Smoke Sky Page 3

  I pulled away and looked at him, confused. “You’ve sent out other spies?” Fletcher was resourceful, but he only let specific men into his “family.” He was very picky, and often used the items we stole as payment for information. He was determined to resume his old position, and one day know everything that happened in Westraven.

  He nodded once. “Others see these two men as nothing but trouble, but I see them as useful. Especially since one of the Junkers they attacked said that they have a ship.”

  I sputtered. “What? A ship?” The only ships we’d seen since The Storm were the Behemoth and its raiding skiffs.

  Fletcher nodded again. “Apparently, they’ve recovered one that is moderately intact. They’re trying to move it across the city somewhere. The Junker followed them to see what they were doing.”

  “Why would they have a ship?” I asked. “They can’t fly it.”

  He smiled. “That’s where you come in, my dear. You’re going to find them, talk to them, learn what they’re doing, and tell us every detail. If you think they’re worthy, we’ll enlist them to our family.”

  I couldn’t hold back my cringe. The last thing I wanted to do was initiate a pair of clueless souls to the so-called family. And I damn sure didn’t want any more brothers.

  Fletcher’s hand tightened on my neck. “Think of it, Gemma. A ship. Big enough for our entire family. Well stocked, reinforced, and hidden from the inclement weather. A new place to call home and start again. You want that, don’t you? The chance to begin a new life on your own?”

  I was about to argue, do anything to give this job to someone else, when his last words stopped me. “My own?”

  He nodded. “I am willing to make sacrifices. I know how much you desire freedom. If you bring these men to me, I will let you go.”

  My heart bounced wildly in my chest. This was a trick. It had to be. Once Fletcher got his claws into someone, he never let them go. Especially since he made it clear that I was important as the only woman in his family.

  My brain told me this was a trap, that I was stuck with Fletcher until I was finally killed, and that condemning two possibly innocent men to this twisted family was the most callous thing I could ever do. But my heart yearned for freedom. My soul cried for it, to do anything to escape the wretched existence I would endure if I stayed.

  Slow down, Gemma, I told myself. Get all the facts first, then make your choice.

  “Do you know who they are?” I asked, hating how dry my voice sounded. “These two men?”

  Fletcher frowned, as though he thought I would jump on the opportunity without question. To be honest, I was surprised myself.

  “Marauders. One of them is a renegade member of the Stray Dogs, and the other…” His eyes narrowed to slits, “is supposedly a Kendric.”

  My jaw dropped so far I was sure it would hit the floor. That changed everything. The Kendric Clan, also known as the Wanderers, was the most feared marauder crew to sail the skies before The Storm. Lead by stone-hearted Captain Robertson Kendric and his sadistic son Davin, they raided, raped, and killed for years before engaging on their boldest mission yet––following the group of explorers through the clouds and into the Breach, the home of the Hellions. No one knew exactly what happened beyond that tear in the sky, but it was said that the Wanderers did something to provoke the monsters, something that drew them back to Aon for revenge, placing Westraven at the center of their target.

  I had a heaping amount of fear for the Wanderers when I was a younger girl. But the two people who owned this house, the caring man and wife whose bodies I had to drag out of the house they lived in all their lives… They deserved retribution. If the Wanderers hadn’t followed the explorers and attacked the Hellions in their own territory, George and Allison would still be alive.

  I couldn’t make myself relax under Fletcher’s touch, but this time I wasn’t tensing because of him specifically. No, my body was rigid because it was ready for action. A final fight before I gained freedom.

  “Where do I find them?” I asked.

  Fletcher smiled and stroked my hair. I set my jaw and told myself this would be the last time he ever touched me.

  But there was no missing the possessiveness in his voice when he said, “That’s my girl.”

