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The Assassin's Weapon: The Sa'Nar Chronicles, #1
The Assassin's Weapon: The Sa'Nar Chronicles, #1
The Assassin's Weapon: The Sa'Nar Chronicles, #1
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The Assassin's Weapon: The Sa'Nar Chronicles, #1

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Dajah's on a mission to kill his creators, but first he has to find them. Between the constant struggle with the destructive voice in his head, and endless nightmares thanks to the company that wanted Weapons instead of children, his day-to-day activities are… interesting. When his best lead turns into the one thing that might doom him, he faces an impossible choice: Work with the enemy to survive what's coming, or risk losing everything.

 

Kiera calls the shots. She's trying to make her city a better place one hit at a time, but she's lost the passion that once drove her. After her ex-boss targets her for personal reasons, she has no choice but to team up with a non-human to reclaim her freedom. Navigating the treacherous landscape of trust, betrayal, and awakening magic will be the hardest path she's walked yet. It might rekindle her spark, but it also means coming to terms with a past of uncertain memories.

 

All lines are drawn in the sand, and when trust is a luxury and caring's a liability, the line between enemy and ally blurs.

 

Debut author Nic M DiSalvo takes readers on a science fantasy adventure packed with action, morally grey heroes, and megalomaniac organizations with world-altering secrets. The Assassin's Weapon is the first book in the Sa'Nar Chronicles.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherNic M DiSalvo
Release dateOct 1, 2023
ISBN9798223685357
The Assassin's Weapon: The Sa'Nar Chronicles, #1
Author

Nic M DiSalvo

Nic M DiSalvo believes she’s really here to save the world in her own unique way. When she’s not working with animals in her other professional career, Nic might be found devouring the newest mind adventure, replaying a favorite video game, cosplaying at a local convention, or driving into storms to get that perfect lightning shot. She lives in Philadelphia with her four-legged fur child, Apollo, and a few tanks of fish.

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    The Assassin's Weapon - Nic M DiSalvo

    Acknowledgements

    I want to thank everyone who’s dealt with my obsessive desire to get this book out into the world. Thanks for putting up with my countless edits, all the times I’ve been busy with the story, and for all the encouraging words along the way.

    I’d also like to thank the numerous critique partners, beta readers, and editors who’ve helped polish this into a reality.

    As someone who lives a hectic, chaotic life beyond the pages, I appreciate how important a good escape is. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Emphasis on writing it. Editing was a bitch.

    Content Warning

    The Assassin’s Weapon is set in a version of our modern-day world and deals with... assassins. You should expect violence, death, a bit of gore, a touch of sex, and all the other fun tidbits that go along with a book focusing on people who kill for a living. Imagine John Wick teaming up with the X-Men to take down Resident Evil’s Umbrella Corporation. It’s written for adults but doesn’t contain anything that should be considered too explicit. Of course, that’s relative.

    All lines are drawn in the sand.

    PART I

    CHAPTER 1

    Dajah failed to study the life-sized glass maze before him; his eyes kept straying back to his brother. They had Taron restrained to a chair in a room filling with caustic, yellow liquid that bubbled and popped at the surface. A putrid stench reached Dajah’s nose as he stood poised to enter. Scientists, embedded behind clipboards and tablets, sat near, observing.

    An eternity passed before the light flashed GREEN.

    Hang in there! he shouted to Taron, squeezing into the maze before the door fully opened.

    Hand on the wall, he turned left. Right. Right again. A sizzling noise intensified. Darts flew past mere inches from his face as he dove, rolling back to his feet and continuing down the next corridor. His feet pounded the floor. His heart pounded his chest. Another left had him bracing for impact against the invisible surface. Dead end!

    Damn it, he cursed, pivoting only to find himself face-to-face with a set of serrated teeth. Smoke leaked from a smile. The Babdagoon was a grotesque monstrosity with appendages protruding out at odd angles and a whip-like tail capable of ensnaring prey. Towering over Dajah, its attack distorted spacetime.

