The henchmen argued for the entire three-hour walk to the Cutthroat Crew’s base. Even after the light faded and the red-haired man lit a lantern, the boisterous discussion never lulled. 

“I’ve killed way more Infected,” the yellow-capped henchman said, adjusting his hold on my wrists. “Remember that playground of Infected kids? Even nabbed their teacher.”

The blue-capped henchwoman snorted. “The teacher counts as my kill. I got in the last jab before his head exploded.”

“But I did most of the work.”

Blue-cap rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’ve bedded more women than you have.”

“Well, I’ve bedded prettier ones. One even had all her teeth!”

As they talked, I noted every change in my body. The bite itched beneath my coat sleeve. Was the virus spreading? Cold sweat trickled down my spine. A fever? My empty stomach grumbled. 

Would I soon crave human flesh?

We reentered the forest, and the lantern cast swinging shadows through the trees. The redhead jerked around the lantern and swept glances right and left, and I jumped at each movement. The hench people prattled on, boots clomping snow and breaking sticks.

“Remember when I fell down that hill and pretended I was dead?” The blue-capped woman flashed a toothy grin. “And you started crying! That was hilarious.”

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled the henchman behind me. “But I got you back when that Infected chewed through my arm, and then I pretended I was Infected and chased you.”

I twisted around to raise eyebrows at the man. “An Infected bit you?”

His eyebrows shot up, disappearing under the fuzzy yellow cap. “Like two years ago. What’s it to you?”

“Did its teeth break through your skin?”

He barked a laugh. “Break through skin? Blasted thing nearly took my arm off.”

The tension in my chest eased a little. Maybe I could survive. Too bad this crew would slice off my fingers in the morning. 

“So if that didn’t Infect you, how does the Infection spread?”

He shrugged. “Maybe you Southies should have clarified that with Looney Lazora before you unleashed her virus.”

I shook my head. “Looney Lazora didn’t —”

The redhead whipped around to face us. “Eternal Ether, will you all please shut up and keep moving?”

Both stocking caps bowed low, and they murmured a unison reply. “Yes, boss. Sorry, boss.”

The yellow-capped man shoved me forward once more.

Minutes later, the ground sloped upward, and the trees tapered off to reveal the fort. Stones, sticks, and mud patched together the crumbling walls. Behind a dilapidated wooden gate, five guards perched on rickety stands with arrows notched in bows. When their eyes locked on the redhead, they lowered their weapons. 

“Welcome back, boss!” said one guard, a petite woman with a messy side ponytail. “You brought another prisoner?”

The redhead grinned. “Not just any prisoner, my friends. This one could change the fate of our crew forever.”

The five guards scanned me up and down. Scratched their heads. Finally, one man ventured an eloquent inquiry.

“Uh…”

The red-haired boss huffed an impatient breath. “This one is Recluse’s pet. Now he’ll have to give up his fortress to get him back in one piece.”

“Why would Recluse care about this Southie that much, boss?” squeaked a scrawny man with fast-blinking eyes. “He’s never cared about anyone before.”

“True,” said the redhead, “But he has also never taken a pet before.”

* * *

The hench people cuffed me to the wall in a cellar that reeked of ammonia, sweat, and blood. Then they snipped off a lock of hair and lumbered out of the room. Alone in the dark, I imagined Rekkan’s response to the delivery of hair. Would he be angry at the Cutthroat Crew? Would he blame me for leaving? Or would he dismiss the message with a shrug? 

He had warned me I would meet this fate. He owed me nothing.

Squinting failed to penetrate the darkness cloaking my surroundings. I swept my legs out as far as the high handcuffs would allow but found nothing. Gradually, exhaustion overtook me, and I drifted asleep.

I awoke to footsteps and splashing light, and the redhead appeared before me. His eyes roamed over my cuffed hands, and he grinned, red mustache twitching. 

Voice silky smooth, he said, “Comfortable?”

I recognized the crude desire in that expression. Maybe I could offer him something to dissuade him from slicing off my fingers. But the last few weeks had changed something in me, and the mere prospect now caused my stomach to churn.

I’d rather lose my fingers.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said.

He set the lantern down and crouched in front of me. “Well, our messengers should have delivered the hair by now. What do you suppose your darling Recluse will do?” His hand closed over my knee and then inched up my thigh. “I personally would prefer not to disfigure you. I don’t see many pretty faces these days, and I remember those talented lips.”

Nausea swelled in my throat, turning my saliva bitter. I considered attempting to bite or kick him. Not likely to improve my situation, but potentially satisfying.

An engine revved in the distance.

The redhead’s hand slipped to his side as his eyes widened. “It’s too soon. He can’t be here yet.”

Though I was just as baffled as him, hope burst through my chest, and a smile tugged my lips. “So you know another fucker with a working motorcycle?”

The motor’s growl crescendoed, accompanied by the spitting hiss of tires through snow. Near the cellar, the engine cut out. The trapdoor flung open, and Rekkan swung down into the room. 

His boots barely touched the ladder before thumping the cellar floor. The hench people and three other crew members filed down the ladder behind him, casting uneasy glances between Rekkan and their red-haired boss. 

