Chapter 3 Lawless Land

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LAWLESS LAND

Oz

SMOOTH AND STEADY , I roll on the throttle, and she rumbles between my thighs. After months of searching for and salvaging parts, I finally finished her last night, crafted her with care, piece by precious piece.

My bike dips and bumps along this long stretch of rough highway, testing her agility as I steer to dodge potholes. These old highway roads in Lawless Land are unmaintained—decades' worth of wear and tear without repair or restoration. Some stretches, like this one, are harder to navigate than the open desert terrain.

There's a wide-open flat patch of desert between the road and the mountains in the west, so I pull off to my right and take my bike off-road. I carefully navigate over a strip of uneven terrain that's dense with creosote and brittlebush, plant life that draws a line along the highway, separating road from desert.

I pass through the thicket, then drive out a few hundred feet away from the road before aiming south. I pause to survey the land before me, noting flat, smooth land stretching out ahead. There are no obstacles in my path as far as I can see.

I rev the engine and take off.

Goddamn, the way she purrs.

I pick up speed and stretch her legs, slicing through the wall of dry heat and splitting it apart as I rumble through.

She's doing so well…

So fucking good.

Her engine purrs sweetly, riding so smoothly.

I roll the throttle and give her some real speed.

Sun.

Sweat.

Speed .

Adrenaline spikes as I push her to the limit, open her up to an unreasonable pace beneath unending clear, blue skies. I blaze a trail through the desert, dragging dust into a cloudy line that traces the path of my wake.

My reputation buys me certain precious resources, including the gasoline fueling my new motorcycle for today's Eviction sweep. New lawless are arriving, and as vultures do, we fly across the desert to find them, circle them, and take our picks of the fresh meat.

I manage a quick mile before I hear the approaching roar of our salvaged crew cab pickup finally catching up, following off-road behind me. I'd left the Gates fifteen minutes ahead of them to scout out the first few miles.

The wandering lawless want our compound's resources—resources I fought for the privilege of having, that I worked hard for and grind every day to maintain.

I'd kill to protect what's ours.

I have killed to protect what's ours.

And I will kill again.

Ahead, I can see the end of the flat, open terrain in the distance. I'll have to ease off soon and get back to the road, but there's still some distance before I need to draw back.

I kick up my pace and race ahead.

The crew cab's rumbling engine gets louder as they close in behind me. I easily stay ahead of them where the land remains clear and barren, but I'm forced to ease off the throttle ahead of the uneven, upward slope closing in.

Dotting the rocky incline are clusters of beavertail cacti in full bloom. Bright pink flowers blossom above the flat cactus spires which, as the name suggests, resemble the wide, flattened tails of beavers. The vibrant shade of pink brings color to our drab, beige world.

I ease my speed to a crawl, but the pickup doesn't slow. As they plow past me, I catch a glimpse of Santi in the driver's seat, laughing with Hayes, who sits beside him. The old Toyota Tacoma is built for off-roading, so they easily climb the rocky slope as I'm left shrouded in a cloud of sand. At least my aviator shades and the black handkerchief tied around my head keep my nose and mouth protected from eating their dust.

I know my motorcycle won't be able to traverse the uneven, rocky passages between the approaching batch of small mountains and mesas, so I make my way back to the empty interstate. I take the next exit onto a narrowed backroad that cuts through the rocky hillside.

The winding, rolling road around the mesas and plateaus is absolute shit for speed. It's cracked and bumpy, but it's the only path my bike can navigate. It's a few miles before my path meets the end of the pickup's offroad shortcut.

As I come around a bend, I see them parked sideways in the middle of the road, nestled between the slant of a rocky hillside on my left and a jutting mesa on my right.

Santi leans against the side of the truck, a metal baseball bat held down at his side. He looks over at the mesa and his lips move inaudibly as he says something to Hayes—who's gleefully painting a swirl of piss on the rock face—which makes them both laugh manically.

Tucker's head only rises at the sound of their laughter, pausing in the middle of the line he's silently pacing behind the truck. The pacing stops when he looks up, but he keeps twisting and twirling the tire iron in his hand like a fucking baton—I don't think he ever stops moving.

Santi sees me first, pushing off the truck and taking a few steps in my direction as I close in. I stop a few yards back from the truck and, with some hesitancy, cut the engine. I scan the road along the mesa to watch for wandering lawless while Hayes zips up, then bends to pick up the heavy-duty length of chain piled beside his feet.

