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  I was surrounded by fresh, cool air and safe for the moment, yet my pulse was racing and I found it hard to breathe.

  Nash hesitated, then put his hand on my shoulder again. I didn’t stop him this time. His expression was torn between concern and anger. I didn’t understand the mixture of emotions until he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”

  I smiled weakly, despite the pain in my face. “Don’t apologize. You don’t know me. My problems aren’t your problems.”

  Nash’s eyes narrowed. “I have a serious problem with any man who hurts a woman.”

  Good to know we were on the same page.

  His fingers slipped from my shoulder to my back. His other hand slipped into mine and pulled me to my feet. He was so gentle that I couldn’t bring myself to chastise him for my lack of permission. I couldn’t remember the last time someone touched me so tenderly.

  After what I was going to do to them, I didn’t deserve it.

  I shrugged away from Nash’s warm touch and shoved my hand through my soaked hair. I was too rattled to keep playing the victim. After what Tyler and Morris had done, I needed to remember that I was strong.

  I turned my gaze to Sawyer. The marauder was standing only a few feet away with a suspicious look on his face. His tawny eyes flicked up and down my body, but not in the lecherous way Morris’s always did. He was gauging me. His mistrust couldn’t be more obvious. Pretending that his interest in my body was nothing but sexual, I crossed my arms over my chest and glared.

  “You better not see something you like. I’m in the mood to punch something right now.”

  Sawyer’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I doubt you’re my type.”

  “Good. Glad we have an understanding.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could have sworn Nash was grinning.

  “Who are you?” Sawyer asked.

  “Why do you want to know?” I countered.

  “My partner just saved your life. You’re the first person we’ve seen in almost three months. It’d be nice to know there are still some half-civilized people walking around.”

  I flicked my eyes to the cutlass and flintlock visible on his belt. On the hilt of both was a silver skull that sported black gems for eyes. Rare, but popular weapon designs for marauders. All the more intimidating if you knew how to use them.

  “You’re a marauder,” I stated, lifting my eyes to meet his again. “Forgive me for not trusting you from the get-go.”

  Sawyer’s lip curled angrily. I didn’t move.

  “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  Hearing Nash’s deep, rumbling voice sent one thought through my head––Damn it. I could care less about Sawyer, but something in me stirred as Nash got closer. He was the one who seemed more interesting than the cranky man in front of me. I glanced at him, my breath hitching for a moment.

  The rain reflected beautifully against his dark skin. It had soaked his shirt and plastered it to his sturdy body, drawing attention to the broadness of his shoulders, the brawn of his arms, and the rippling muscles of his abdomen. I glanced away, hoping the chilly rain would cool my heated cheeks.

  “Did you know those men?” he asked. I glanced at him again, and saw a flash of anger sparked through his dark eyes. I wondered if he was regretting not getting a couple of shots into them. I know I was.

  “No.” The lie came smoothly from my lips, and left a bitter taste on my tongue. “I was looking for food when they saw me. Two lonely men, one woman…” I shrugged. “Wasn’t much else they could’ve been thinking.”

  Nash’s eyes narrowed again. I missed the softness in his face, and decided to find it again.

  “I’m Gemma.”

  The tension left his face. He tossed his head over his shoulder. “That’s Sawyer.” He smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Nash.”

  I slipped my hand into his, shaking it firmly. His skin was callused, yet comfortable and warm. My eyes fell to the black mark on his right arm. Tattooed on his skin was a rabid, snarling dog. The symbol of an underground marauder Clan called the Stray Dogs. I let go of Nash’s hand and stepped back, glancing at Sawyer. Because of his jacket, I couldn’t tell if he was a Stray Dog as well. From the tight look in his eyes and the way his arms were folded over his chest, he didn’t seem keen to share.

  Just as I opened my mouth to ask him what his problem was, a shriek echoed somewhere from the middle of the city. Since we could hear it through the rain, whoever––or whatever––was screaming couldn’t be far.

  “We should get off the street,” Nash rumbled.

