Page 2

Nan’s Place

S ipping my bottle, I wait for the inevitable and it doesn’t take long.

Some meathead in dirty jeans and no shirt saunters up and sits backwards on the chair opposite me.

The bar through his nipple glints under the lights as does his bald head.

His wide face breaks into a dirty sneer as he waggles his one dark eyebrow at me.

As my dad would have said, he has a face made for radio.

“I’ve heard of you.” His eyes drop to my chest and then flick back up to mine. I watch his movements, ready to strike if need be. When I don’t speak he glances back at his friends before turning to me with renewed determination.

“You a mute? Don’t worry it doesn’t bother me, I can think of other things your mouth could do.” Sighing, I take a drink.

“I will only give you one warning. Leave and I won’t have to hurt you.” My voice is as impassive as my face but it only eggs him on.

“You’re not that tough, you just need a good fucking.

” He grabs his dick as if I could misinterpret his meaning.

I flick my eyes over him, he’s big—I bet one of his hands could cover my whole face.

That means he’s slow and by the one lonely machete strapped to him, I’m betting he relies on brute strength.

This is where my speed will come in handy, you strike fast and move out of hitting range before they even realise you were there.

If I wasn’t so tired I might even enjoy teaching this fuck trumpet a lesson.

I down the rest of the bottle and calmly place it back down on the table.

It's silent now. The vultures are waiting for a show, and any weakness means my death. The bar girls have gone to hide knowing it's going down. Everyone waits and I let them. When he leans forward his odour hits me, I have to fight the need to gag. Just because it’s the end of the fucking world doesn’t mean you can’t wash yourself.

Although looking down at myself quickly, I could probably do with one after a week out in the wastes.

“You hear me, girlie?” his voice is as damaged as his teeth. Lovely. It makes me glad toothpaste is one of the things I found on my scouting. “Fuck it, I’ll just bend you over like the whore you are.”

Before he can move, I grab the knife hidden at my waist and lean forward.

As quick as a snake bite I've grabbed his thick head and sliced. He screams as he falls back, it echoing around the now silent bazaar. Blood runs through his hands as he cups the wound. I casually fling his now missing ear on the table and put my blade away with a reminder to myself to clean it later. After all, I don’t know where he’s been.

“I did warn you.”

His face contorts in pain as he screams raggedly.

The bazaar erupts in laughter and I can’t help but smirk as two large scavs scuttle forward and drag the still screaming man away without making eye contact.

Signalling for another bottle, I let my eyes wander around.

Everyone goes back to what they were doing before my little performance, and only four people make eye contact with me.

Not locals or anyone I recognise. They sit in the far corner with their eyes locked on me, beer bottles littered in front of them yet their eyes are clear and their bodies sharp.

Their clothes are clean with no holes, so definitely out of towners, and if I had to guess, I’d say they were from the cities.

As I get a look at their weapons I re-evaluate their threat level.

They are carrying at least one shooter each that I can see and so many blades that I lose count.

The dark skinned one has a sword or machete poking over the collar of his shirt and one of the others has a crossbow strapped to his side.

My assessment is finished in the time it takes for my eyes to flit over them.

When a bottle is gently placed on my table I look away, feigning disinterest with my usual empty mask in place.

I wonder what four city boys are doing at The Rim.

They don’t tend to survive to get this far, the stretch of roads between here and the cities is full of gangs, ferals and unforgiving terrain.

Half demolished buildings block the way and finding food out there is like finding a whore without an STD.

Taking a swig of the lukewarm liqueur, I decide it’s not my problem.

The whores make their way into the bar seating area, looking for their next paying customer.

They wind around the tables purring at men, stroking them through their dirty tattered clothes.

One man grabs one of the girls and pushes her face down on the table and pulls up her skirt while throwing his money down next to her.

Something moves into my line of sight and I lean back with a groan. Why the fuck can’t people take a hint?

The four men from before stand around my little table, all with unreadable expressions. Either they are stupid or brave, I can’t decide which yet. They glance at each other and with a nod, the middle one steps forward. He goes to open his mouth but I beat him to it.

“Fuck off,” my voice is hard and cold. It makes him falter and blink in astonishment at me, obviously not expecting that.

He’s really good looking for the wastes, long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail.

I think it might even be combed. A neat brown beard and trimmed moustache, muscles that are obviously earned, and the best bit?

I can’t even smell him from here. His skin is naturally tanned, an olive colour with eyes that are darker than his hair.

A wide barrel chest full of power strains against the tight shirt covering it.

My eyes follow his chest and widen at the size of his arms, they must be double the size of my waist.

I let my eyes wander to his friends ignoring the questioning stare.

The two to his left look nearly the same, I’d guess twins.

They both have scruff instead of a beard.

One has grey eyes and the other has green but they both have blonde hair– probably lightened from the sun– longer on the top and tight on the sides.

Their skin is tanned, but not burnt and they’re both tall and well built.

Sleek and well-defined muscles show as they move, highlighting the swimmer's body they hide under clothing.

The one to the right-hand side of the first man is a dark-skinned man.

His black hair is trimmed short almost to his scalp and barely visible.

He has scruff highlighting his sharp cheekbones and a wicked looking scar running through his left eyebrow which makes him look like a fighter.

Muscles contract as he moves with an almost hypnotising strain.

He’s taller than the others but only by half a head.

I watch the way they move, fluid grace in deadly packages.

They move like fighters. Great. They look like gods walking through this rough lot.

Predators among their prey, their presence fills up the place.

I’ve fought some strong men in my time, but these four?

They are in a different league. They make me feel dainty and exposed.

Their eyes devour me, burning away my calmness leaving only anger in its wake.

“We just want to talk.” This comes from the dark-skinned man, his voice is deep, the deepest I’ve ever heard.

It has a roughness to it like it’s not used often or he spent a long time screaming–out here either is possible.

I let my eyes wander away from them and notice some of the scavs are watching us.

Their expectant looks have me almost smiling.

I scan the men again, I could take them or I would die trying.

I know how to use their strength against them but I think I might meet some surprises.

Intelligence shines in their eyes and they don’t stop scanning the area as they wait.

“What part of fuck off don’t you understand? Would you like me to break it down for you?” I tilt my head with narrowed eyes and then slowly enunciate every word like they are idiots. “Fuck. Off.” with that I take another drink, the liquor burning a path down my throat.

The first man steps forward and takes a seat opposite me and stares. The others glance at each other again but also sit. He’s got balls I’ll give him that, he just saw me cut some guy’s ear off, which still sits on my table like a trophy, and here he sits like we’re having tea.

I stroke my blade under my arm making it obvious I’m concealing weapons.

He lays his palms on the table face down– a sign of peace.

Well, fuck. His knuckles are scarred like mine, showing me the amount of fights he’s been in.

His face is set in determination. I sigh knowing they won’t leave until I hear them out.

Dropping my hand from my blade, I take another drink knowing I’ll need it to get through this conversation.

“You have the two minutes it takes to finish my bottle.” Sitting back I take the bottle with me and cross my legs and wait.

“We need your help,” I snort and he waits for me to stop before carrying on.

“We asked around, you’re the one everyone told us to go to.”

That’s it? I must admit it piques my interest to know they asked around. I’ll have to remember later to ask to see what people know about them.

“For what?”

“We want to go North. We want to go deep into The Wasteland,” I raise my eyebrow not expecting that.

My estimate at the size of his balls just doubled but the thought of going North again has me wanting to stab something.

Memories fling themselves at the crudely built wall inside me, the one I fashioned to be able to function again, brought forward by the mention of my old home.