  Chapter 3

  My brothers hadn’t been pleased to leave me in Spruce alone. Boyd didn’t trust me, Morris wanted to screw me, and Tyler wanted to knock my lights out. I was more than happy to see them all gone, even more pleased for the next four days of solitude while information was gathered for my mission. I got to sit it out, because Fletcher refused to share his contact with anyone but himself. He had developed connections all over Westraven and excelled in trade. Whatever someone wanted, he would send me to find and steal it. If the target was a person rather than an object, he sent my brothers to do the dirty work. Fletcher was rebuilding his information empire, knowing who to keep close, who to watch out for, and who he could push without repercussion.

  So when the details about these two marauders whereabouts reached me, I knew the information was good. Four days alone in the house was comforting, but I needed action. I needed to get up and move. Though I loathed working for Fletcher, I never passed up the opportunity for adventure. It was the only thing that made me remember I was alive.

  The note Boyd had thrust into my hand a couple hours ago contained simple instructions––I was to go to Beggars Street and spy on the two men. After I saw what they were doing, I had to play the part of a helpless maiden and beg for their help. I didn’t like the risks that came with that, since marauders weren’t known for their chivalry, but I had two steel knives tucked into my belt and hidden by my thick leather jacket. If they didn’t buy my act, I would cast it aside and simply be myself. I wasn’t above making threats to cut off parts of the male anatomy.

  Shoving the dark thoughts from my head, I concentrated on where I was walking. According to the Junker that Tyler had happily beaten to a pulp––“questioned,” as he called it––the two marauders lived on the desolate street where the beggars and squatters of Westraven used to reside. The poor were among the few who’d known exactly where to run when the Hellions began their slaughters, though it was impossible to know how many found safety and how many ended up starving to death anyway.

  Apparently, my marks had been alternating between an apartment and this ship they supposedly owned. Why they would waste time on repairing an airship was beyond me. Hellions owned the skies now. Humans never would again.

  Thinking about the monsters that had come so close to tearing me apart not even a week ago, I looked up at the sky, wondering what time of day it was. In the rainy season, day and night melded into some kind of twisted darkness that wouldn’t stop until the clouds decided they didn’t want to cry anymore.

  Since the Hellion’s invasion eight years ago, they days/nights seemed longer than ever. At least the rain was lighter today, more of a steady mist than torrential downpour. Though I still got soaked on the walk. No one had any means of transportation other than their own two feet. The risk of being seen as a threat by the Hellions was too great.

  Lowering my gaze, I looked at the hollowed-out buildings forming the narrow corridor of Beggars Street. Weather-stained brick apartments stood cluttered together, their tops sheared off or caved in from past cannon fire. Every window was blown out or boarded shut, soot stains spilling over the empty sills like black blood from an infected mouth. Parts of the apartments were gaping and exposed, as if a giant claw had sliced straight through them. From what I could see, the contents inside were overturned, broken, or missing all together. Ropes for laundry stretched between the buildings like thick webbing, though most hung worthlessly against the apartments. The air smelled like cold rain, perfectly fitting the dead-looking street.

  It didn’t ease my state of mind when I looked over my shoulder and swore I saw a shadow move into an alley a couple blocks away.

  I stopped and squinted into the darkness, w
ondering if I’d seen something or not. The shadows were thick and encompassing as they surrounded me, so it could have been anxiety playing tricks on my mind. The increasing tempo of the rain didn’t help, either. I might as well have been walking blind in the cold.

  Picking up my pace and reassuring myself that I hadn’t seen any raiding skiffs leave the Behemoth, I continued down the street. As I approached the next corner, I wondered if Fletcher or Boyd had lied. There was no ship in sight. Sure, I was curious about the way the rubble had been pushed off to the side to clear the street, but that didn’t mean anything. For all I knew, someone could have gotten bored and decided to perform a public service…

  All thoughts stopped when I came around the corner and saw it.

  Gliding slowly through the alley, nearly scraping the sides of the buildings, was a massive barque with three tall masts. Tarnished taupe iron plating and bolts made up the sides of the two hundred foot ship together. The exterior painting on the port and starboard was beginning to chip to reveal the rusted metal beneath. Two rows of cannons were visible on the hull, their barrels probably too damaged to use now. The wreckage was severe, but it was nothing compared to the massive puncture on the starboard side of the ship. A hole was ripped clean into the siding, revealing a blackened interior. I couldn’t clearly see what was beyond the gash, but if this was a ship that ran on electricity and the generators inside were broken, it shouldn’t be moving at all.

