Wrong Side of Heaven, Righteous Side of Hell

The sound of nails scratching over hardwood had Garrett awake and a dagger in his hand within the span of a breath. He stayed absolutely still as he honed his ears on the soft noise. A sharp breathing joined the sicking chorus of scratches.

“It’s here--must be here--in the dirt--buried deep--find it--find it fast-mine-mine-mine.”

Garrett kept his lids down but peaked through his lashes at the sound, curiosity getting the better of him.

A wild haired woman, down on all fours, was at the far end of the hall, pawing at the floor with bloodied fingers. Both old and new blood streaked down her chest in a gruesome pattern. Not as though she had killed someone but rather it had wept from a wound possibly underneath her shirt. Her clothes hung off her boney body awkwardly as though she had lost a lot of weight very quickly.

The smell she brought in with her had him creeping out of her sight.

She reeked of death.

“Warm--warm and soft--delicious--fresh--find it fast--fast...”

Shit! He had assumed the quarantine was because of this ‘rat plague’ everyone was so worried about. Not because of the undead lurking, coveting the flesh of the living.

Well, that just made things more complicated.

Garrett ghosted back to the rooftop outside and climbed up the adjacent building.

“Come out, come out….” the undead’s voice sang through the wind, “tasty thing…”

Garrett shook his head as he continued on, “In your dreams, lady.” he muttered to himself. If the quarantine was filled with the undead he was going to have a harder time than he had originally thought staying here for more than a night. He could always double back, he could still see the city proper from where he had hidden.

The problem would be those damn dogs.

All it would take would be one of them catching his scent. They would find him in no time at all. Especially since he was fighting some pretty severe exhaustion.

Keeping alert would be key, that is, if he wanted to make it out of there alive.

He was a night owl by nature and circumstance and, as luck would have it, he usually could refresh himself with only brief periods of rest. It was almost sunrise though, and he hadn’t slept while on that damn ship. His limbs were quivering in warning. He knew he’d pushed his body too far. He was so eager for that gold he hadn’t taken the chance to rest or eat and his body was through playing along with his self destructive behaviour.

Almost as though it had noticed he was finally paying it due attention, his stomach let out a howl that he attempted to muffle with his hands.

That. That was the real reason he never went on jobs on an empty stomach. Had anyone been near, he’d be caught by now.

He cursed and fished in his pockets for anything he may have stowed away on his person because it would be a cold day in hell before he found food here. The undead don't typically cook their food. Usually they were pretty set on getting a bite to-go, and then finding their next victim.

As he berated himself for not thinking ahead and having anything on him, however, a smell wafted to him. A smell that stood apart from the murky waters and dead bodies, mostly due to its appealing nature.

It was cinnamon.. And sugar, and fresh bread.

Who the hell was baking out here?

Knowing full well this could be yet another trap but being too hungry to care, he followed his nose for a lack of any other means to find the place that smelled so wonderful. He stayed high, worried he’d run into more undead before the night was over if he wasn’t careful. About three blocks from where he had started he noticed chimneys, many of them, had smoke billowing from them. As though twenty different hearths had cheery little fires in them.

He wondered if he had stumbled onto a small clutch of people who had been able to keep the undead at bay and somehow survive in this dence pit of sewage.

Survive and be well-off enough to be baking sweet cinnamon cakes.

He hovered next to one of the chimneys, and stared into the busted up building next door. There he was. A man in dark clothing pulling a pan filled with pastries out of the oven before him. He set it on a counter and waved his mitten clad hand over his mildly burnt creation. “Damn…” he muttered as he shook the pan to loosen them.

A chuckle near Garrett had him ducking behind the chimney.

A man in a gas mask and clad in similar attire as the baker appeared around the opposite side of the chimney Garrett had used as shelter. Luckily, it seemed as though he had been more interested in the baker so he hadn’t seen Garrett. He sat on the ledge and whistled to get the baker’s attention.

“Thomas, my man. Give up. You’re a shit baker.”

At the other man’s goading Thomas slapped the mitten on the table beside him but didn’t bother to look up. “Back off, Chester.”

“If you want her in your bed, Thomas, just throw her over your shoulder. She might like it.”

Thomas’ expression grew even more sour, “Didn’t I just say back off?”

“Need some pointers? I was pretty good at it before I joined up.”

