, full of threat but with no conviction.

  His thick eyebrows rose as something akin to amusement momentarily flashed across his features. “Growl all you want,” he said, “but you bite me and I’ll knock you out cold.”

  I d
idn’t respond, lacking even the energy to speak. But as he dropped to his knee beside me and reached his large hand toward me, I let out a startled squeak.

  He paused and snorted, and then continued his reach. I squeezed my eyes shut, anticipating the vile act that was sure to come. Taking hold of my shirt, he peeled it painfully away from my skin, and my shaking and chattering worsened.

  This is it. He’ll use me however he wants.

  “Great,” he muttered. “Somebody sliced you open. Not too deep, probably a butterfly blade.”

  I’d been cut?

  His touch disappeared and I dared to open to my eyes. He stood up, cursing loudly, and walked off. I tried to follow his movements but my vision was blurry, and before long his silhouette began to blend with the shadows. I blinked rapidly, trying to see, but the room was tilting, spinning, everything coming in and out of focus.

  I tried to think back, to remember what had happened. I didn’t recall getting stabbed, I only remembered their heavy fists. I recalled a belt being dropped to the floor, a loud clatter as weapons—guns and knives—tumbled away. I’d grabbed for one, reached for it, my fingers extending, stretching beyond their limits.

  My hand had curled around the blade, and I’d turned, flipping my body over and slashing without care, catching the one holding me across his jaw. Blood sprayed down on me and I’d screamed at the sight of it, at the feel of the warmth of it splashing across my skin. I’d slashed and slashed until he collapsed to the floor in a bloody heap.

  And then I ran.

  The man returned, a deep scowl etched into his already terrifying face. Kneeling by my side again, he busied himself with something I couldn’t see. That was when I heard it, a soft splash.

  Water. He wanted to wash me, to clean me, to get rid of my disguise, my only weapon and my only protection.

  Renewed fear leaped into my throat, and again I tried desperately to move, crying out as pain shot through my body. He was just like them; he wanted me naked, clean, and vulnerable to him and the biters.

  “Please,” I gasped. “Please, no . . .”

  He looked up at me, his nostrils flaring as his dark eyes narrowed. He didn’t care; he didn’t care at all. He was just like the others.

  “Can’t stitch you up with you covered in shit,” he muttered in an annoyed voice. “You got two choices. I can clean the wound and sew your dumb ass up, or you can die from infection. Pick one.”

  Now understanding the reason for the water, I relaxed a bit and tried to nod. Grunting, he turned back to the floor as I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to breathe.

  I felt the tugging of my skin, the coldness of the water sluicing over me, and then the sudden sharp pain of something slicing me. I wanted to scream, I wanted to fight, to kick and slap and free myself from this torture, but my body remained useless and unresponsive. My mind was alert and alive, but everything else was a black void of nothing. I tried and failed to open my eyes, each time managing only a sliver of sight before feeling dizzy and nauseated and forced to close them. The man was still there, I could feel his presence at my side and every so often, his touch on my belly. Swallowing, I attempted to speak, but my words were nothing more than a slurred mishmash of unintelligible syllables and grunts.

  I might have passed out, I wasn’t sure, only that when I finally managed to open my eyes, I found him still working on me. Feeling sluggish, I lifted my head enough to peer down my body, and froze. My shirt had been torn open straight down the middle, baring my breasts to him.

  Horrified, I looked to him as the tang of vomit rose up in my throat. But he appeared oblivious to me and my nakedness, still busy with my injury.

  “This is going to hurt,” he remarked in a bored voice.

  The pain that followed his words ricocheted throughout my abdomen. Every nerve ending flared to life, causing my body to involuntarily bow off the couch.

  “Lay still!” he shouted, and his hands came down hard on my shoulders, pinning me to the couch.

  The pain had faded but my anxiety had not. Still dizzy and nauseated, I choked as the sudden onslaught of pain worsened my rising gorge. Coughing and gagging, I barely managed to turn my head to the side before the contents of my stomach emptied.

  “Motherfuck!” he bellowed, and his hands were suddenly gone. It couldn’t have been much; I hadn’t eaten in days, and what little I’d drunk hadn’t even been enough to satisfy my thirst. Even so, I found myself retching again, my world spinning as blackness threatened to overtake me.

  And then . . . nothing.

  • • •

  Slowly I opened my eyes and blinked, not recognizing anything, not understanding . . .

  The pain was everywhere, but worse than the pain, I was uncommonly cold, so cold that I could feel the cold in my veins, in my bones, burrowing deep into every nook and cranny of my body.