  “Good plan,” agreed Sawyer. “Let’s go, Nash.”

  They started walking away. My mind raced, searching for a way to stop them. I was willing to bet Sawyer was the leader of the two men, so it was him I had to convince if I had any hope of lying my way to freedom from Fletcher.

  “You’re both just going to leave me here?” I burst.

  Sawyer turned and glanced at me. I shot Nash a dirty look, hating myself because he didn’t deserve it. In fact, he looked genuinely hurt at my accusation.

  “Your stalkers tucked tail and ran. All the apartments are empty. Pick one and hide.” Sawyer’s tawny eyes moved over my shoulder to his companion. “We need to get the Hove-porter off the bottom of the Dauntless. It won’t get anymore juice today.”

  He jerked his head at Nash, then started walking again. Fighting the bruised ribs and the pain in my skull, I stormed toward Sawyer to argue with him some more. Nash looked at his friend.

  “We can’t leave her out here, Sawyer.”

  The stubborn marauder wheeled around, narrowing his eyes on his partner. “I’m not in the mood to argue, Nash. I definitely don’t have the time for it. Get moving.”

  Rather than cower to his command, Nash crossed his arms and remained still.

  “We’re not leaving her here,” he said defensively. “She needs protection, and we need an extra pair of hands to work on the ship.”

  I cleared my throat, getting the attention of both men. “She is standing right here.”

  Sawyer looked annoyed, Nash apologetic. Before I could throw any more accusations their way, another scream tore through the night. This one was closer than before, only a few blocks away.

  “Damn it. Fine,” Sawyer muttered, watching the street. “Let’s go.”

  Instead of running to the apartments buildings like I assumed he would, Sawyer careened toward the Dauntless. I hesitated to follow him, but Nash’s reassuring smile convinced me that I would be safe.

  Until they learned why I was truly here.

  Chapter 4

  The Dauntless’s interior was worse than I imagined. I knew better than to expect a palace, but the devastation still astonished me.

  After we disabled the Hove-porter so it couldn’t be stolen and climbed up the netting that had been thrown over the ruined starboard side, I found myself standing in the middle of what looked like a melted cave. Severed electric wires hung haphazardly from a charred ceiling and blackened walls. The floor was scorched and coated with dust. Crates sat in the corners, obscured with crinkled, black fabric. Sheet metal and scrapped equipment were tossed beside the piles of junk, as though it was taken because they were it was important, but weren’t ready to be used yet.

  Along the far wall was a wide hunk of singed metal blasted with holes. Wires draped around it uselessly, and it took me a moment to figure out what I was looking at.

  “Is that the engine?” I asked.

  Sawyer grunted in reply. I turned around, watching as he walked to the pile of random crates on our left. Nash was by the gap in the hull, pulling up the netting. I knew I shouldn’t stare, but there was something about the way his muscles in his back rippled behind the soaked fabric of his shirt––

  “Gemma, help me with this.”

  Snapping out of my trance, I hurried to Sawyer. He marched to one corner of the black fabric and nodded at me to take the other side. Together, we pulled the
cloth free and dragged it toward the opening. By the time we reached it, Nash had collected the netting and cast it aside. He walked behind me and lifted up the heavy fabric. On the far right, Sawyer jumped straight up and grabbed onto one of the few intact support beams lining the roof. Using only his upper body strength, he latched the fabric onto a series of hooks. He repeated this circus act, swinging from one beam to the next and hanging the cloth over some hooks until the starboard gash was curtained and we stood in total darkness.

  I wasn’t really claustrophobic, but my heart began to beat erratically in my chest. I heard Sawyer’s boots when he thumped to the ground, though I couldn’t see him. I stood perfectly still, listening to his footsteps and trying to locate him. I didn’t relax until I heard a match being struck and a small kerosene lantern was lit on the far right of the ship.

  How Sawyer managed to find it in complete darkness was a mystery to me. He must have known this ship like the back of his hand. My thoughts went back to Fletcher’s words. Could it really be that I was with a Kendric? I frowned, not sure how it was possible. Robertson was an old man, and since Sawyer wasn’t torturing me to death, there was no way he could be Davin Kendric.