The man named Thomas had a face somewhere in the mid-twenties range. His hair was tucked back and in a hood but the golden strands peeked from their confines and curled in small wisps around his neck. His eyes were a deep blue they were near black and his skin was pale enough he was damn near seethrough. His nose was crooked, like it had been broken a number of times and not set right. Still, the guy was handsome but only in his uniqueness. It was hard to believe he had trouble catching a girl’s attention.

Baking didn’t look like something the guy was accustomed to, nor something he particularly enjoyed.

Then again, women did funny things to a man’s mind. They end up doing things they’d never dreamed of doing before just to make them happy.

“Baking or chasing skirts?”

“You know I never did no baking, Thomas. I know how to charm my way into a lady’s be--”

“Yes, yes. So you’ve said.” a small flush crept up the guy’s cheeks, “She likes them. The cinnamon buns, I mean. She…. she smiles when I give them to her. She doesn’t smile enough.”

The other guy, Chester, shook his head. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger. You better watch that.”

Thomas turned away and from Garrett’s perspective he could see he had just palmed a blade. A massive blade, the length of his forearm. “That a threat, Chester?” his tone was innocent enough but with his finger petting the blade’s handle, Garrett knew the wrong answer would mean the other man’s death.

Chester snorted, “naw, you don’t gotta worry about me. But you know… not everyone is as content in their current position as I am. Know what I mean? I’m just saying, be careful who you let see your weakness.”

“She’s not a weakness.”

“Sure. And that’s not a tray of cinnamon buns on the table.”

Thomas stiffened and sheathed his knife. He turned back to Chester who propelled himself off the ledge and landed -loudly- on the ground in front of the table. “I almost slit your throat.” There was no remorse in Thomas’ tone and the other man didn’t seem offended.

Instead he clapped Thomas on the shoulder and started leading him away from the room. “I know. You want a beer? I could really use one right about now.”

They both chatted down the hallway, it was friendly enough but… Garrett couldn’t help but shake his head. What the actual hell is wrong with people in this city? If someone admitted to him they had been planning on killing him, he’d be as good as gone.

Not palling around with them.

But that was neither here nor there. His main concern at that moment was stealing one of those pastries. He never particularly cared for sweets but beggars certainly couldn’t be choosers. And if he got something in his stomach, he’d be able to study these people a little better. See if he could camp out there, under everyone’s noses just for a few nights.

He listened for anyone who might have plans on using the small rundown kitchen, but the building was serene in spite of where it sat. He slipped over the side of the building and lowered himself down slowly. The only reason he’d been able to pull that off so easily was because the buildings had walkways that couldn’t be seen from the rooftops. It was a simple thing to skirt across the planks to the small kitchen.

And with noone around, swiping a pastry was as simple as you could ask for. He ducked under one of the tables in the corner of the room so that he could see the whole of the room, including all the exits.

The cake tasted dry and was the messiest thing he’d ever had the displeasure of swallowing. He stole the mitten off the table to wipe his hands and face off. Then wiped the crumbs off his clothes.

Poor girl. A baker Thomas was not. No wonder he couldn’t turn her head.

Still, his stomach stopped cramping and gurgling after a moment of rest and when he was confident that it would behave and not give him away he crept over to the door.

It was important that he figure out just what these people would allow. If his presence didn’t bother them, camping out here would be simple. He was quite good at manipulating people, it was just a matter of finding out what mask he needed to wear. Should he run into a female chances were good he could act like a hapless teenager, usually that got him enough sympathy for a bed for a night, or a real meal.

Which would hopefully be just enough time for the Guard to give up.

Garrett crawled out from under the table and whispered across the room, silent as a shadow. He was apt at avoiding loose floorboards, or shattered glass. He knew how to melt into the shadows and breathe in time with any person in his vicinity, tricking them into thinking they were indeed alone. He loved outwitting people. Making them think their precious things had simply gone missing. Because he was so good at avoiding detection from normal people, he didn't worry that someone here might catch a glimpse of him.

He skirted along the shabby carpet and slipped out a propped open window into a small courtyard. There was only one other window open on the building opposite him and soft voices carried through it. It was higher up the wall and he needed to climb up a pipe to reach it.

But then he was through the portal and in another darkened hallway. There was a man in a gas mask patrolling the halls but he paid Garrett no mind. Mostly because Garrett was crouched behind an upturned couch.

When the guard stepped away Garrett saw something the thief in him simply couldn't ignore. In the room there was a table, and on that table there were glittering treasures. Earrings and bracelets, necklaces, pocket watches and more gold than a guy could possibly pass up. And it was all newly polished and just begging to be snatched.