I'm wary, on edge, as I climb off the bike and slide the handkerchief off my nose and mouth. "Why the fuck are you stopped here? Get back in the truck and keep moving."

Santi halts as I take furious steps toward him. "Hayes had to take a piss."

"I saw." I grab Santi's shoulder and forcefully spin him toward the truck, shove between his shoulder blades until he walks to the driver's side door. "But you don't stop beneath a vantage point where you've only got two exits."

This is why I built the damn bike.

They have to take the truck for Eviction Day sweeps. It has enough room for these three dumb fucks and their picks, but they don't need me taking up the valuable cargo space, and it would be wasteful to fill the tank on a second truck for these long trips.

But my guys need to do their work, and I need to make sure they can do it with minimal risk, despite the unseen dangers hiding around every turn—especially when they do dumb shit like park between two towering vantage points and limit their exits.

They should know better, but they don't.

They're lucky I give a shit enough to go with them now as added security.

Tucker gives me a quick glance and a tight-lipped, humble grin as he moves to the back door of the crew cab, spinning his tire iron one more time before opening the door.

"My fault." Hayes approaches me, one palm lifted in surrender, the other holding his looped chain. "I swear we're not usually this stupid. I honestly couldn't hold it anymore. It's okay, though…" He turns his palm into a fist, then jerks his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the mesa at his back. "I marked our territory. That mountain's our turf now." He flashes a cheeky grin.

I wanna break his fucking teeth.

I give him a look that says as much without words, and his face falls. Sometimes I find humor in his banter, but not now, not here. I don't fuck around outside the Gates.

I grip his shirt at the center of his chest, gather the fabric in my fist and jerk him close. "Rule number two, dumbass. We don't fuck around in Lawless Land."

Rule number one… you don't fuck around with me.

I push him back as I release him. He stumbles a bit but recovers easily. "Sorry, right, I'll—"

He rattles off a string of apologetic words, but I don't hear a single one of them. My attention is stolen by shadows creeping along the flat, vertical rockface behind him. Two dark, morphing figures—the shadows of two people approaching.

My one-word warning is sharp and clear. "Lawless."

We all act at once.

Tucker and Santi leap out of the truck.

Hayes turns, drops one end of the chain looped tightly around his fist to let it dangle, ready to use it as a weapon.

I bend and pull the folded butterfly knife from its sheath in my black boot, then rush past Hayes around the back of the pickup. As I move, I flick my wrist with a perfected twist to open the balisong with skill. The two handles swing apart around the pivots, turn a full one-eighty to collide with each other on opposite ends as the blade rotates outward between them. The handles and blade lock perfectly into place with a satisfying snick.

"Uh uh." I hear Santi's voice, and he quickly comes into view as I circle around the truck. "You can stop right there."

He's got his bat up, his arm outstretched and raised, the end of it pressed to the center of an unknown man's chest.

There's two of them.

Two men who have the fucking nerve to step right up to me and my crew. Except it's not just the two of them. The tall, brawny man on my left, who resembles Sasquatch—months overdue for a good shave—has a limp, unconscious woman draped over his shoulder. The slightly shorter man on the right has the longest nose I've ever seen… Looks like the goddamn witch of the fucking west when he shows us a crooked grin.

Long Nose raises his palms in surrender, held back at the end of Santi's bat. "We don't want any trouble. We thought you might be interested in a trade."

I don't buy it.

His jovial tone is unconvincing.

His hands are steady.

His expression is smug.

His arrogance is so thick, I can practically smell it.

Santi takes a step toward Long Nose, pushing him back with the end of his bat. "We don't do trades. Turn around, walk away, pretend you didn't see us."

"We'll give you the girl," says Sasquatch, boldly stepping up beside his friend. "We're done with her."

Santi doubles down. "I said, we don't do trades. One more chance to walk away before we fuck you up."

Santi's doing what I taught him to do…

Impose an immediate threat.

Give two chances, never any more than that.

Be prepared to throw down without compliance.

And never, ever barter or trade.

What's ours is fucking ours.

Except…

I see an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone here, to kill two wandering, lawless men, and take…

"She alive?" I ask, twirling the handle of my balisong, making a show of my agility and skill with a few unnecessary tricks. I want them to know that I'm well acquainted with my weapon and won't hesitate to use it.