  Was it possible that Robertson had another son?

  Another warm glow came from behind me. I turned quickly and saw Nash lighting another lantern. Each man lit two more, offering the barest amount of light into the dark room. The shadows were still thick, but at least we wouldn’t be seen by whatever was lurking outside on Beggars Street. I just wished the lights did something about the cold.

  I hugged my arms to my body and rubbed them.

  “Gemma?” Nash said to get my attention. “I can get you some dry clothes. They’re some of my spares, so they’ll be too big, but they’ll keep you warm.”

  I gave him a curious look and a mischievous smile. “Are you trying to get me naked?” I teased. “Because that won’t work as well as you think.”

  Nash sputtered, and I could have sworn I saw his cheeks flush in the dark. He looked at the floor and cleared his throat. “I––”

  I laughed. He drew his eyes back up. “I’m kidding. If you have clothes to spare, I’d love to have them.” Feeling eyes bore into the back of my skull, I turned again. “That is, if Sawyer won’t rupture a blood vessel over it.”

  Nash coughed to hide his laugh. Sawyer was less than amused. “You like to push people’s buttons?”

  I shrugged. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

  “Well, your hobby almost got you raped tonight.”

  I stiffened, my body recalling the pressure of Morris’s weight pinning me down, the rancid scent of his breath, the feel of his rough hands squeezing and twisting my chest, the oily slickness of his tongue on my face. His promise to continue where he left off.

  “I had it under control.”

  Sawyer stared at me. “Didn’t look like it.”

  “Fine. I would have had it under control. Better?”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Good, because I never asked you to.”

  “Come on,” Nash stepped forward, placing himself between us. “Gemma, we just weren’t expecting to see you. This street is usually empty.” He turned to his friend. “Sawyer, take it easy.” Glancing between us again, he sighed. “Look, we’ve had a rough night. Why don’t we all relax, get something to eat, and just talk, okay?”

  He looked at Sawyer when he said this. Nash didn’t think I was a threat. I knew immediately that he was my target. My stomach clenched at the thought and I had to look away.

  Silent, Sawyer grabbed a lantern and crossed the ship toward the boxes. Nash turned to face me. I lifted my gaze and fell into those dark brown eyes.

  “I'll get you some clothes and food,” he promised.

  I smiled, and played my part.

  “Finally, someone who knows how to treat a lady.”

  Nash laughed softly, a sound that warmed and comforted me.

  I hated doing this.

  As he turned to walk away, I clutched his hand. Nash looked back at me, directly meeting my eyes. “Thank you, Nash,” I whispered.

  He squeezed my hand, then let go and walked away. Sighing, I sat down near the cluster of lanterns. I peeled off my soaked jacket, turning my back on my two marks. I unstrapped my unused knives then wrung out the bottom of my shirt to make it seem like I wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying. They were quiet, but not quiet enough.

  “She shouldn’t be here,” Sawyer insisted. I quickly wrapped my weapons in my waterlogged jacket. No reason to make him trust me even less.

  Nash’s sigh was short and aggressive. “Seriously, Sawyer, what is your problem with her? She was a victim. Why can’t you cut her some slack?”

  There was a pause. I wondered if it was to glare at Nash.

  “You’re asking me that? Really?”

  It was Nash’s turn to be silent. “She doesn’t know, and I’m not going to tell her.”

  Sawyer let out a tired breath. “Maybe, but if she finds out, you think she’ll keep playing nice? She has an attitude already. I don’t want to keep making enemies.”

  Nash and Sawyer stood in silence for so long that I almost turned around to see what was happening between them.

  Then Nash said, “Guess you’ll have to do the impossible, and not be snippy for once.” I could hear the smirk in his voice.

  “I am not snippy,” Sawyer replied, lighter than before.

  Nash laughed again. “You’re the definition. You bitch when we get good scrap for the ship.”

