His features would’ve been handsome in a masculine, square-jawed, leader-of-the-pack way, but a scar covered most of the left side of his face. A burn, Charlotte diagnosed. Not by direct application—either from steam, or more likely, flash-magic heat. Deeper lines crisscrossed the scar. Probably from a grate of some sort that had covered the heat source. So this was Jason Parris. She had expected someone older, but he appeared to be in his mid-twenties.
The man’s eyes, startling green against his darker skin, surveyed Richard and paused on her. Intelligent eyes. He radiated power and menace, and when she met his stare, his eyebrows crept up a hair. Perhaps he had expected her to flinch.
A girl stood next to him, as lean and slight as he was bulky. She looked too young to be here, seventeen, perhaps eighteen. Her face was smooth and a shade darker than his. Her hair hung over her face in stiff, straight locks, the result of some sort of hair product. She wore close-fitting jeans and a gray sweatshirt with HARVARD printed on it in red letters. It had to have come from the Broken.
“The Hunter,” Jason said. His voice was deep and resonant, and he spoke in an unhurried manner. “I feel honored. Do you feel honored, Miko?”
Miko said nothing.
“See, she feels honored.” Jason spread his massive arms. His voice had a slight mocking quality to it. “You smell like piss and you look even worse.”
Jason’s stare slid over to her. His light eyes widened. “Richard, you have a girl. And you got a dog together. Where are you registered? I will buy you a toaster.”
“The dog is hers,” Richard said.
The wolfripper showed Jason his big teeth.
“So, what can we do for the mighty Hunter?”
Richard reached into his bag.
Miko leaned forward, focused.
A man stepped from the doorway, a crossbow in his hands.
Richard extracted Voshak’s bleached-blond braid from the bag and tossed it to the crime lord. Parris snatched it from the air and looked at the blond strands. “When?”
“About ten hours ago.”
“Anybody left from his crew?”
“No.”
Parris glanced at the crossbowman and tossed the braid into the air. A bolt whistled and bit into the opposite wall, pinning the braid securely in place.
The crime lord turned to Richard. “You bring me such fine gifts, Hunter. What do you want?”
“There is a slave ship docking north of the city at eleven tonight. They expect a crew of slaves and slavers to board it,” Richard said.
Parris leaned forward, his eyes suddenly predatory. “They will take them to the Market.”
“Yes. One small problem: the slaver crew is dead, and they’d failed to capture any slaves. If someone was in charge of a rough crew, that someone could take their place.”
The crime lord smiled. It was a chilling smile. “If only we knew a man with such a crew.”
Richard shrugged. “He might be a valuable man to know. He would become quite wealthy, but more importantly, he would be the man who sacked the Market.”
Parris raised one eyebrow.
“The security on the island is geared toward dealing with runaway slaves and irate customers. They won’t expect an assault from a couple of dozen armed fighters. It’s an opportunity for money from the slave trade, wealth from the buyer’s agents, and a chance for revenge.”
“Risky,” Parris said. “We don’t know how well the place is guarded. I was half-dead when they dragged me through it, but I remember guards.”
“‘No guts, no glory,’” Richard quoted.
Risky was an understatement, Charlotte reflected. This plan Richard had hatched made a hardened criminal pause, yet he didn’t even mention it to her beforehand. Unquestionable obedience was one thing, not being used to her full potential was another. She would have to point this out to him when they were alone.
“What share do you want?” Parris asked.
“None. I want the bookkeeper, and I want him alive.”
The crime lord pondered it. She could sense Parris’s hesitation. They needed to offer him something to tip the scales in their favor. What could they possibly propose to him? What would a crime lord be interested in? Money, of course, but even if she could get access to her finances, she doubted money alone would make him risk his life and his people.
Her gaze paused on his face. The scar stood out against his skin like a brand. It must’ve made it difficult to look in the mirror every morning.
“How did you get your scar?” Charlotte asked.
Parris turned to her. “A gift from Voshak. I’d broken out of the cargo hold. The plan was to take a swim, but the plan failed, and Voshak had his boys hold me against the ship’s heating unit. Tried to teach me a lesson.” He flashed his teeth at her. “I’m a hard learner.”
“Would you like me to remove it?” she asked.
Parris raised his eyebrows. “You can do that?”
“Yes.” The skin was the easiest of all body tissues to heal.
Parris pondered the idea for a moment. “Thanks, but I think I’ll keep it. It’s part of me now.”
Miko leaned over to him and whispered something, her face urgent.
Jason frowned. “Yes, but you’d have to make it look old.”
Miko whispered again.
Parris considered it. “If she heals me and I get all profits from sacking the Market, you have a deal.”
“Before she does anything, she needs rest and food,” Richard said.
They were talking about her as if she weren’t even in the room.
Parris stared at him. “Do I look like a Holiday Inn to you?”
“Eight hours of uninterrupted rest behind a solid door, a fresh change of clothes, food, and clean water to wash up,” Richard said. “Those are our conditions.”
Parris sighed. “Fine. But if my face isn’t fixed by noon, you’ll be resting six feet under for a lot longer than eight hours.”
*