Long Nose shrugs. "I think so. If she's dead, she's still fresh."

Tucker, Hayes, and I all move closer at the same time—we share the same collective priorities.

"You think so…" I repeat as I close in. "How do you not know?"

Both men chuckle, the vicious rattle of pure evil. I've been here long enough to recognize the sound of it.

"She was breathing when I picked her up, but then she passed the fuck out. We haven't exactly gone easy on her." Sasquatch lifts his hand from her bare thigh to smack her ass.

She doesn't react.

"Is she injured?" I snarl.

"Yeah, but her cunt's still warm." Big Foot looks over at his buddy Long Nose, and they share a good laugh.

At the same time, I throw Hayes a meaningful look, and he subtly lifts his chin with acknowledgment.

I close the space between me and the Yeti. "We'll take the girl."

"What'll you give us for her?" he asks.

"I don't think you heard me right." I glance at Tucker, who moves past us, circling around behind them. "Tuck, did you hear me agree to a trade?"

"Nope, didn't hear you say anything about a trade." Tucker twirls the tire iron. "All I heard you say was, ' We'll take the girl .'"

I nod, meeting Sasquatch eye-to-eye. "That's right. All I said was that we'll take the girl."

Like vultures, we circle them.

Long Nose scoffs. "You're out of your fucking mind if you think we're handing her over to you alive without getting anything in return."

"But you don't know if she's alive," I taunt.

"Right, but if she is, I'm keep—"

"You said you were done with her."

"We are, and I'll trade her for something you've got."

"I've got a lot of things." I narrow my eyes, lean in close, cock my head to the side. "Tell me what I have that you think you deserve in exchange for that girl."

"You got smokes?"

A smile of disbelief stretches the corners of my lips. "Cigarettes?"

I glance over at Santi when he fails to stifle a laugh. Our eyes meet, and I give him the same look I gave Hayes before, silently affirming my intent to bring violence.

"Yeah…" Long Nose gives an apathetic shrug. "Or weed. "

I purse my lips and spin, pacing away. With a few feet between us, I turn to face them both. "I want to make sure I'm understanding the deal. You want us to give you smokes, and you'll give us a girl who may or may not be dead?"

The two men look at each other, then back at me. "Yeah, man. We're easy."

They're not easy.

They wanna see if we'll cave.

They wanna know our dynamic, how we react together.

They're gonna stalk us until they figure out how to kill us with minimal risk. They're gonna dump the girl on us to get their hands free, follow us in secret, try to kill us at our next vulnerable moment, and take our vehicles.

I know this game.

I've been through this before.

I won't allow it to happen.

I soften my expression and pretend to concede. "Okay. Deal. Tucker, get that last pack of cigarettes out of the glove box and hand it over to them."

"But the pack is—"

" Yours ." He was going to say it's nearly empty, but I cut him off before he could. "The pack is yours, I know, Tuck."

We haven't been able to get cigarettes in almost a year, and Tucker's been saving those last few for a rainy day. He looks confused, which isn't exactly an unfamiliar look for him, but the stress that shows in his furrowed brow gives me a sharp pang of unease. I wanna tell him I'm not giving these men what they want, but I have to be cautious, I have to be cryptic, I have to time things just right.

"I'll get you more later, Tuck." I try to help him understand with my eyes, without saying the words out loud. "I wanna take that girl with us, and it seems a trade is our only option."

That statement alone should be enough for him to understand. He knows I don't do trades with wandering lawless. I only deal in debts owed and negotiated contracts with people I trust, which are few and far between.

But Tucker's young, relatively new, as he's only been a Vulture for half a year, and he's a little dense sometimes. I don't know if he gets it or not, but he gives me a small nod and complies anyway, moving to the truck to get the nearly empty pack.

"Santi, Hayes…" I wait for each of them to look at me. "Sounds like a fair trade, right? They get our last box of cigarettes, and we get the girl?"

"Yeah. Sounds fair." Santi hardens his expression as he cracks his neck to prepare for a fight.

Hayes widens his stance. "Fair is fair."

I look at Sasquatch and Long Nose and give them a phony grin. "Pack of cigs is about all she's worth, am I right?" I rib, putting on a fake laugh to put them at ease until the girl is in our possession.