  “Scrap, Nash. Leftovers. Useless parts that nobody else wants.”

  “What were you saying about not being snippy?”

  Sawyer went back to muttering, and I concentrated on unlacing my boots as I heard Nash approaching. He sat down beside me and extended a bundle of clothes.

  “Hope these work.”

  I took them gratefully, letting my fingertips brush his. “If it’s dry, it’ll work.”

  Nash shifted, as though suddenly nervous. A strange reaction from someone so large.

  “Um, there aren’t many places to change privately…”

  I smiled my first real smile since I began my charade. I knew I was attractive, but most men weren’t shy about their intentions regarding my body.

  More chances to manipulate someone who wouldn’t see it coming.

  “I’ll change later,” I assured. “I’m starving right now.”

  Nash looked much more comfortable and handed me a small burlap pouch. I pulled it open, looked inside, and was struck speechless.

  Ripe carrots, an apple, hard cheese, bread. Was that dried beef?

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anything this fresh. Most of my food was either stolen or given to me by Fletcher as a reward. Even then, the most of what we ate now consisted of measly soups or rock-hard rat meat. Most of the farms had been destroyed in The Storm, but some had survived. The workers were harassed or threatened into farming for marauder Clans or the Electrician colonies buried underground. I don’t know how Sawyer and Nash managed to come across such fresh foods, and I didn’t care, either. I wasted no time in indulging.

  The carrots were crunchy, the apple tart, the cheese sharp, the bread crisp, and the meat salted perfectly. I could have cried from the taste of it all.

  I devoured half the food given to me before I realized that both men were staring at me. I slowed down and glanced between them.

  “Was this supposed to be for all of us?” I asked, half seriously.

  Sawyer chuckled behind us, and Nash’s smile intoxicated me. For a minute, I forgot everything turning my life to ruins. I didn’t know anything about him, knew better than to trust him… but I wanted to. Something drew me to him, amazed that there was a kind soul left in this world after all it had suffered.

  “We have extra,” Nash assured. “Food will be useless if we let it go bad.”

  Sawyer grunted in agreement, then tapped a burlap sack onto his friend’s
chest. Nash took it gratefully and started pulling the ends open. Sawyer circled around to sit in front of us with his own pouch. He set his lantern and a canteen of water in front of us and flicked his eyes to me.

  “So, Gemma,” he said civilly. “Tell us about yourself.”

  I shrugged, picking at the bread. “Nothing to tell, really. I spend most of my days scrounging for food, tools, anything I can trade.”

  “Where do you live?”

  I kept my eyes on the bread. Unless they were seriously well stocked, like farmers, or simply insane, no one in Westraven lived alone. They all had associates somewhere to help them. It was the only way they could keep surviving, especially now that the Hellions had found a way to leave the Behemoth in daylight––by wearing the uniforms and modified helmets of the Sky Guard soldiers they’d killed.

  “Anywhere I can. I move around a lot,” I said. It didn’t really feel like a lie, since that was what I planned on doing once I was free of Fletcher.

  After you betray the first men who haven’t tried to assault or control you yet.

  I was glad I ate as much as I did earlier, because I quickly lost my appetite. Sawyer opened his mouth to speak again, but I quickly turned the tables on him.

  “So what’s your plan for the ship?”

  Sawyer stiffened. “What makes you think I’ve got any plans?”

  My laugh was short and sharp. “I’m not stupid, Sawyer. This is the Dauntless Wanderer. I might’ve been a kid when it was in its prime, but everyone heard about the things Robertson and Davin Kendric did with it.”

  Something flashed through Sawyer’s eyes, too fast for me to catch. His posture was rigid. I’d obviously struck a nerve.

  He couldn’t really be related to them… Could he?

  As far as anyone knew, Davin was Robertson’s only son. He never acknowledged any others. Though given his sordid reputation, it was possible that he’d bedded more than one tavern wench in his heyday.

  Davin certainly had. Most of them without their consent.

  “Maybe I have a thing for repairing relics,” Sawyer countered.