“Learned all my weaknesses yet?” Dred sat down opposite him, eyes watchful.
Just what do you expect from me, princess in chains?
“Not yours, though your demesne could use some work.”
“Bold words for a stranger.”
He flashed the smile that women seemed to find charming. “You’ve no idea.”
“About your ideas or how strange you are?”
“Either one, queenie.”
“I suspect I do,” she said, surprising him. “You’ve killed a lot of people, and yet you don’t bear a single scar. Are you that good, Jael, or is there more to you than meets the eye?”
People didn’t usually work that out so swiftly, so that meant she was smart. He could bluff and pretend his skills were such that nobody had ever set a blade to his skin, but in the end, she’d figure it out. The first time fighting broke out, and he took a serious wound, she’d see. And he was tired of pretending, tired of lying. Her eyes would change, of course, after she learned the truth. But perhaps it was better to get it done quickly, like yanking a knife from your gut.
No. He’d be better off not sharing the truth. It always made things worse.
So he chose bullshit. “I’m that good.”
She stilled, her gaze roaming over him in a way that made his skin prickle. It wasn’t a look he had ever seen before, as the nature of scrutiny didn’t feel judgmental, only curious. “You’re lying to me. I don’t like it, but I understand. You don’t trust me. And you shouldn’t.”
“You haven’t shared your life story with me either, queenie.” He made his tone mocking. “What did your parents do for a living? Did you have pets?”
“My father was a scientist who fled from the Corp and took his research with him.”
“So you were fugitives. But if you tell me he was attached to the Ideal Genome Project, then I have to kill you.”
She actually laughed. “I don’t know what he did, to be honest. He was a broken man by the time I came along, battered by desperation and constant danger.”
“Do you confide in everyone like this?” If so, it might be how she maintained control over a group of vicious thugs. Make each man feel special, as if he alone enjoyed her confidence. She could be manipulating you.
Before she could reply, an alarm went off. “Incoming. Hope you’re ready to fight, pretty lad.”
“Always.”
He followed her as she ran toward the incursion site. The guards she’d stationed should be sufficient—unlike a few security lapses he’d noted—but Jael never turned away from a battle. It was the one place where he needn’t hide or apologize for his physical abilities. Ten men pushed against her border; he had no idea if that was a sizable party. She had four people stationed here—three male, one female—and they were holding the attackers at bay, but only just. Without blasters or disruptors, there was a limit to how effective her personnel could be. In most prisons, contraband could be smuggled in, but in Perdition, they were limited to what someone was canny enough to build from scrap parts.
In this case, some clever Queenslander had devised a rudimentary shrapnel gun, and a hard-faced woman was barraging the defenders in razor-sharp metal shards. She caught an enemy inmate in the throat; he was an idiot and pulled it out in sheer reflex. Blood sprayed from the wound.
Imbecile. I’m the only one who can survive care like that. One down. That leaves nine.
The attackers found it hard to press the charge in the face of so much jagged metal, but the barrage couldn’t last forever. Apparently Dred shared his assessment.
“She’ll run out of ammo soon,” she said beside him. “Care to join me?”
Without waiting for his answer, she signaled for her side to cease firing, and before the enemy could react, she vaulted over the barricades and wound up with her chains. This woman was incandescent in her fearlessness—and her absolute lack of regard for her own safety spoke to him. Before Jael realized he’d made a decision, he was beside her. The invaders laughed.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that before a killing spree. So many people judged by appearances—the last mistake they ever made. He landed an efficient kidney punch on his first target that carried enough force to leave the man pissing blood, but then Jael broke his neck cleanly. Eight. Beside him, Dred whipped her chain at a man’s head; the resulting impact knocked him down. Dazed, the convict scrambled away, but she surged forward, relentless as the tide. The others surrounded her, but she didn’t seem concerned. Instead, she whipped her chain in widening circles, injuring them all equally. The amount of pain she brought to bear was . . . impressive, even to him.
Jael stopped admiring her ferocious technique and joined the melee in earnest. He’d learned a bastard blend of martial arts from various mercs over the course of his career, and it served him well. They might confiscate your weapons, but they can’t take away your skills. Some commander he’d served had told him that once, cautioning him never to rely on equipment or even other people. Ironically, the old man had been knifed by a prostitute, which served as a particularly eloquent culmination to his tutelage.
Four enemies broke away from Dred’s chains to engage; he suspected they thought he’d be an easier fight despite the ease with which he’d dispatched their comrade. But every man in here believes he’s special, the exception to the rules. They all rushed at once, and he took the initial hits. It wasn’t that he was too slow to dodge, but sometimes it was worth the pain when they realized a killing blow wasn’t sufficient to stop him. Jael ended the onslaught with three knives in him. The wounds burned, but he was used to agony; and in his darkest moments, it was better than nothing, better than numbness, because he’d never known true pleasure. Pain was the next best thing.
He offered a smile. “Is that all?”
One of them sucked in a shocked breath, but that was the last sound he ever made. Jael ended him with a closed fist to the temple. He fell heavily to the decking, and Jael guessed he’d go down the chutes Dred had mentioned the day before. The other three backed away, their shock and horror overwhelming.
Another whispered, “What is he?”
“Cyborg, maybe. Or augment.”
Jael had heard stories about new experiments, blends of mankind and technology, but no. He was a different flavor of monster. It was odd that other creations had taken his place in the limelight. These days, it was possible for him to tell someone what he was and receive only a blank stare because the Ideal Genome Experiment was a footnote in the history of a failed corporation. The horror had lost its meaning to the general populace, but his genesis remained fresh in his mind—perfect recall of the horrors he’d endured was his cross to bear, along with his strength, speed, and ability to heal. To most, those wouldn’t sound like curses, but they hadn’t spent twenty years trying to die, either.