    Anticipating the strike, he propelled himself forward, flipping onto the creature to find purchase between two vertebral spikes. The Babdagoon flailed and bucked in attempt to throw him, but his grip held firm even as its dexterous tail caught his leg, slicing through muscle and tendon.

    Work faster!

    Focusing on the back of its skull, Dajah stabbed with thumb and pointer finger. He dug in, pushing towards the soft, fleshy interior. Found the stringy bits connecting its brain to the rest of its body. The beast gave a desperate screech as he pulled. Cords ruptured like broken piano wires, springing back into wet tissues. With the link severed, the Babdagoon collapsed beneath him. Its death cry gave away his location.

    A multitude of turns and quick maneuvering brought him to the center, his brother’s cell, but it wasn’t over yet. A series of geometric glyphs appeared on the window. An alarm sounded. Lights flashed and the maze walls began lowering. Soon all the creatures would come straight for him.

    Sparing a moment to breathe, Dajah watched shapes slide and shift in his mind’s eye, revealing the proper sequence. He repeated the movement on the surface, beasts closing in.

    TEST COMPLETE, the computerized voice announced. Cages dropped. Thrashing growls declared the monsters’ unanimous displeasure, but Dajah kept his eyes on his brother. The liquid drained too slowly. Scents of macerated, blistered flesh revealed Taron’s condition before the wounds became visible, his clothing all but disintegrated.

    Taron watched Dajah from the other side of the glass, mouthing the words: Knew you could do it. Where’s Zayan?

    Dajah took a heartbeat to consider their oldest brother’s absence. The scientists loved studying them together. If Zayan wasn’t in the maze, it meant something worse. Dajah balled his hands into fists, remembering the last time they injected Zayan with Stream radiation. How weak he was. How messed up after. How little he or Taron could do about it.

    Movement caught his attention when men entered Taron’s cell and checked his vitals. The silent barbarians exchanged head nods. In the blink of an eye, his brother was rolled away still shackled to his seat.

    One of the scientists approached Dajah, sliding a tranquilizer gun through a small opening in the glass. Get on with it, he commanded.

    Tears welled in Dajah’s eyes from the resulting sting. Seconds later he lost motor function, collapsing on the maze floor. His heart raced with a new kind of fear. Cold steel touched his skin. Weighted cuffs chained him to a sterilized surface. Bright overhead lights painted the room a harsh cream. Despite his body’s unresponsiveness from the paralytic, he knew what came next: The needle prick.

    A kiss of warmth pulsated through his veins, finding its rhythm in sync with his heart until every nerve blazed agony. Dajah released a blood-curdling wail as the Other breached the surface, pushing him under to drown in the deep recesses of his mind.

    From fathomless depths he saw Zayan. Barely standing with the aid of a nearby wall.

    Get out of here! Run! Dajah called, but no sound left his lips. He tried again. Failed. Willing himself to remain still, his legs betrayed him with each step not of his making.

    Why? he demanded of the Other.

    The Other lunged at Zayan. Colliding, their bodies crashed to the ground. Fragile bones broke upon impact. Dajah pleaded with the entity controlling him and the corners of his mouth turned up in a sinister expression, reflected on the polished floor.

    Know you can hear me, D, Zayan coughed out.

    Tears spilled from Dajah’s eyes, blurring the image unfolding. His fingernails pierced soft flesh. Hands squeezed, crushing as warm liquid oozed between his fingers. Choking gurgles. Gasps for air. Silence.

    The Other roared in victorious triumph and Dajah drifted to depths unknown, his world shattered.

    *

    The wonderful aromas assaulting his airways brought reality into harsh focus. Sweet, lingering remains of burnt coffee offset blood and undercurrents of charred wood. Dajah shifted minimally to appreciate the weight of debris pressing against him. Can’t just lie here.