The room itself seemed to be empty but there were too many doors to watch. At least four that he could see from where he hid. The patrolling guard didn't seem to be much trouble, at least, not when he propped himself against a windowpane and twisted his chin to one side, cracking his neck loudly. He rolled his shoulders then twisted his chin the opposite way, a loud pop followed.

He was tired. Probably groggy and trying to find ways to keep himself awake.

The City Watch were the same way. Only this poor bastard wasn't grumbling under his breath about his position in life.
Garrett smiled, he’d be slower than anyone else. He’d be the easiest person to avoid.

He did notice another guard patrolling the small apartment on the second story of the, otherwise open, room who might present a problem. However, if Garrett was able to get across the room without his noticing, that table couldn’t be seen by that guard.

The flaws in that room were nice ones. It certainly wasn’t built with thieves in mind but there were plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in. Whatever the place used to be didn’t matter, it seemed to be a sort of base operations now.

Perhaps that’s what it took to survive living so near the undead. Hoping the quarantine would be lifted before you join their ranks. Which made sense, to survive out here, people needed to be smart and they needed to plan their lives around the whims of the predators out there. It was either that, or become prey themselves.

Garrett watched from the shadows, unmoving, barely breathing. Until the two men began to create their own little patterns. The tired one would walk his assigned area, lean on a wall or door and rest until he began to sleep. Only waking when his knees gave up the good fight and he’d begin to slide down the wall.

The other one was distracted in a different way, a nervous way. He would sweep his area over and over perhaps four or five times, then settle in his chair, busied his hands for a moment or two before wearing a tread in the carpet again.

Garrett waited patiently until they both had their backs turned. He shot across the carpet on the balls of his feet, quietly racing to the nook under the stairs. He settled in and froze, his heart hammering in his chest and ears, the thrill of exertion tingling throughout his entire body.

The tired one leaned on a wall again. And the creaking from the floor above Garrett told him the nervous one was still doing his laps for the moment. Garrett was so close to the gold on the table he could smell it. Hear the ringing of the coins in his ears. But he held off. He forced his body to remain where it was, rooted in place.

For no other reason save his gut told him to.

His intuition had had to be trained, for the most part. But there were some feelings one simply couldn’t explain. They cropped up out of nowhere, a secret sense that something in the world simply wasn’t as it should be. And until that feeling passed, it was simply not worth moving.

After a breath or two the one solid, wooden door flung open and two men in masks marched through. The obviously lower ranking man trailing the other, and feeding him information, “... care of. Quinn and Thorpe are on there way now to collect the reward. They should be here within the hour.”

“And how did our boys fair?” the leader’s voice was hard as he glanced at the table and instead moved toward a chalkboard with papers littering it.

“They raised a few alarms. Nothing major. Anyone who was close enough to see them was quickly eliminated.”

Eliminated? Were the undead so troublesome that they needed to go to such measures? And what was this about alarms? Unless there were a few still yet to be triggered set up from when the fat cats still pretended to care. But then… what would it matter if they went off?

“I thought they were doing better.” The leader prodded.

“They are, Daud.”

The man called Daud hummed and shook his head, not looking at his subordinate. “If they were doing better, they wouldn’t have had to kill more than just their assigned target.”

The subordinate was quiet for a long moment. “They did get the job done. And well. If you would like me to punish them still…”

“No.” Daud crossed his arms and glared at the other man. “What I want is for them to be effective. Stumbling through a job blindly is not acceptable. I want as little wake as we can manage. I want people to assume some of our targets were tragic accidents. From now on this barrolling in riffles at the ready is not going to cut it with me.

“Inform the men.” his voice was so cold, it was hard not to squirm under the man’s glare. “From this moment on, you work silently. And trust me, I will personally deal with any who do not step up to my standard.”

The other man gave a slight bow, clapping his fist to his chest and barking, “Yes sir.”

He marched out and the door clipped shut behind him. Leaving the cold leader brooding in the corner. He reached up and snatched a paper off the board. He then glanced over his shoulder at the chair there. He quickly hooked a foot behind one of it’s legs, gripped the backrest and using the leg as an anchor, turned it on it’s heel to face him.

He settled in the chair, silently and began to read the flyer.

Garrett suppressed the urge to curse. He couldn’t possibly get away with robbing this man blind. A table that was loaded with trinkets suddenly becoming empty before his eyes? No way would this man shrug that off. He might be able to pick something off, he resolved while the man remained motionless.