  The realization of my reality came back to me in bits and pieces, only worsening both my pain and the cold. The noises, the smells, that tiny room, the bath, the blade, the blood, the man in the field. I’d been hungry, and because I’d been hungry, I wandered too close to other people, and that mistake had cost me everything.

  A face appeared above me, a man. The man who’d carried me here, to his house.

  If I could have run, I would have. If I could have moved, I would have. He was even more terrifying than I remembered. The darkness of the room only emphasized his angry countenance and his large, broad body, tense and primed for a fight. Maybe once upon a time he could have been considered attractive, but those days were long gone; his anger was now permanently etched onto his features.

  “Are you thirsty?” he asked, his words clipped. “Hungry?”

  I didn’t answer; I was unable to. I could only lie there staring up at him, my teeth chattering furiously. His frown grew, his expression turning more uncomfortable than angry. Then he was gone, and I wondered if I’d only imagined him there.

  The sharp, sickening scent of vomit and coppery tang of blood hit my nose. Beyond that I could smell the sweat from my body, and the dirt that clung to the couch. God, there were so many smells. The biters would come. They’d come for me; they’d come for us all.

  My panic rose, and the room began to spin just as the man appeared above me, holding a thick green blanket. I stared at him, then at the blanket, suddenly desperate for it. A full-bodied shiver passed through my body, making me ache for that blanket, making me ache for my home. Not my cave, but my home. My real home.

  The man dropped the blanket on top of me and disappeared again.

  Thankful he was gone, I closed my eyes and reveled in the feel of the blanket covering me, warming me. Cold and in pain, I desperately wanted to sleep. I blinked, my eyes so heavy they closed of their own volition. I tried to keep them open because I didn’t trust this man; I couldn’t trust this man. After all, he was one of them.

  But he’d saved me from being found in that field. He’d cleaned my wound, and now he was hiding me here. Maybe I could trust him. Maybe I could close my eyes, just for a little while.

  A loud knock echoed throughout the otherwise silent space, and I flinched, stopping short as pain ebbed across my midsection.

  Cursing and loud footfalls followed the knock, and then metal clanging against metal and the squeal of a door.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “There’s been an incident.”

  “Yeah? So what?”

  “Liv told us . . . ,” another man said, then cleared his throat. “Liv said your help is required. And we need to search your house.”

  The newcomers were afraid of him. Both voices had held a good amount of tremor and caution.

  A long pause followed, and I swore I could hear the man’s breathing pick up speed, short staccato breaths that turned into long, purposefully drawn-out ones. Almost as if he was trying to calm himself.

  “Not a chance in hell. You can all fuck off.”

  “It wasn’t a question, Eagle.” This new voice was as bold as
he was afraid. “We’ve got a loose cannon inside the gates. A woman from the wild killed Nathan this morning. We got orders to search every inch of the grounds.”

  My breath froze in my lungs. What would he do? Would he give me up?

  “Do you have a death wish? Get the fuck away from my door before I personally introduce you to it!”

  Silence followed his threat, and I held my breath as I waited to hear what would happen next. I expected to hear weapons being drawn, the slap of fists against skin, anything but what actually happened, the slamming of a door and the clicking of locks.

  Feet pounded the concrete floor until he—Eagle—was standing over me again, looking even angrier than before. His jaw tightened as his face twisted into a tight scowl. Full of trepidation, I watched him and waited.

  After several tense seconds, he let out a frustrated breath and turned away. A pained sigh escaped my lips, and I shivered beneath the blanket. I was going to close my eyes, just for a second . . .

  Just for a second.

  Chapter Seven

  Eagle

  “Shit,” I muttered, my eyes on the ceiling as I paced the room. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  The dirty, scrawny, foul-smelling thing on my couch had been sleeping nearly twenty-four hours, and no matter how hard I shook her, how loudly I yelled, she refused to wake up. Now she was burning up, her skin hot to the touch, and a sheen of sweat coated her filthy body.

  She was starving, no doubt dehydrated as well, but no matter how many times I’d tried to pour water down her throat, several moments later it came right back up.

  She was dying, or would be soon, and not from her superficial wounds. While the knife injury had been a bleeder, it wasn’t life threatening. I’d suffered far worse injuries without issue. But she was weaker than I’d ever been, and this was probably the ugly result of a combination of malnutrition, shock, and infection.

  But more disconcerting was why the fuck I cared? I didn’t know her, and even if I did, even if she were one of the whores I visited regularly or any one of the number of people living in Purgatory, I still wouldn’t have given a damn. With the exception of a select few, whenever someone was dying—and someone was always dying here—I didn’t care.