    ~Why not? Maybe they’ll come back to finish the job.~

    He winced at the sound of her voice. Queen had gotten better over the years, but the memory was too fresh. Pain prickled the edges of his consciousness, souring his mood further. Odds were good everyone else was dead. That’s what happens when people get close to me.

    Queen knew better than to comment.

    Knowing he had minutes before physical shock wore off, he surged adrenaline, hyper-tuning his senses. His ears picked up the faintest crack of rubble. The scent of a patron’s cologne reached his nostrils. Strength increased ten-fold, and dull discomfort replaced all the acute stabbing sensations.

    Dajah repositioned himself and gave a firm tug, releasing his arm from the damaged equipment. Skin tore. Aromatic vanilla and char wafted up as the espresso machine clanked into empty space. He stood up, pieces of the display counter peppering his casual attire. Not everything came away willingly.

    So much for business as usual. This wasn’t entirely unexpected, but he preferred to limit near-death experiences to bi-weekly occurrences. After last week’s incident, this bordered on unlucky.

    Opposite the mangled remnants of the bar rested one of his earlier guests, the man’s neck bent at a bad angle. Managed to keep hold of that latte, huh? The biodegradable cup was crushed in his hand, three-quarters full.

    ~If you were more careful you could have avoided this. Told you to stop asking questions at the packing plant.~

    Unhelpful, Queen.

    He spared a few minutes to clear rubble from the base of the industrial-strength door and pried it open. Sugar and beans crunched beneath his shoes, but the small room was mostly unscathed. A different type of explosive would have leveled the coffee shop outright.

    Was I the target?

    Shaking his head, he remembered the low-fat, double shot, caramel macchiato handing him the envelope. Should’ve opened it immediately. He’d been distracted by the new kid hovering over the complimentary cookies. Whether the message was a clue or a warning relating to his current search, he’d never know. It was ash now.

    ~You were too obsessed over those cookies, Dajah.~

    Hey, that was the best batch I’d made so far. Not like you’d understand.

    Something heavy and metallic slumped in the front of the shop, causing a cascade of rubble. He yanked a chunk of glass from the muscle in his forearm, ready to launch it at the next fool to step through the door. Blood oozed from the raw wound. Dripped to the floor.

    The din settled.

    ~You’re jumpy. They’re not going to come back that fast.~

    Deep breaths did wonders.

    Time for answers, then.

    If there was one place in the city with the potential to deliver, it was the Raven.

    * * *

    Peering through the telescopic sight, Kiera watched each variable line up with precision. The pad of her index finger brushed the trigger with feather-light pressure. Her target, Evelyn Francis, responsible for the biggest child trafficking ring on the East Coast, was leaving the grocery store with a paper bag in hand.

    Every ounce of credible information confirmed the woman was human. The man accompanying her was not. Kitsune were known for their superb strength and speed whether in human, fox, or hybrid form. Having the pleasure and misfortune of knowing a dozen non-humans from her time at OPASA, Kiera kept interactions with them casual – no different from other ethnically diverse humans unless they ended up on the wrong side of her rifle.

    Clouds eased across the sky. She adjusted for wind speed and then pulled against the two-stage weighted trigger. Bye-bye, Evelyn.

    Too easy, she said to no one, numb to the aftermath as she broke down her SR-25. Unfortunately, the target’s mannerisms and appearance poked at old wounds. Some days I really miss you, Mom, but I think you’d be happy with how things turned out.

    The rise of the Organizations changed the face of law and justice forever. They weren’t any less corrupt than the former government, but it meant people like her could make a difference. This job was flawless. She’d picked the perfect hide site – one floor down was a known government supporter who actively campaigned against the Organizations, wishing things would go back to the way they were. Kiera effectively eliminated two problems.

    Sighing, she zipped her rifle case closed and left the roof.

    _

    Rad Tattoos catered to all tastes. These days you had humans wanting to appear more animalistic, non-humans wanting to stand out less, and mainstream society ranging from oblivious to accepting of the fact that a difference existed between the two.

