Rebel Grey

  ***

  Another day in Razor City...

  The King's Ransom was quieter than the Blade club. There were no rebels or outlaws lurking in the darker corners exchanging papers or envelopes stuffed with bills. There were no dancers in masks. There was no one dancing at all. Quiet, bluesy jazz music played just over the voices of the small groups of men and women sitting at the bar or in blood red velvet covered booths around the room.

  The place was swarming with Marshals. They lounged about the room in groups or alone with young, beautiful women. Some of them stood around, eyeing the patrons with narrow, watchful eyes.

  Petra shouldn't be there. She really shouldn't be there alone. It was too dangerous.

  Her heart thumped nervously. It wasn't safe in the city for her or any of the other lost children. It wasn't safe for anyone who wasn't one of Scarlet's men. It wasn't even safe for the bounty hunters, but they didn't look worried or afraid. A small group of them strode into the club. They looked as though they'd just come in off a hunt. Their clothes were ripped, and a few of them were bruised, limping or nursing broken fingers or arms.

  Petra eyed them warily. They wore guns on their belts. Even the Marshals didn't seem interested in approaching them. Petra ducked her head as she sipped her drink. Her face wasn't on any WANTED posters yet, but she knew the King would be happy to get his hands on her. She didn't work for anyone in particular, but she suspected she'd done enough jobs to have drawn his attention. She was lucky neither the King nor the Marshals had ever seen her face.

  Tonight wasn't the night she intended to show it to them.

  A tall, thin woman with a short, platinum blonde Mohawk glanced toward Petra. Petra's stomach flipped. The blonde woman didn't wear a badge or carry a gun like the other bounty hunters with her. She had a knife strapped to her thigh. It was huge and sharp. There was a scar on one side of her face, from her white hairline to the bottom of her lip. Despite it, despite the patch that covered the scarred eye, she was beautiful.

  She met Petra's gaze. Petra held her breath as the woman approached her.

  She didn't speak to her, not at first. She paused beside Petra at the bar and motioned the publican for a drink. He brought her a beer. For a moment, she sipped it pensively, then she turned her head and looked at Petra. "Hi."

  Petra stared at her. She didn't know what the hunter wanted, but she didn't want to give the woman any reason to look too closely at her. "Hey."

  The bounty hunter lifted an eyebrow, but her voice was low and almost gentle. "You look a little young to be in here."

  Petra lifted her chin in irritation. "I'm old enough."

  The blonde woman didn't smile. She looked at Petra seriously. "Listen, you still have a chance, kid. You still have the opportunity not to have to spend the rest of your life hanging out in places like this."

  Petra blinked at her in surprise. "What do you care?"

  "I was like you once. I'd given up. I thought there was nothing I could do but give in." She sighed and glanced around. "Look at me now. I spend my life lurking around places like this, going fight to fight. Hunting bounties. It's all I can do. It's too late for me. You still have a chance. Get out of here while you still can."

  Petra stared at her. She opened and closed her mouth. Then she scowled. "Maybe I like places like this."

  The blonde bounty hunter chuckled dryly. "Fine. I'm just trying to help. You think there's no point now? You think you've given up now, just wait. Wait until there's no hope left. You still have some now. I can see it in your eyes." She reached up to flip the black patch up onto her forehead. The eye underneath was milky white. "See mine? There's nothing there anymore but pain and death."

  Petra shivered. The blonde woman turned away from her as quickly as she came and strode back toward her partners at a table in the corner. Petra didn't feel any better when she'd gone. Her stomach roiled. She considered getting up and leaving, forgetting about her meeting and the client.

  It was too late. Petra's client was already striding over to her on unsteady high heels. She was a haggard-looking woman in her late thirties. She wore too much makeup, and her dress was too tight. Her bleached blonde hair fell around her shoulders. Some grey showed through the dark roots on top. She looked like the kind of woman who hadn't accepted that her prime had ended years ago. Petra felt a stab of pity for the woman. At least the blonde bounty hunter knew what she was.

  The woman sat down next to Petra. Petra didn't know her name. Her client didn't know hers, either. It was safer that way. Her client eyed her doubtfully for a long moment. "You're a bit young, aren't you?"

