Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel (20 page)

Nodding, he jogged to the other side of the house. "Oh and don't forget to make those pleasure sounds women make. I've got a reputation to uphold."

Heat flared across her skin. She should have just shot the bastards and been done with it. Next time they needed a distraction, he'd be the one with his assets hanging out. Once she was sure he was gone, she released the cups. Silk skimmed down her arms when she shrugged off the straps. 

A whisper of movement sounded behind her.

Right. Pleasure sounds. She shook her head, felt the play of her hair across her bare back and moaned. "Ooh, Harry."

Her fingers slipped over the cold metal of her TSG-17 and her ears strained. Where was Harlan? Why hadn't she heard the thump of wood against bone?

Arching her back, she ran her free hand through her hair. "Ooh, that feels so good."

She rose a little and her thighs quivered from carrying her weight.

God she felt like an idiot! He better hurry it up.

"Yeah, right there." She turned her head slightly. Nobody there. Were they taking turns peeking around the corner? "That's it. Harder now."

"Christ, you're bossy even in the sack."

Whipping around, Sera raised the gun and fired.

Harlan dove for the ground.

The charge landed with a thump and scorched wood.

Grinning, he rolled onto his elbow. "Given the view, it might just be worth it."

"You——You juvenile." She jammed her arms into her sleeves and yanked the zipper up to her neck. "A little professionalism isn't too much to ask, is it?" Leaping to her feet, she scooped up her pack. Her bra lay on the ground and she kicked it to the side. "Did they even come close to spying on us? Or was it all a ploy to get your rocks off."

Hooking his thumb on his waistband, he gathered his belongings then stepped into his shoes. "See for yourself."

She couldn't help it. She stared at his button fly. A tiny spark of feminine satisfaction zinged through her. He definitely enjoyed it.

Knotting his laces, he grinned up at her. "I meant the body behind you."

"I knew that." Slipping on her backpack, she spun on her heel.

The man stared unseeing at the sky. His mouth hung slightly open and a red ribbon cut across his neck. A wicked knife lay in his palm. Obviously, he planned a little more than coitus interruptus for them.

"He's dead." And she'd heard nothing above a whisper. Harlan was obviously skilled despite his lack of formal training.

"Rule one: Never let them hear you coming."

Him and his rules. "Should we dispose of him?"

"Nah, the locals will take what they need and dump him someplace he won’t be found." Tucking his hands in his pockets, he led her back into the slums. They passed the second man lying in the gutter, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. A garrote next to his body.

Maybe she hadn't bested him last night. Maybe he let her win. But why? Her stomach knotted. No, surely not. Just because he'd been in the desert last night, didn't mean he was there to collect the weapons.

And she’d stupidly spouted off about being from Dark Hope at the first opportunity. If she made any more newbie mistakes she might as well resign herself to being a mouthpiece forever. She shook out her fists. Okay, she could fix this.

He wouldn’t like the consequences of deceiving her.

Not one little bit.

Harlan slowed, waited for her to catch up. “I think I like it better when you're asking questions.”

She flashed her eye teeth. Would her uncle allow her to deal with him herself? She’d heard Antarctica was nice this time of year.

“I got a feeling you’re planning to chop some of my favorite body parts into tiny pieces.” He stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it around. “I kinda like things the way they are.”

“Which way to the railroad tracks?”

He pointed ahead. “But flagging them down won’t work. Those trains go too fast to stop. And it would be noticeable. Thought the idea was for us, er, you to sneak in.”

She caught his slip. “So, you’re wanted in Abaddon.”

He shrugged.

“What are your crimes?”

“Crimes? Jeez, I’m the good guy here.” He set his hand over his heart. “I’ve only ever stolen from the ‘Viders and, well, those who deserve it. But they were bad people. You would have thought so, too, if you’d been there.”

Great. She was taking a wanted criminal into Dark Hope’s inner sanctum. Her gut said to trust him, that he was a valuable resource. But her gut needed experience, not book learning before it could be trusted. Only time could teach her the meaning of the little things——a flicker of an eyelash, a shifting gaze, and a stutter.