    The shop’s owner and operator, Skullz, waved Kiera over as she made her way to the back. She rested her hand on a cocked hip and studied the clean-shaven, burly man covered in skeletal heads.

    Happy to see we’re packed, but aren’t you supposed to be closing early tonight? she asked.

    They know we’re closing at seven. Those waiting are here for consultations only. You’ll have peace and quiet for the rest of the evening, but invitation’s still open if you change your mind.

    Kiera smiled. Doing recon again. Wish your partner happy birthday for me, though.

    Will do, Skullz said. His toothy grin negated his macho vibe instantly.

    She pat him on the arm then continued to the door labeled Private. Once secured inside her loft, a spa-like atmosphere settled around her. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Being ahead of schedule meant time for a shower and a meal before heading out.

    CHAPTER 2

    Sipping a watered-down Malibu and Coke, Dajah observed the Raven’s occupants. Groups mingled, some laughing, others opting for less crowded corners and more intimate conversations to flaunt their seedy standards. The Raven was the local Organization’s attempt to create a neutral zone for anyone registered with them, and some version of it existed in every major city under Organization jurisdiction. Part dive bar, part wannabe cocktail lounge, the rules were simple: No unnecessary violence. Assassination attempts on the premises were expressly prohibited.

    Most civilians knew the Raven’s reputation. It wasn’t uncommon to be solicited by a desperate man, woman, or nonbinary who couldn’t afford the Organization’s exuberant fees. Unsanctioned assassins and bottom-feeder mercs frequented the underbelly of every city. The difference was that contracts issued through Organization channels were guaranteed, and their professionals honored a code of conduct: Loyal to your own.

    Registering with the local Organization the week after he arrived was risky, but it meant less interference in the long run. The monthly files allowed Dajah to identify fifteen different patrons within earshot. Information would always be the most valuable currency.

    Lots of interesting tidbits for the right set of ears, but nothing on the shop getting blown up this morning.

    ~You stopped listening for that an hour ago. Who’s the woman you keep staring at?~

    The question brought the woman feigning intoxication back into focus. Kiera Lin. Muted peach lips sipped a glass of whiskey while she studied a group four tables over. He watched her empty that glass three times and refill it from the bottle she purchased. Several pieces of smooth, dark hair framed her face, the rest tied back. The low-cut white blouse offered a tease of cleavage from a well-proportioned chest. She was beyond attractive physically, but what interested him more was the fact that she seemed oblivious to the man at the bar. The one watching her too closely. The one sending texts.

    ~It’s probably her ex. No one dresses like that to drink alone. Stay out of it.~

    Nah, something else is going on.

    ~Not your business.~

    Are you gonna stick around in my head all night?

    ~Someone has to keep an eye on you. Don’t go over there.~

    * * *

    Over the last two weeks, Kiera developed a relationship with the Raven’s bartender consisting exclusively of her handing over a Benjamin in exchange for a bottle of JD. If she looked particularly haggard, Pete would throw in a fresh bowl of peanuts with her glass.

    No peanuts tonight.

    The type the Raven attracted tended to be amusing, but she hadn’t been coming for the booze or the company. Two indiscreet men and a woman always sat at the same table. The Employer knew the men were selling information; the woman was the wildcard and potential link to another gang trying to set up shop in their not-so-fair city. All Kiera had to do was discern whom the woman reported to and eliminate both men.

    Observation and experience taught her all three marks came armed, capable of protecting themselves, but professionals wouldn’t meet in the same location more than once. Amateur hour droned on. She took another sip, wishing the bitter notes of chocolate and orange sliding down her throat had an effect.

    Compared to non-humans, her abilities were subpar. Arguably-accelerated healing and a bloodstream that dissolved most foreign substances didn’t give her an edge. Hard work and relentless training did that.

    I’d still give my favorite rifle for a chance to get tipsy off a fifth.

