Page 6

Russian Roulette

T here’s a knock at my door. I ignore it, knowing the only people in this joint stupid enough to do that are the four guys from before.

They carry on knocking and I heave myself up pissed; slamming open the door with a snarl.

Before I can talk, they barge past me and into my room.

The silent twin offers me the job slip from Nan.

Snatching it, I quickly glance through it.

It’s easy enough: last seen whereabouts in the Wastes, travelling to The Ring.

That's usually where the jobs start, a clan puts in a bill or a job there and then they slowly work their way around to The Rim.

“So you’re going that way anyway.” The leader says. I stay near the open door with my back to the wall and let the bill loosen in my hand.

“So?” I cross my arms over my chest, which puts my hands closer to my blades.

“So you can take us,” He says. The twins sit on my bed and I nearly fling a knife at them. Pushy bastards don’t seem to know what personal space means.

“No,” I say instantly.

“Why?” The twin with the green eyes asks with his head cocked.

“You guys stick out like a sore thumb. That’s a sure way to get killed. It’s easy for me to get in and out. But you?” I scoff.

“That’s why we have you. Also, we can fight.” Green eyes proudly shows off his arm muscles as he speaks. I eye their muscles and weapons and don’t doubt it, but even the best fighters can be outnumbered out here.

“I don’t tangle in Wasteland business. You got an issue with any clans up there-“

“We don’t.” The dark-skinned man interrupts. I grind my teeth and debate my options. I know they won’t leave me alone until I say yes. That much is evident. Maybe if I charge enough they’ll fuck off.

“My pay is one hundred for each day.”

The leader nods. Sands below, I should have asked for more .

“Done.” He looks smug. I’m so fucked. This is such a bad idea.

I let my hands drop from near my blades.

What the hell am I going to do? Eying them again, I decide what the hell.

The likelihood of them wanting to carry on when we get out there is slim; I’ll probably be bringing them back in a couple of days.

At least I will have some good money to show for it.

Calmer now that I have a plan, I nod my head in agreement.

“You get injured, do anything stupid, or lag behind and I leave you. Understood?” I say sternly, fighting the urge to punch something. It would probably be his smug pretty boy face.

“Sure thing, Cap.” The talkative twin says with a smile, his green eyes alight with amusement. Why is he so happy all the time? Just another thing about them that pisses me off.

“Ok. We leave at six a.m., now get out,” I point at the door just to make sure they get the point. The twins stand and both stop before me, making my room feel claustrophobic with their tall frames blocking everything.

“I'm Drax,” green eyes points to his own chest, “this is Jax.” He gestures at the silent grey-eyed twin who just watches me. I nod and Drax smiles as he struts out the door, his twin silently following. The dark-skinned man stops by me and offers me a small smile.

“I’m Thorn, darling.” He walks through the door without saying anything else. The leader steps up and offers me his hand. I hesitantly shake it.

“I’m Maxen, you are?” I look into his eyes which blaze with determination, a look I used to see in my eyes before I came to The Rim.

“Worth.” That’s all I offer him. His lips twitch and he nods.

“See you in the morning, Worth.” He closes the door after him. They’re going to get me into trouble, I can just tell.

After they leave, I start to clean my weapons, preparing for the journey ahead. I even bathe knowing I’m going to be stuck in the waste for at least a week. When I’m as clean as I’m ever going to get, I pull out my map and plan my journey, avoiding the major clan areas.

The job from Nan is in The Ring, which is a couple hundred miles into the Wastes, a straight up journey.

But to get there you have to pass through clan territory.

Maxen never mentioned where they were going.

I’m hoping they’ll get to The Ring with me and decide they want to turn back and return to wherever they came from.

Reading through the reason for the bill makes me feel sick.

The son of a bitch killed a whole family.

Not just killed, but tortured as well. I shove it in my bag, done with the in-depth description of his crime.

Stripping down, I lay on the bed letting my thoughts turn to where they always do when I’m alone and sober.

.. the past. Closing my eyes, I try to remember my family.