But he’d have to be careful.

He marked where all the man were before he crept out from under the stairs. Lazy one, sleeping. Nervous one, pacing. Leader, occupied with his back turned.

He glanced over the table and swiped the gold necklace with most gems and a few of the signet rings that would fetch a hefty price. It would not even come near to the losses he suffered recently but it would have to do. He slipped under the table and smirked as he noticed the heavy purse looped on the belt of the leader.

Well… if you’re not smart with your coin, you don't deserve it.

He sneaked over to the chair, his tiny dagger at the ready. He gently cradled the bag in one hand and maneuvered the knife in the other. The dagger was his backup but it was still just as sharp as his old one, which he planned to go back for thank you very much. As the leader adjusted himself in his seat, Garrett clipped the purse off its strings and stuffed it in his pocket.

Because he had moved with the other man, he hadn’t felt the snip or the weight change. And that left Garrett with the prize.

He ducked back under the table and made for one of the glass paned doors. The one the sleeping guard sat by. He was as good as gone as he slipped past the man.

Would wonders never cease?

This night hadn’t been a total loss after all.

XXX

Daud clipped the paper back up on the job board ahead of him, deciding he’d had enough of that night and that all he really wanted to get accomplished was studying the back of his eyelids for a while. He linked his hands together and stretched his arms up to the ceiling, his shoulders giving a satisfying pop. He shook his hands out and headed up the stairs, rubbing at his sore neck along the way. He’d been up for, what now? Had it really been almost thirty-two hours?

His men were getting sloppy and he’d felt the need to get personal with more than one time-consuming job. He needed to manage his people better. He needed more men who crack the whip, show the rest how to do things right, and worked well together not against one another. Fights were becoming more and more apparent and tensions were running high. Moral had dipped. By the gods people were work.

It was definitely time to start trimming the fat.

As he made it up to his bed on the second landing, he shelved that line of thinking for the time being. Rest was what he needed now, and he’d be damned if anyone got in his way.

He removed his belt and weapons and mask into a large trunk beside his bed and was in the process of kicking off his boots when something caught his eye. A small strip of leather was laying on the ground in front of his boots. He groaned as he bent over, still seated on his bed, to retrieve it. The cord was tied off in the center and the two tails were frayed. As though they’d been… cut.

Worst of all, He recognised it.

He shot upright and focused on the table downstairs. He channelled the mark on his hand and suddenly he was perched on that table the trinkets on it tinkling with the sudden weight change. He’d not left the flooded district for at least twenty-four hours and he’d used it within that time. Besides, there was no way one of his men had the balls to cut his purse. So that meant, there was a little rat hiding here.

He channelled the mark on his hand again, this time a gruntal voice chanted at the base of his skull and the colors of the world dimmed. Only primary colors stood out among the sea of grey and those only appeared with living things. With the Vision in place he could see footsteps echoing across hardwood, like ripples in an otherwise placid pond. The voices of those around him heightened and the heartbeats of all living things thundered in his ears.

Daud sneered as he caught sight of a small figure huddled in a hallway a few floors up from him. Whoever this little rat was chose the wrong night to steal from him.

Daud dropped off the table and clapped his hand on the hardwood, startling the recruit across the way back to consciousness. “Yes sir?” he asked, panicked as he walloped his overeager fist over his heart.

Yeah, I’ll deal with you later. “There is a thief among us. I want you to rally some men, find him, and bring him back to me alive. I want the pleasure of killing him myself. Tell anyone with you, should he die, they are mine.”

The assassin nodded and disappeared into a handful of black mist.

That rat was going to regret the day he slinked in here and decided to steal from the Knife of Dunwall.

XXX

Garrett knew he was in for a world of trouble when the guards went from aloof patrol to an all out manhunt. It was like someone had thrown a switch. One moment there were absolutely no issues the next the halls were swarmed with men in masks, massive daggers drawn, and taunting voices promising death should anyone find him.

But he’d been so careful, he ranted in his mind. He’d remained quiet, didn’t take risks he normally would have seen as challenges, and above all he had taken his time. What had he done wrong? Where had he screwed up? Or were they looking for someone else?

He sincerely hoped it was the latter as he hid in one of the cupboards in one of the rundown hallways these men used as a base.

Now that they were actively searching for someone he had little chance of one of them taking pity on him. His best bet now was to get out of this gang’s territory, find a place he could seal up tighter than the last one, and hunker down as best he could. He’d obviously made enough waves.