  Before I could figure out how it was shuffling along, my eyes caught one final detail that shocked me to the core.

  I gaped when I saw the cursive type on the siding. It took a moment for me to register that I was staring at the Dauntless Wanderer. The main ship that headed Roberstson and Davin Kendric’s bloodthirsty adventures.

  Questions tore through my mind. Why take this ship? What purpose could it serve other than scrap metal? How had it survived all these years when so many survivors wanted to see it in pieces?

  Fletcher’s words crossed my mind again. He said one of these men might be related to a Kendric. Was there sentimental value here? A sense of entitlement?

  The Dauntless rolled to a halt, just inches from the set of apartments on the left. I scurried to the right, hiding behind a pile of rubble to hide from my marks. I was about thirty feet away, perfect for spying on them without being seen.

  A pair of ropes was tossed over the side of the ship and two young men slid down them. One had thick brown hair and was dressed in marauder garb. He had everything from the black frock coat to the boots to the belt fixed with weapons. I could see the edge of a cutlass, and assumed there would be a pistol or two hidden from sight.

  The second man wasn’t as glamorous, but he was much bigger. He had short black hair and ebony skin. The navy blue work shirt and pants he wore strained against his impressive muscles. As he stripped the leather gloves from his hands and took a grey messenger bag off his shoulder, I noticed a black mark on his right forearm. I was still too far to make it out clearly, so I wondered what it was. Birthmark? Burn scar? Marauder tattoo? I sighed internally. I would find out soon enough.

  The younger, shorter marauder kicked the bottom of the ship.

  “These damn things are useless,” I heard him complain. “You can’t go fifty feet without draining their power.”

  The dark-skinned man crossed his arms over his chest, and looked even bigger than before. “I told you we needed to find an engineer, Sawyer.”

  Sawyer scoffed. “Don’t get me started on engineers, Nash. More trouble than they’re worth.” He kicked the bottom of the ship again. “Come on. Help me recharge them. I want to get a little farther before the heavy rain hits. I don’t want the whole ship filled with water again.”

  Nash didn’t move. “Like I said, if you got an engineer to––”

  Sawyer snatched the bag from his friend’s hand and stalked to the rudder. “Fine. I’ll do it myself. Since you’re so keen on standing around, you can at least keep an eye out for trouble.”

  I thought I saw Nash grin. “Stop whining. It was your turn anyway.”

  Sawyer knelt down and started digging in the bag. He must have grumbled something, because Nash laughed and turned to watch the street.

  I glanced at where Sawyer was kneeling, finally noticing how the Dauntless was moving.

  The ship was too damaged to move independently, but underneath it were long pieces of sheet metal with a series of thick magnetic disks. Called a Hove-porter, the device was used to transport heavy vehicles or machines short distances so they could be repaired. While they could hold virtually any weight, they required a tremendous amount of power to move. The best charges lasted a couple hours at most, and if the object was as heavy as the Dauntless, it had to be moved with careful speed. It must have taken the Marauders ages to find the Hove-porter, slip it under the ship, and figure out how to navigate it. I didn’t know where they planned to take the Dauntless, but given Sawyer’s impatience and frustration, it couldn’t be far.

  While Sawyer plugged some wires into the bottom of the Hove-porter and fiddled with a generator no larger than the electron-cell I’d stolen for Fletcher, my gaze traveled back to Nash.

  He stood calm and still as a statue, his arms still acting like a protective barrier against his chest. I squinted my eyes again, trying to get a better look at the expression on his face. It was hard to tell from the distance, but he looked determined and focused. Sawyer might have weapons, but Nash was a warrior. He wouldn’t boast muscles and a stance like that if he didn’t know how to fight.