    She giggled at the thought, reinforcing her persona of regular Alcoholic. The crowds and loners usually read her body language and stayed away, but a few always pressed their luck.

    The first charmer slid into the booth across from her without even so much as a hello.

    Ballsy compared to most. Kiera dropped her right hand to her lap, close to the twin semi-auto SIG .45 ACPs strapped to her hips, and regarded him. Seat’s taken.

    By me now, he said. No one was sitting here. You’re kind of hot and looked lonely, so I thought—

    You’d keep me company? she cut him off, eyebrow raised. Head tilted with a faint smile, she gave him the courtesy of a once-over.

    Silver hair hung loose, stopping just above his collarbone with choppy pieces framing the contours of a pronounced jawline and clean-shaven face. Most noticeable were his eyes. Vertically slitted pupils took center stage in pools of green that glowed with minuscule movements. Either he was part cat, or he invested in premium lenses to pull off the effect.

    This one fits in with the Raven’s more eclectic clientele.

    Pale, soot-smudged skin gave the impression he made a piss-poor attempt at bathing with a rag. He raised his glass to salute her. Crescents of dirt marred the underside of his short nails. The jacket, jeans, and off-grey shirt were cleaner than he was, lacking any insignias or visible brand labels that suggested affiliations or status.

    Starving Rock Musician?

    She refrained from looking for a guitar case, but envisioned him on a stool, shredding his Fender in tight black leather pants and nothing else. Musing, she took another swig of whiskey.

    Seemed like a good idea, he said.

    Hate to tell you this, but it’s a terrible idea. You should go find someone to keep company, though. What about her? She sloshed the liquid in her glass, finger pointing to the young prostitute leaning over the bar, tits popping out as she laughed in response to something Pete said.

    Think I’ll stay.

    Kiera choked on her next sip of whiskey. The woman she was supposed to be watching disappeared, and the men were concluding affairs, preparing to leave.

    Not their usual routine.

    Tell you what, she said to her admirer. Keep this company. I’ll be back in a few minutes. She placed the bottle halfway between them and left the booth with her glass.

    The next charmer, clearly drunk, knocked her sideways on her way to the door.

    Hey! she yelled, nearly dropping her glass.

    Fuck you, bitch. Watch where you’re walkin! He glared as if daring her to say something back. Drawing one of her sleek, Legion Gray-finished beauties would make a statement, but pulling a gun was a surefire way to escalate a nuisance.

    He reached for her arm.

    No! she emphasized, deflecting his hand and delivering a knock-out blow to the temple. The now-unconscious drunk fell backwards, caught by her silver-haired admirer.

    Whoa there, friend, he said, taking the full weight of the man. Think you had a bit too much. Have a seat. It was tactfully done, propping the man up in the booth as if he passed out there, and not an uncommon scene for the Raven. While he was preoccupied, she set her sights on the exit, set her glass down on the tray of a passing waitress, and slipped out.

    Hey, wait up, the same voice called when she gained the doorway. I wanna talk to you.

    Kiera turned to face him, noting the .380 pistol resting loosely in his hand. At this range, she could disarm him or end him before he got off a lethal shot, but he didn’t look ready to attack. That made him dangerous.

    Aren’t you supposed to be watching my bottle? she asked, playing it off cool.

    Your ass was more appealing.

    The corners of her mouth lifted. Do you have a name?

    Dajah.

    Ok, Dajah, listen. I don’t need a savior or company tonight. Find someone else.

    Your name’s Kiera, right? Pretty sure people are trying to kill you.

    CHAPTER 3

    Crisp evening air stilled. Dajah breathed in the pungent, settling haze of gasoline and liquor outside the Raven. It’s going down any second. The Raven’s protection doesn’t extend past the front door.

    Kiera’s hands found her hips. People are trying to kill me? You’re quickly losing your charm.

    We should go back inside and talk.

    Listen, she started.

    Movement came from an unmarked SUV loitering double-parked.