He adjusted his pack. “So what’s the plan when we get there?”

“Rule number one: don’t make plans.”

The stench lessened as they approached the edge of the slums. A cramped road opened into fields. Bright green sprouted from the black loam. Farm houses squatted in the center of plowed squares.

“Rule number one, have a back-up plan.”

“Oh, I do.” She grinned at him.

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The railroad tracks lay two fields away, black ribbons shimmering in the sun. A white nose poked out of an opening in Abaddon’s stone fence. With a high-pitched rev, the engine shot out, dragging four coaches and two freight cars behind.

“We’ll have to wait for the next train.”

Sera continued her march, focused on the switching station ahead. The small building would have passed as a telephone box before the apocalypse. Now, it was just rundown enough to be ignored.

He grabbed her elbow. “They’ll have shut the gate by the time we get there, and I seriously doubt they’re gonna open it again, if we just ask.”

“How many times have you snuck into the city this way?”

“Five or six.”

She laughed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“In the last year. The mayor doesn’t like me much. Doesn’t like anyone much.” He fingered the tattoos on his neck. “If you have money, he wants it. If you don’t, he tries to lock you up. Sell you as labor.”

“I see.” That fact hadn’t been discovered in her research. A lot of things hadn’t been. How much had been sanitized by people who didn't want to remember?

“Do you really think your people will get involved?”

“Slavery and cannibalism aren’t something our Cabinet would condone.” She threaded a path through the rows of corn, careful to avoid stepping on the new shoots.

“Then why haven’t they done anything until now?”

“Our scientists want to study how our cultures diverged.” It was a poor answer, one that made her a little ashamed. But it wasn't all Dark Hope's fault. The new arrivals weren't telling the whole story either.

“How many more people have to die before their study is finished?” He growled.

She set her hand on his arm. Not a soft spot in his corded muscles. Light winked from the top of the fence. The guards were watching. Fortunately, she had a plan for that. “Some of us are trying to change things. But few are willing to come forward. They fear for their families, still out here.”

“Hope you don’t mind if I don’t hold my breath waiting for that to happen.”

She grabbed his shirt and backed him up against the switching station.

Raising his hands, he cupped her arms. “I counted four guards. All watching you.”

Angling her head so the guards would think she was kissing him, she pressed her body against his then yanked his shirt from his pants. “When we get inside, I need you to do exactly as I tell you or you won’t live long enough to miss those bits you fantasized about being minced.”

Pushing him away, she crooked her finger then marched to the door.

Harlan hitched up his trousers and flipped the flightless bird to the guards.

“Nice.” She opened the access panel and pressed her palm against the reader. Locks tumbled and the door sprang open.

“Didn’t want them to think we were up to anything other than sex.” He ran his hand down the steel-plated door.

A soft hum filled the tiny square room. She stepped inside. Her reflection wavered on the stainless steel walls. “Stand as close to me as you can.”

Frowning, he joined her. His large feet bracketed hers. The door swung closed behind him. “Now what?”

“Just wait.”

He glanced at the walls. “If this goes on much longer, I’m gonna have a hard time living up to this record.”

She shook her head. “We’ve only been in here thirty seconds.”

He winked.

The floor shifted and slowly began to drop.

He latched onto her shoulders, dug in his hands. “I don’t think this is very stable.”

“Relax, it’s an elevator.”

His grip tightened for a moment, then he let her go. “You could have warned me.”

“Rule number one of the Outlanders, always keep score of who wronged you and when. It’s not good to be out of balance.” And the whole shirt incident counted twice because he had looked and dodged her stun-gun.

His eyes narrowed. “I hate that rule.”

The elevator coasted to a stop and the door opened behind him.

Sera caught the flash of a gun barrel before it was drilled into Harlan’s temple. “Move and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

Chapter 22

Harlan raised his hands. Well, shit. This is what he got for trusting someone——a gun pointed at his head and a giggling woman. He should have known there was something funny going on, when she acted all innocent, then proceeded to kick his ass. Fool that he was, he'd even fallen for her Dark Hope fairy tales...

