Page 83 of Collateral Claim

“Ye…es.” My teeth chatter.

He extends an arm, offering me his hand to take. “Come up. Endo’s orders.”

I stretch out my hand, but my cramped, cold fingers can’t bend around his. He grabs my forearm, then jerks me up onto the boat. I scrape my shin so badly, it bleeds.

“Damn,” he says. “Sorry about that. I’ll get you back as fast as I can. Here.” He reaches behind him and removes his T-shirt, bunches it up, and hands it to me. “Press that over the cut.”

I accept the shirt, my entire body shaking. I need warm clothes. The moment I hit the cold water, I knew I was at risk of hypothermia. I sit on a bench in a clean vessel that holds no supplies. No blankets either. I hug my arms around myself for warmth.

“Hoowww.” I try to speak through the chattering of my teeth. “Howww long didddd it take to sitttt for your tatttttoo?” I hope he understands me because I need a distraction.

The massive dragon head tattooed over his chest in full color must’ve taken a while.

He rubs his pectorals and directs the boat toward the Keep. “Three days.”

“It’s niiice.” I don’t ask if it hurt. A needle poking the skin hurts, but some people have a higher pain tolerance than others. Also, there are a number of people who get aroused while being tattooed, but I’m definitely not asking him about that.

When he turns around, I see that his back is fully tattooed as well. Lots of repeating themes from Korpal regions, I wouldsay. It occurs to me that these colorful full-torso and arm tattoos could be a sign of a man who belongs to Korpal organized crime. What do they call themselves? Wojata?

Given Endo’s profession, it’s an educated guess that this man is a member of the Wojata.

What’s he doing with Endo? The man’s young, so maybe he’s in training? Endo could be running an organized-crime training camp, for all I know.

It takes us only a few minutes to reach the small dock. Endo’s there with a stack of towels and a blanket thrown over his shoulder. He shakes his head in disapproval.

I roll my eyes. “I would rather freeze to death than accept your peace-offering blanket,” I say as the boat docks.

I’m partially frozen in my seat. It takes a giant effort just to rise from the bench. The man helps me up and onto the dock. Endo thanks the man by a name which I believe is Korpal in origin. My speculation about the tattoos might just prove right.

“Why is she bleeding?” Endo asks the man.

“Cut herself when she climbed the boat.”

“That is not what I meant byhandle her with care.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Endo grunts.

He wanted me handled with care? Oh, the irony. “I guess you’re the only one allowed to makkkkke me bleedddd.”

“Correct,” he says.

Does he know I plunged into the river for the purpose of testing my escape route? Or does he think I just went for a swim? Is he a skeptical, paranoid type? If he is, escaping him will be more difficult.

The narrow dock doesn’t give me much room, and Endo stands in my way.

He’s also not offering me the towels or the blanket. He withholds the warmth and watches me shiver. My extremities are blue at this point. My lips too, I bet.

Now that the man took his shirt back, the blood runs down my shin and over my foot.

Endo stands there.

I stand here.

Neither of us moves.

We are stubborn. I’ll faint or my knees will give out, so he’ll win this standoff. Still, I have to fight. After the showdown with my dad today, after everything Endo has done, I don’t want to ask him for anything, least of all warmth or comfort.