  Petra rolled her eyes. She heard this a lot. "How old was Steve Jobs when he invented the Apple computer?"

  Her client stared at her blankly.

  "Oh, just because the government fell and the world is in chaos doesn't mean the past never happened." Petra could see this meant nothing to the woman. "Anyway, I'm old enough to know what I'm doing. What is it you need me to do?'

  The woman sighed. She tapped a long, red fingernail on the bar. "My husband. I think he's been cheating on me."

  Petra stared at her. "Why don't you hire a private detective? That's not exactly what I do."

  The woman looked offended. "I tried to hire someone. They couldn't find anything. I think he's been talking to someone on the computer."

  Petra sighed. "All right. Have you got his passwords?"

  "No. The other guy I hired couldn't find them, either. That's why I called you."

  "Do you at least have his email address?"

  The woman nodded. She fumbled through her handbag for a moment and drew out a pen. She scribbled an email address on a napkin and slid it across the bar toward Petra. Petra stared down at the napkin for several seconds. Finally, she laid her hand on the napkin and slid it back to the woman. She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't take this job."

  "What? What do you mean? You said you would take any job. You came highly recommended!" She sounded as though she might become hysterical.

  "I'm sorry." Petra's eyes drifted over her client's shoulder. The blonde bounty hunter with the eye patch sat in a small group with a few other hunters. They looked as mean and dangerous as she. They were taking shots and laughing raucously. The blonde woman's good eye, though, looked as dead and empty and cold as her blind one. Petra looked back at her client. "This isn't the sort of job I do."

  Her client opened her mouth in a sort of angry snarl. "What am I supposed to do?"

  "Why don't you talk to your husband? Or better yet, find someone to talk to yourself. Maybe it would be good for you."

  The woman shot out of her seat so quickly, Petra grabbed her drink to keep it from overturning. The compound could use the money. Maybe she shouldn't turn her away. If she was angry enough, she could bring the Marshals or the bounty hunters down on her. They might not know her name or her face, but that didn't mean they wouldn't pounce on the chance to bring her to King Scarlet.

  If the woman had been a Noble, Petra wouldn't have turned her away. It was never a good idea to turn away a Noble, no matter what they asked. Petra sighed. "I'm sorry," she told her. "I hope you find what you're looking for. I just can't be the one to do it for you." She rose from her own seat. The woman opened her mouth as though she intended to reply, but Petra strode quickly away before she could raise an alarm to the Marshals or the hunters.

  She wouldn't, though, not unless she wanted them to start looking at her. No one was innocent in Razor City. Petra didn't turn back around to see what the woman intended to do. She hurried toward an exit in the back. She would feel better once she was in the shadows of the alley on her way back to the compound.

  She pushed open the back door. No one tried to stop her or call her back. No one seemed to notice her at all. When she stepped out into the dark alley, she breathed a sigh of relief. She wished Key was with her. The walk back to the compound wasn't long, but it was dangerous. She shouldn't have snuck out without him. She would have lik
ed to have him here with her now. She would have to do it on her own.

  She didn't get far.

  She heard a moan from the shadows. It sounded pitiful. There was an odd sort of rustling, as though someone was crawling through the debris on the ground. She hesitated. Key would have looked to see if the person needed help. She would have argued with him and forced him to leave them behind.

  For some reason, she didn't turn away. She dug into the satchel on her hip and pulled out a small, glowing red light. She held it away from her body. She gripped her gun and crept toward the sound several feet away. She knew she shouldn't do it. It could be a trap or a trick. It could get her killed.

  "Hello? Is someone there? I can't see you. Please help me."

  She jumped when he spoke. She stepped closer. The red light suddenly illuminated the body lying on the ground. It was a man. A young man. He was curled into the fetal position, and he looked as though he had taken a beating. Even in the red light, she could see spatters of blood around him. His black shirt and pants were slick.

  She bent down cautiously several feet away from him. He lifted his head to look around for her. Even through the curtain of his dark, shoulder-length hair, she recognized his gorgeous, sculpted features and storm cloud grey eyes. She opened and closed her mouth in shock.

  Prince Dante?