Guess his men's deaths had knocked him stupid.

"Step out of the elevator, real slow." The man with the weapon retreated a foot. White hair bristled on his chin and in short spikes over his head. Lines trailed from the corner of his eyes, met up with the grooves of his feral smile. "Wouldn't want my gun to accidentally go off. Brains and blood are hard to scrub off the stainless steel."

Sera snorted before chuckling again.

Harlan hoped they were enjoying themselves. Especially her. Eventually, he'd get the upper hand then he'd be the one laughing. He stepped off the elevator, felt the darkness close around him. Christ, he could reach both walls of the tunnel by raising his hands, and the ceiling wasn't much taller than his own six feet. "Congratulations, Peaches."

Somewhere in the distance water dripped. A string of white lights disappeared down the narrow throat. The air tasted musty but fresh. A small draft brushed his face. Good news for him——there must be another way out.

Shoving his shoulder, she squeezed past. "Oh, stop pouting. You know rule number one. Never trust someone until they've proven trustworthy."

He shrugged. He kinda thought her attempt to rescue the girl tribute in the forest had proven that. Guess he was wrong. Being wrong sucked. He clamped his lips together.

Rising on tiptoe, she kissed the gunman's weathered cheek. "Hello, Uncle. I see you received my distress code."

Uncle? Christ, if she told him about the whole shirts off ploy, his favorite bits were in serious danger. Harlan shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. Thankfully, he still had his knives up his sleeves. If he had to go, he’d go fighting. He excelled at that in close quarters.

"I did." Uncle's bushy eyebrows met above the bridge of his nose. "But I didn't realize it would be over him."

Oh, now, that was insulting. People whispered his name out of fear. Still, he might be able to use their ignorance to his advantage. "Obviously, there's been some mistake. I'll just leave the way I came."

The door shut behind him.

"Don't dismiss him so easily, Uncle. He killed two people. Silently."

Now, she defended him? He straightened. She'd still have to pay for her betrayal, just maybe not so much. "I could just have gotten lucky."

"We know all about you, Harlan Westminster. And have wanted to talk to you for a long time."

They knew his name. His skin tightened. Who, besides everyone he knew, had he pissed off? He shrugged. "I'm not much for conversation."

"I think you'll make an exception for me." Uncle holstered his weapon and held out his hand. "Joseph Dawson, Head of Dark Hope's Security forces."

Harlan stared at the hand. Was this some kind of trick? What the hell. As long as they weren't cutting him up for information, he'd go along with them. Besides, he'd really like to learn just what was being said about him. He slid his palm against the other man's.

Dawson's grip was strong, sure, but not crushing. "How did my niece convince you to come in from the cold?"

It wasn't cold outside. It was nearly summer, planting time. "She promised me a warm bed and——"

"That is my niece!” Dawson slammed him against the wall and jammed the gun into his nose.

Harlan raised his hands. Damn, the man was fast.

"It was bad enough you gave everyone a show on the way here, but I will not have you objectifying Sera for your personal pleasure. Got it?"

How the heck had they known about that? She must have told him in some secret hand maneuver. At least his gut hadn't been wrong. The protective streak ran deep in both of them. With them at his back, he might finally find his sister and put an end to the 'Viders.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Sera tugged on her uncle's arm. "You know how easily Outlanders are distracted by sex. We used it to our advantage."

Dawson's eyes narrowed. The weapon lowered just a smidge. "Seems to me you could have just shot them with the stun-gun and be done with it."

"And leave trace behind?" She pushed her uncle's shoulder before finally wedging herself between them. "There was a chance the bodies would be found. The TSG-17’s scorch marks are unique. Word might have gotten back to Dark Hope, and then we would be accused of fomenting revolution."

Her hair tickled his chin and Harlan smoothed it out of the way.

Dawson's jaw clenched, but he eased his weapon back into the holster on his hip. "And whose idea was it to take your top off?"

Harlan stilled. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Never had balancing the books looked so good.