The redhead snatched his blade and held it to my throat, cold metal grazing my skin. “Give us the keys to the fortress, or this blade will pierce his neck.”

With one hand, Rekkan gripped the stock of his rifle tight enough his knuckles whitened. With the other hand, he dug a key from his pocket and tossed it to the blue-capped henchwoman. 

Shock drained my breath. I stared at Rekkan, wide-eyed, but his gaze fastened to the redhead. 

The redhead flashed him the same slimy grin he had offered me minutes earlier. “And the key to the motorcycle. We’ll need that too.”

I huffed a disbelieving breath. “You can’t possibly expect —”

“Quiet, Southie,” the redhead hissed, and the blade pricked my throat. A bead of blood trickled down my neck, warm and then cold. 

Rekkan’s eyes darted to my neck, and his jaw clenched. Then he stuffed his hand in his pocket once more and tossed a key to the yellow-capped henchman. As both hench people scurried toward the ladder, Rekkan spoke in an almost inaudible growl. 

“The fortress is yours. Now give me what’s mine.”

My gut kicked up a giddy flurry. Mine? I raised my eyebrows at Rekkan, but he refused to meet my eyes.

“We’ll just need a little time to solidify our new property rights,” said the redhead. “We’ll return your pet in half an hour.”

Rekkan gave a miniscule tip of his head. Then he lowered himself down to sit on the ground. One hand propped behind him, and the other remained on his rifle. His posture was almost relaxed, but his eyes bored into the redhead.

A nervous breath passed over the remaining crewmembers, and they glanced between Rekkan and the redhead.

“Why don’t you wait somewhere more comfortable?” said the redhead. “We’ll bring the Southie out shortly.”

Rekkan arched one eyebrow.

The redhead swallowed. “Or you can stay here, I suppose.”

The next half hour dragged by in silence. The members of the Cutthroat Crew occasionally shifted or cleared their throats, and the redhead switched the blade between his hands. Rekkan sat still as stone. When he finally broke the silence, everyone jumped.

“That’s long enough. Let him go.”

The redhead licked his lips. “Yes, of course. As soon as you leave, we’ll send him out after you.”

“I have an alternative proposal,” said Rekkan. “You give him to me now, or I kill every person in this fort.”

A ripple of reaction passed over everyone remaining in the cellar. Then the redhead huffed a laugh and tugged his free hand through his hair. 

“You can’t possibly have enough bullets for that.” 

Rekkan shrugged. “Wanna find out?”

The redhead’s throat worked silently. Then he slotted a key into both handcuffs, twin clinks echoing through the chamber. I rolled forward to the balls of my feet and started to rub my wrists, but Rekkan strode two steps forward and snatched my bicep, yanking me to my feet. He pushed me in front of him and nodded toward the ladder.

When I scaled the ladder and popped up through the trapdoor, the first sunlight peeked over the horizon. Makeshift shacks of cardboard, bricks, boards lined a weaving dirt path. 

Seconds later, Rekkan appeared at my side and spoke quietly. “Did they hurt you?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Did they… touch you?”

Remembering the hand on my thigh, I swallowed. “Not really, no.”

“Not really, or no?” He ground down the words like a bulldozer over glass. “Because if that fucking lecher touched you —”

“Rekkan, I’m fine.”

He snorted and shook his head. Then he started down the dirt path toward the main gate, tugging me along with him. 

Crew members stopped in their paths to stare at us. One braved a few steps in our direction, but she lurched back when Rekkan strummed the stock of the rifle. At the gate, the guards twisted blinked at us and then at each other. They continued blinking as Rekkan and I passed through the gates out into the woods.

When trees swallowed the fort behind us, Rekkan stopped. A flutter of nervous anticipation stirred my gut. Though certain he would not hurt me, I feared his scathing disapproval. I drew in a breath and squared my shoulders.

“Rekkan, I didn’t —”

My breath left in a strangled whoosh as he yanked me toward him and wrapped his arms around me.

He pinned me to his chest, and one of his hands slid up to cradle the back of my head, pushing my face into his shoulder. Warmth enveloped me, along with that spicy musk I had already started to miss. Ether, it felt good. I could have stayed in that embrace forever, except…

“Can’t… breathe.”

Rekkan’s arms dropped, and he jerked back a step. He studied me with furrowed brows. “Zafaru… is that a bite on your hand?”

I itched the red tooth marks. “Uh, yeah. But I’m clearly not Infected, right?”

He drew a shaky breath and then nodded slowly. “Right… and what about your wrists from those cuffs? Or your leg from… from when I…”

“I’m fine. But what about your fortress?”

He shrugged. “First we need to find the research base. Gotta save the world and all that, right?”

My heart skipped a beat. I searched his eyes for the joke I was missing, but his gaze on mine was serious. Finally, I shook my head.

“You said my mother was crazy for trying to save the world.” 

A tiny smile touched his lips. “She wasn’t crazy for trying to save the world, Zaf.” He reached up to brush the hair from my forehead. “She was crazy for leaving you.”