I watch each man carefully, give them each a chance to show me just a flicker of hesitation.

But there is no hesitation.

Each of them snickers independently of the other.

They just made that their last fucking laugh.

"Here," Tucker says at my side, handing me the nearly empty pack of cigarettes.

I take it from him and hold it in my palm, wave it at the walking dead men. "This is yours as soon as you put her in the truck bed. Lower the tailgate, Tuck."

Tucker moves without question and does what I told him to. I don't know whether he's aware of my inclination to always pull him back from the front lines—I don't really know why I do it. He's no stranger to violence. Violence is why we're all here. I guess I just want him to keep his hands clean as much as possible.

He does better at keeping the women calm, anyway.

Long Nose gives his buddy a nod of permission, and he carries the woman to the back of the truck. Tucker climbs up on the tailgate and moves back to stand in the center of the bed as Sasquatch approaches.

"Lay her down easy," Tucker tells him, holding out his palms like he's going to catch her if she's dropped too fast.

The Yeti huffs with annoyance but brings her off his shoulder with relative ease, laying her down with a surprising amount of gentleness for how bruised, battered, and bloodied she appears.

"Take a step back," I demand the moment she's down.

Sas moves away as he's told, stepping back to stand beside his friend.

"Now hand it over." Long Nose stretches out his arm and opens his palm expectantly.

I hold out the pack, but then I jerk my arm back before he can take it. "I'm gonna give it to you, but before I do, I just have to say one thing…" I pause for two reasons—dramatic effect and asserting my authority. "You get what you deserve in Lawless Land, and you both really fucking deserve this."

I toss the box at his long fucking nose, and as it flies, I swing my arm, thrust my blade with force, and sink it to the hilt into Yeti's gut. Santi swings, hitting a skull-crushing home run at the back of Long Nose's head. Hayes whips a length of heavy chain around Sasquatch's neck and pulls.

His hands shoot up, attempting to loosen the chain as Hayes grunts with the exertion of dragging the giant backward. I'm pulled along with them, my knife catching on a rib as I try to pull it out. I have to twist before I can yank it free. Then I stab him again, again, then one final time that finally has him slumping to his knees.

I step back as Santi delivers a second hit to Long Nose, who's facedown on the road, making sure he's good and dead. Hayes chokes the last bits of life out of Sasquatch as he bleeds profusely from the middle. Then I look at my hands, my tattoos hidden beneath a thick layer of blood.

I study it to the sound of a dying man—the man whose blood coats my skin. It's a slightly different shade than my own blood, which is exactly what I expected. I've scrutinized the blood of every kill and found that no two people share the same exact hue. Maybe it's just me who can see the subtle differences…

Maybe I'm wrong.

Maybe I'm crazy.

Maybe I'm lying to myself.

It's impossible to prove or disprove when I can't compare samples side-by-side, but I know what my eyes tell me, and every shade has been unique.

It fascinates me more than it should.

The blood on my hands now is less vibrant than my own. His has a brownish tint, similar to the shade of dried blood, though it's still fresh, warm, and wet. I get lost in the flow of it, watch a single drop as it glides down the back of my hand, slips along the side of my arm, and drips to the concrete beneath my feet.

"Heads up," Tucker's voice interrupts my obsessive observation.

I look up and he tosses me a towel.

"She's waking up," he says, still standing on the truck bed and crouched behind her head.

The tan woman with long black hair mutters quiet protests as she stirs, gradually creeping back into consciousness.

"Good." I start to wipe the blood from my hands. "You and Santi put her in the cab with the A/C. And Hayes?" I look back at him just in time to watch as he releases the chain from Sasquatch's neck, letting his dead body fall sideways to the ground. "Help me load these two fuckers into the bed. We'll take them back to store in the freezer."

We make quick work of it, clean the blood from our hands as best we can, and get back on the road. It'll be another ninety minutes before we arrive at the Crevice—a spot where a mesa sits beside a miles-long plateau, creating a long, narrow path in between. It's the first major landmark that new lawless will encounter on their journey into the Territory. It's where the Reborn lie in wait to entice them with false promises.

We don't make any promises.

We just take what we need.

And what we need are four new girls for Eden.

We hadn't expected to pick up a new girl so quickly, but it's one less that we'll have to find and fight to take at the Crevice.

They always put up a fight.

Conscious women tend to do that when they see us coming.