    Might wanna get down, he said, sliding his index finger to the trigger guard of the firearm he lifted from the drunk.

    What? She turned her head at the same time the first man exited the vehicle. Dajah shoved her into a parked Nissan, aimed, and squeezed off a single round as the gunman raised his weapon. The man took the hit, stumbled back, and regained his footing.

    Body armor, huh? Guess I can’t be lazy.

    Assailants piled out of strategically placed vehicles at once. His next shot bore through the gunman’s forehead. Consecutive shots took down two more. Acrid, sour gunpowder permeated the air.

    Dajah crouched near Kiera. A staccato percussion of relentless gunfire ensued, pelting concrete. Dinging metal. The Nissan’s windows shattered, raining glass down on them. Another bullet ricocheted off the Raven’s brick exterior.

    That’ll set them off.

    Like clockwork, the Raven’s personal security joined the melee instantly, some firing from the roof, others rushing out the door to defend their establishment.

    Whether Kiera realized she was the target or not, she never hesitated in pulling one of her concealed firearms. One assailant grabbed his neck as her bullet pulverized crucial arteries. Another dropped mid-trigger-pull with a hole through the side of his head. The way she sighted, fired, and recovered fascinated Dajah. Everyone carried a gun these days, but watching a true marksman in action was like watching a fish navigate clear waters – effortless.

    ~On your right!~

    Turning at Queen’s warning, Dajah felt the one-two punch near his shoulder coming from the wrong direction. Annoyance and rage incited a surge of excess energy from his core. What the hell was that for?! He threw his open palm out. A blast of blue-green energy shot forth, sending the shooter flying backwards with a softball-sized rent through his chest.

    Queen’s silence confirmed he’d made his point. Dajah reined in his emotions, knowing they could kill quicker than the enemy when your ass was on the line. Switching the gun to his right hand, he raised the barrel level with the next target.

    The attackers cut their losses. Some piled back into their vehicles and peeled away. Others, trapped in the shootout, fired indiscriminately at anyone that moved. The Raven’s security took the brunt of that gunfire, lobbing it back passionately.

    We need to get out of here! Kiera yelled. Vivid hazel eyes locked onto his. Come with me. She cleared the space between bumper and fender with another easy shot and took off running.

    ~Don’t go with her, Dajah.~

    Fuck off. You got me shot.

    * * *

    Slowing to a jog in the side alley, Kiera scaled the chain-linked fence that partitioned off a block of dilapidated buildings. Heated arguments bellowed from a second-story unit. Music reverberated from another level, punctuated by clouds of weed and incense.

    This street should stay deserted tonight in case things get ugly. Cops would respond to the shootout in due time, but they’d take a roundabout way to the Raven. Nu Philly had been under Organization jurisdiction for the last fifteen years. Law enforcement only showed up so taxpayers could keep their illusions of who was in charge.

    Kiera knew this section well, slipping inside one of the vacant units. The jammed door presented the perfect opportunity – Dajah kept up.

    Help me with this, she said.

    He stepped up to try the door and she leveled her gun at the back of his head. His hand paused midway to the knob and dropped back down by his side as if he sensed it. Least he’s smart enough to stay still.

    Explaining time, she said. Better hope I like your answers. You said people were trying to kill me. Are you one of them?

    Dajah sighed without any threatening movements. No. I’ve had a shitty day. Saw what was going down, and for God knows what reason thought I should do something about it.

    What are you talking about?

    The two men with the woman at the center table, four rows from the windows. You were watching them. Someone else was watching you. Happen to be standing right next to him when he sent his texts. Really, you should be thanking me.

    Her core tightened. The mere suggestion of a setup raised warning flags all over her last few trips to the Raven. Putting additional pressure on the trigger, she reminded herself to never waste a bullet. Turn around.