  But there was something else about his face that interested me. I couldn’t be sure, but he looked almost… peaceful. Serene. Like he was perfectly content being out in the cold rain with his grumbling companion.

  I envied him. What I wouldn’t give to––

  “I thought you didn’t approve of staring, Gemmy.”

  I jumped to my feet and whirled around, my fist lashing out and catching Morris in the jaw. He grunted and took the hit, stumbling back a step. I would have kept hitting him, but Tyler was here as well, fury all but dripping from his pores.

  This wasn’t good.

  “What are you two doing here?” I demanded, keeping the tremor from my voice.

  “Fletcher sent us to make sure you didn’t run off,” Tyler bit out.

  “Yeah,” Morris added, rubbing his jaw. The playfulness was gone from his eyes, but the hunger remained. “We figured we could help you out, too. Make it look like you’re actually in trouble.”

  I reacted fast, but I should have started fighting when they were talking. That way, I might have stood a chance.

  I rushed toward the street, hoping to get distance on them so I could grab the knives on my belt. Tyler didn’t let me get more than three steps. His fist buried in my stomach, knocking the wind from me. Tyler grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, twisting my head around and backhanding me across the face. My vision was blurred, and I didn’t see Morris’s fist coming until it crashed into my right cheek.

  Tyler released his hold on me so I collapsed on the hard gravel. I got up to crawl when a boot slammed into my ribs. I cried out as I was flipped onto my back. Morris jumped on me and crushed me with his weight. He trapped my hands to my sides and pushed his lips against mine. I struggled and shouted, doing anything I could to get him off me. I almost slipped free when Tyler kicked me in the ribs. Hard enough to make me scream.

  “There we go,” purred Morris.

  His hands roamed my body, fondling and squeezing parts of me no man had ever touched. I clenched my eyes shut and kept fighting, determined not to let them see the fear pulsing through my body.

  Someone shouted in the distance. I didn’t know his voice, couldn’t understand what he was saying past the terror pounding in my head.

  Tyler’s boot slammed into my ribs again. I gasped and whimpered. The deep, angry voice was closing in.

  “Shit,” Morris hissed, unzipping my jacket. “I never get to play with you.”


  His fingers dug into my breast and squeezed so hard I thought he was going to rip the flesh off my chest. I winced and bucked my hips. He still didn’t move, and Tyler kicked the fight from me again. Morris chuckled and bent down. He licked the side of my face and nipped my cheek.

  “We’ll finish this soon, Gemmy. Now I know how good you taste.”

  Morris struck me in the side of the head once, then launched to his feet and sprinted after Tyler. I lay on the ground, shaking and for once wishing the rain would fall harder. I would do anything to wash away the filth I felt from Morris’s touch.

  Heavy boots stomped the ground beside me. I jumped and rolled onto my stomach. My ribs groaned in protest. I wrapped my hand around my belly and wished I could sleep the pain away. My head felt like it was stretching to ten times its usual size.

  “Hey,” a deep voice said, “are you okay?”

  I groaned in response and tried to pick myself up, but my arms were as heavy as concrete beams. I reached my knees, then doubled forward and lightly prodded my ribs. I didn’t think any were broken, but they hurt like a bastard.

  “Sawyer,” the first voice called. Nash. It was Nash who was speaking. “Do you see them?”

  “No,” the second marauder said, his voice getting closer. “They’re gone, and I don’t know where to start looking for them.”

  His words were harsh, but his voice was sympathetic. An interesting combination.

  A heavy, yet gentle hand was placed on my shoulder. I jumped at the touch and whirled to see Nash kneeling beside me. He took his hand back but stayed at my side. Now that he was just inches away from me, I was able to see him in detail. The smooth, velvety shade of his skin, the stubble growing around his mouth to give him a look of maturity and strength. His eyes were darker than mine, yet they weren’t cold. They were warm, trusting, inviting… caring. Emotions I hadn’t seen in years. Emotions that I’d forgotten even existed.