If Gavin had sent this many of his thugs after this man, then he had to be someone important. And there’s one person Gavin just offered me ten thousand credits for: Candle.
Roman raised his gun, judging the distance.
Another power cut struck. The floodlights died, and the yard fell into darkness. Roman lost his shot.
“Wait for me.” Roman took off at a sprint across the roof. He hoped the men below were too distracted to be watching. Without knowing when the power would return, Roman didn’t have time to climb back to the ground.
He threw himself into the air.
The fall took just long enough for him to regret his choice.
He landed, transformed his momentum into a roll, concrete jarring against his legs and back. Staggering to his feet, he took off across the quad, stooped low. If anyone had heard or seen him, they weren’t shouting about it. Pain stabbed in his left hip with each stride, nearly making him stumble.
He knew his destination: on one side of the quad was a ruined building. Not only had it collapsed, but the ground around it had fallen in, leaving a pit of debris — shallow at the edges, deep in the middle. The perfect hiding place. If he could just get to it.
The fifty-yard sprint felt like a mile. He glanced at the nearest floodlight. It watched over him ominously, threatening to expose him at any second. For the little it would have done against fifty men, Roman desperately wished Ruby had her bow with her.
He threw himself to the ground and rolled the last couple of steps into the shadow of a fallen wall. Breathing as shallowly as he could, Roman crawled deeper into cover.
From behind a pile of bricks, he watched Gavin attack his prisoner.
“—my little birds.” Roman could just make out Gavin’s words. “They’re mine! My children!”
“Candle—”
“Don’t talk to me about that fucker! I’ll talk to him personally when he comes.”
Roman stifled a groan. If that wasn’t Candle, it left only one option: Ashton Spencer.
“You don’t…” Spencer mumbled.
Gavin silenced him with a boot to the face. “I know he’s coming. And when he arrives, I will personally rip his fucking dick off and feed it to you.” He stormed off.
Two thugs dragged Spencer away, leaving a trail of blood. Chunks of Spencer’s long hair had been ripped out, and several of his teeth were left behind. Roman suspected his treatment wasn’t likely to improve.
Crawling further back into cover, Roman considered the situation. Assessment: pretty shit. He waited until the quad was clear before climbing out of the rubble and limping back to Ruby. She stepped out of the shadows to meet him, arms folded.
“Are you trying to get killed?” she demanded.
“Not yet, at least.”
“We need to leave, now.”
She led the way, sneaking between shadows and checking for guards behind every corner. The compound was eerily empty. The barbed wire fence encircling the Haven tore at Roman’s clothes, slicing through his trousers and cutting his legs. It wasn’t until they were two blocks away that Ruby spoke again.
“That was Ashton Spencer, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Gavin’s using him as bait to provoke Candle into attacking the Haven.”
“If we’re lucky, he will, and they’ll both kill each other.”
Roman shook his head. “We’re never lucky. And we can’t risk Spencer dying in the crossfire. That’s why we’re going to break in first and abduct him.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“We do. You just always make the worst one.”
Roman winced. “Come on, let’s get home. We’ve got planning to do.”
“Planning for a suicide mission.”
“Yeah. Our specialty.”
09
Leaving the Gentleman’s Den, Sparks decided that if he ever did go rogue he would return here and destroy the whole damn building. It would be easy.
“Hey kid.” Caleb laid a hand on his shoulder. “I reckon it’s time to stitch up that bloody arm of yours, eh?”
“Piss off.” Sparks pushed him away and kept walking. He had hastily wrapped his shirt around the wound; it held back the bleeding, mostly. He knew it needed stitching, but right now, he didn’t give a damn.
He wished he could relive the moment of punching Mole in his ugly face. How dare that bastard think he could judge him! Mole had got what he deserved.
“So…” Caleb said slowly. “You’re angry.”
“No shit.”
“I thought you loved fighting?”
“I do! It’s just that—” Sparks paused. Did he really want to share how he felt with Caleb? Well, Caleb had saved his life today. If that didn’t earn him Sparks’ trust, then Sparks was as much of an asshole as Roman.
“When you’re an Adrenalite,” he said, “you can only trust other Adrenalites. Everyone else is either scared of you, or they hate you. It’s just the way it is. But now? Well, you saw that dick try to kill me — now even other fighters hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. Can you trust me?”
Sparks shrugged. “You’re okay. I guess.”
“Don’t get sappy on me, kid.”
“Go screw yourself.”
“Thanks,” Caleb said with a low chuckle. “Now, let’s get you stitched up.”
They sat under a streetlight while Caleb unwrapped the wound. Sparks’ stomach churned at the sight of it. He had seen worse — had inflicted far worse on others — but it was different when it was his own body coated in blood. Caleb grabbed a rag out of his satchel and wiped the wound clean, then pulled out a needle and thread.
Sparks raised an eyebrow. “Were you expecting me to get ripped up?”
“Just prepared, is all.”
“You’re a crap liar.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Sparks winced as the needle bit at his skin. Caleb’s hands worked with a care that defied their size as he slowly knotted the wound together.
“You should activate me,” Sparks said.
“Eh?”
“It’ll make the wound heal faster.”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never heard that before.”
“It’s true! Whenever a fighter at the Haven got injured, Gavin would leave them activated in cells. It helped us recover in time for the next fight.”
Caleb tied a knot at the end of the thread.
“Sometimes,” Sparks said, “We used to let each other get hurt on purpose, just so he’d have to activate us later.”
“You’re a weird kid.”
“So… will you do it?”
“I reckon you’ll heal up fine without extra help.”
“You don’t trust me either, do you?” Sparks asked, struggling to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
Caleb was silent as he ripped the sleeve off his shirt and wrapped it around Sparks’ arm. When he was finished, he stood and extended a hand.
Sparks scowled and climbed to his feet by himself. Neither of them spoke as they walked the rest of the way to the seventh district, back home.
Sparks remembered when Caleb first brought him here. He had asked why a man of Caleb’s size chose to live in such a small, cramped shed. The only answer he ever got was a few grunts and a non-committal shrug. Sparks had suggested that they move to the block of abandoned apartments across the street which had a bathroom with running water; Caleb had given him a blunt, angry stare that said the matter wasn’t up for discussion. Sparks never mentioned it again.