    In the dimmer lighting, Dajah’s pupils stayed wide until he scowled at her and they constricted back into cat-like slits. On a different day I might take the contract on you, but I didn’t come for that tonight. My shop got blown up with me inside it hours ago. Shoot me or get that damn gun out of my face!

    So much for cheesy pick-up lines.

    Lowering her SIG meant nothing, so she humored him. Even took a few steps back. So you’re one of those mercenaries stupid enough to go after the Organization’s assassins? They all had contracts on their heads; Kiera made it a habit not to go crazy checking the databases. As long as they stayed in the Organization’s good graces, only scumbags tried to cash in on the rare occasion.

    I’m not going after anyone’s assassins. I own a coffee shop that was targeted. Went to the Raven hoping for answers. He must have realized how pathetic that sounded because he laughed afterwards. Then winced. Look, just get out of here. Watch your back.

    Kiera considered the man before her. Dark stains spread through his jacket. Only one of the bullet holes went clear through his back. She opened her mouth to comment and shut it when he dropped his pistol.

    Or stand there all night and stare, Dajah said, applying pressure to his wounds. Blood oozed around his fingers.

    She’d seen the energy blast, confirming he was non-human. That didn’t make him immune from bleeding out. Huffing, she holstered her SIG. I’m not gonna leave you like this. Might not be happy about it, but you did try to save my life. I’ve got a car parked two blocks away.

    Gonna drop me off at the hospital? he laughed.

    No, I’m gonna dig the remaining bullet out of your chest.

    Why?

    Because if what you say is true, I need to know who sent those men.

    And?

    And if you were from around here, you’d know most companies use marked ammunition. Some even dip their rounds in poison.

    Great.

    * * *

    Passing out was one of those things Dajah made a habit of doing only when out of immediate danger. He drifted to tires on asphalt and the whoosh of passing cars but clung to consciousness. Too soon forward motion stopped. He cracked an eye and reassessed his body.

    Stiff, sore, functional. Not poisoned.

    ~She was lying.~

    You got me shot, remember? Not Kiera. Go. Away.

    Kiera slammed her door shut then opened his. Somewhere nearby, late-night food vendors fried up greasy indulgences.

    You’re not dead yet and I’m not carrying you, she said, grabbing his arms. Before she dragged him across the sidewalk, Dajah sat up and exited the vehicle on his own.

    Why are we at a tattoo parlor?

    She removed a key from her pocket in response.

    Inside, Kiera guided him to one of the artist’s chairs. He was only a few inches taller than her. The extra support helped now that unbuffered pain made movement unpleasant. She left him to turn on every light at once, evoking another wince and forcing him to shield his eyes.

    Sorry, she said, but I have to be able to see. Take your jacket and shirt off.

    You know, if I’m taking my clothes off, I expect my partner to do the same.

    Not a single drop of humor surfaced in her expression.

    Alright, alright, he said, hands held out in appeasement. Removing the jacket was easy. His shirt had to be peeled off the level of his newest injuries – a sharp reminder that bullets weren’t the only things to mar his skin.

    One building explosion and a shootout in less than twenty-four hours might be a new record.

    Kiera brought over a first aid kit and paused.

    Really like staring at me, huh? he asked.

    Levity edged onto her face. "I’m just impressed. Most people would take better care of themselves before going out to try and pick up women."

    He assumed she referenced his wounds and not the countless scars. Dajah’s body was genetically optimized with all the lean muscles of a martial artist. That wouldn’t change, even if he spent every night eating takeout and gorging himself on cookies. One of the benefits of Caerus’s Weapon program.

    ~Sit on your ass for a month, eat like that, and see what happens.~

    Was there for information, remember? he said, easing into the chair while pointedly ignoring Queen.

    Yes, I remember distinct comments about my ass. Not sure how that information was gonna help you.

    Hey, you told me to come with you.

    Shaking her head, Kiera angled the nearest light at his chest and picked out a set of hemostats. Might hurt. Want me to numb this first?

    No, just get it done.