My dad and brother’s faces come clear to me, but I can hardly remember my mum’s now.

I focus on my dad as he smiles at me as we sit around a fire in the back garden of some empty house.

It was just after we decided to head North and avoid the chaos in the cities.

My brother throws a twig at me as our dad smiles and watches us bicker.

The memories change and I see him shouting for me to run as four black bikes charge towards me.

Men are jeering as I cry. I turn back to see my dad and his face changes so I'm looking at the smirking face of the man who haunts my every moment.

Those deep black eyes locked on mine, his long black hair pulled back in his ‘warrior braids’, some coloured with blood until they shine red in the light.

His crown made of skulls moving as he leans towards me.

“Miss me, pet?”

I can almost smell the blood on his breath and feel his slimy hands as he cups my face lovingly from where I sit shackled to his chair like a dog.

He leans forward, his whip coiling next to him like a snake.

My eyes snap open as I swallow the bile in my throat, breathing through it and counting back from thirty.

I'm free, he can’t hurt me anymore. I'm free, he can’t hurt me anymore.

I repeat my mantra until the need to be sick disappears and then I jump up and grab my pack from the floor next to me.

I might as well do something useful if I can’t sleep tonight, so I go through it and note what I will need to take with me.

It pays to be prepared. And I would do anything to keep my mind firmly in the now and away from the pain of my memories.

Looks like I’ve got everything I will need, I just need to fuel up my bike and-

Bike, shit. I need a new bike. Mine’s rusted and probably would make it but it’s not fast and if there’re more than me travelling, I need to be the fastest, just in case.

The slowest will be the one who dies and I don’t plan on dying.

I debate my options and with a snarl at what I will have to do, I get dressed while making sure to strap on my weapons.

I lock the door and head out to the buzzing city.

The scavs and roadies are out in full swing now that the sun has set.

Heading to the other bar in town, I slip through the crowd like a ghost. The sign above the bar proudly declares it The Hole– I know, us roadies aren’t very original.

Making my way through the quieter area of the bazaar, I descend the steps to the lower bar.

It’s different than the one up top. People come here for reasons other than drinking.

The Hole is what it says on the tin, a hole in the ground where you come to prove yourself and if you’re good, you win.

You lose? You guessed it, you tend to die.

Either that or they make you their bitch as they take your belongings.

Games range from Russian Roulette to a ring.

It’s a way to let out the aggression without bringing the city to its knees.

Most fighting between scavs and roadies is settled down here.

It’s busy tonight, there must be a gang passing through.

I circle the crowd trying to decide what game I want to play.

I need a new bike which means that I need a roadie, scavs sometimes have bikes but not always.

I don’t want to risk it. The music is muted down here so that you can hear the winners and the crowd, the cheering almost sending me spiralling back to my past.

The Hole is one large square underground room which runs below the bazaar.

A bar is placed at one end of the room to the right of me with a skinny man working behind it.

No serving girls work down here. This place is strictly for the games.

You don’t want to accidentally kill a woman, after all.

The floor is a combination of stone and packed dirt and is covered in dried blood from the fights over years.

The only tables are the five which feature the games.

They are placed in a diamond shape with the main one in the middle.

Along the back wall directly opposite me is the raised staging area for the fighting.

A crowd is gathered around as they watch two men beat the shit out of each other.

It’s a poor imitation of the fights at The Ring.

I steer clear of it unwilling to go down that rabbit hole again.

Bright flood lighting hangs from the rafters, making it easy to see and I have to crinkle my nose at the smell of dirty unwashed bodies and blood.

One of the assholes who threw the knife earlier is at the table in the middle.

I can tell he’s a roadie from the others gathered behind him.

I heard him boasting earlier about heading out tomorrow, which means he has a bike.

With a smirk, I head his way. The crowd parts for me and I stand behind the empty chair, which his unconscious opponent just got kicked out of.

“Who’s next?” he shouts triumphantly. I don’t say anything, just pull out the chair and sit down. He glances at me and swallows, his smile slipping for a second. He regains it well and sits down with his grin fixed in place.