    Seconds into her exploration of the first wound, Dajah’s hands clenched the armrests. His pain receptors operated in two modes – on or off – and without a boost of adrenaline to compensate for exhaustion, every tug and twist of instrument triggered micro-reactions in the abused tissues. The mushroomed-out projectile came free with a wet plop. Kiera handed him a wad of gauze and he pressed it into the hole while she studied her prized identifier.

    Happy now? he asked.

    She dropped the bullet on a metal tray. We’re not done. There’s more than ammunition in your skin. Give me your arm.

    He hadn’t bothered to remove all the splinters of glass, wood, and metal still riddling his flesh from the explosion. That kind of work required time, and Dajah didn’t want to be there when the police finally did show up.

    Kiera took his arm, plucking out the first piece of glass. What happened to you again?

    Told you, he said, groaning. A thin piece of shrapnel twinged a nerve on the way out, numbing his fingers. My shop was blown up. With me inside it.

    Guess that explains some of this. Without asking, she started unraveling the bandage covering his elbow to mid-bicep. Hazel eyes stared, slack-jawed. Bandages work better when you remove all the shit from your wounds first.

    Yeah, well, I was in a hurry.

    How long you been in the city for?

    Couple mon— Fuck! Alcohol saturated the gaping wound, frying every shredded tendon and exposed nerve in agony. His vision swam. Relentless throbs occupied the forefront of his thoughts.

    She placed an adhesive pad over the injury. If you’re not more careful, you’re not gonna last around here. Take off your pants.

    Huh?

    Your pants. Kiera motioned to his legs with her hemostats. Take them off.

    Odd way to get me naked.

    Don’t flatter yourself. Keep your underwear on, provided you’re wearing any. There’s dried blood all over your left calf. From the pattern, I can only assume you did another half-assed job. I didn’t come this far to let you bleed to death from stupidity.

    He laughed. Should have seen me after the last city.

    ~If you didn’t abandon your Beads, you could have healed already.~

    Relinquishing magic had its downside, but his body would heal soon enough and he wasn’t about to justify anything to Queen.

    If you insist, he said, kicking off his shoes. Waistband unbuttoned, he slid his jeans down. Her eyes followed the movement, widening. Socks matched black boxer briefs, but Kiera’s attention was on the colorful bruises trailing down his hip to another bloody bandage.

    Jesus, Dajah, how are you walking on this?

    Doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks.

    If you say so.

    I’m sure it’s gonna hurt like hell real soon.

    He wasn’t wrong. Kiera’s ministrations seemed to last hours. It was actually a few intense minutes. Afterwards, he observed her work, satisfied with her application of first aid but convinced his body ached worse now than it did after the explosion.

    We keep spare clothes in the back, she said. I’ll get you something that isn’t covered in blood. In the meantime, put all this into one of the metal waste bins. She motioned to his discarded clothes and the pile of bloody gauze.

    Gathering everything as instructed, Dajah surveyed the empty tattoo parlor. One of the wall pieces – a stylized wolf and forest – made him think of Taron. Fondness followed in the wake of memory, soothing pain.

    Those were good times, but it should have been all three of us.

    Dajah realized his hands formed fists and relaxed them. Caerus is here somewhere. I’ll find them. They’ll pay.

    Lucas’s work, Kiera said, returning with a pair of oversized sweatpants and a loose tee shirt. Thinking about getting a tattoo?

    He put on a half-smile for show and took the clothes. Maybe next time.

    While he dressed, Kiera snatched a matchbook from the artist’s station and lit the entire thing.

    That’s gonna smell horrible, he said, anticipating what she’d do with it.

    Don’t like leaving things around with blood on them. Need me to call you a cab? Alcohol accelerated the blaze as soon as the matchbook hit the waste bin, and the scent brought immediate flashbacks of his coffee shop.

    Nah, I can find my way home from here. Thanks for the help.

    Thanks for the bullet.

    "You’re welcome, though I’m pretty sure you

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