Tonight was just not his night.

As the room cleared he crept into the hall and climbed onto the cupboard. From there there was a large bundle of pipes trailing out of the room and up into another room. The higher he got the better. Rarely did guards look up, thinking their targets would be hiding under or below their noses. While that worked in some cases, usually staying above it all was the best course of action.

Above him, he could see, in that room was a ladder that led to a broken open portion of the building. If he could make it there, he’d be home free.

He slipped onto the pipes and froze as they creaked under his weight.

His heart galloped in his chest but he held his hands out to his side and attempted to breathe slowly. The pipes had seemed steady enough but it was entirely possible he had misjudged. And even if they were reliable, if they were loud he’d have to find another way out. He chanced a single step forward, testing the waters.

Bad test.

The shrill warning of metal scraping metal echoed through the room.

Garrett cursed as three different gang members filed in, all armed with pistols. “Looks like we found our rat, boys.” one of them chuckled.

“Come on down or we shoot.” he warned. Garrett shut his eyes and shook his head.

But he had not come this far to get caught now. He made a show of putting one hand on the pipes underneath his feet, only to get close enough to his flash grenades.

With a flick of his wrist, the grenade popped as it shattered, the blast no doubt lighting the room like high noon, but doing no real damage to the men. Three shots rang out but he was already in the the other room and halfway to the ladder before they had begun to fire.

Home free and not a scratch on him, he thought as he ascended the ladder.

As he headed toward the ledge, a sting in his thigh brought his attention downward.

The last thing he saw before dropping to his knees was a dart sticking out of his leg.

XXX

His body came alive purely due to the torrential downpour of ice cold water being dumped on his head, and by extension the rest of his body as well. His shoulders and abs and legs seized up and his gasp was loud as gunfire in his ears. He shook out his head, his body hanging on his muscleless arms, being spread out on either side of him. He blinked hard as the water burned his eyes and slinked its cold tendrils down his neck and body.

“Have a nice dream, boy?”

The voice was that gravelly, threatening whisper he remembered that gang leader had.

His throat clenched in panic. Damn… he’d been caught.

“I’m sure it was a pleasant one. Sleep darts are very effective, especially on scrawny little tikes like you.” Daud was seated in a chair across the way in the odd office Garrett had cut through earlier. His back was to the fireplace, making him look like the flames were burning on his shoulders due to his will. It had the added effect of darkening the harsh features of his face.

So he wanted Garrett scared?

Garrett smirked darkly and calmed his chilled breathing. No way would he give this man what he wanted. He needed enough of a distraction to get away. But in the meantime it was smart to stay alive.

“Did someone send you?” the leader prompted but Garrett simply raised a brow at him and attempted to calm the shivers quaking his shoulders.

The man frowned and threaded his fingers together and rested them on his stomach. “Have it your way.” he nodded and the men holding him both gripped his shoulders tighter as a masked man slugged his fist into Garrett’s side.

Pain echoed through his whole body, the swing making like a sledgehammer on his flank. His eyes bugged out, the breath he’d had in his lungs made a break for it as he crumpled forward in a feeble effort to protect himself.

“Where are my manners?” Daud chuckled as Garrett finally forced enough air into his lungs to groan. “Little rat, meet Zachary. He has fists of iron or so I’m told, and I’d imagine about a hundred more pounds than you have backing him.”

He nodded again and this time Zachary’s fist connected with Garrett’s left eye. The force backing that fist was so much the man holding Garrett’s left arm stumbled forward. His head and neck throbbing, Garrett forced himself to keep his composure. He channeled his anger, which was easy considering the amount of pain ebbing through his body, and suddenly the burn in his chest was all he could feel.

He took a few solid breaths and snapped his eyes up to Daud.

And smiled.

Daud’s expression remained unchanged. The fist came again and again. Each time it struck Garrett barely felt it, though the men holding him were certainly struggling to keep him upright. Until finally Daud… started laughing.

It was a husky, brutal sound. And Garrett only assumed it was laughter because of the mirth on the man’s face. That, and the fact that every gang member in the room stopped what they were doing to focus on him. “Enough, Zachary. We won't get anywhere with him if he’s dead.” he commanded.

He rose from his chair and slowly prowled over to Garrett. “Look at you.” he mused.

“There are other means of torture, boy. And I know them all.”

Garrett said nothing, though smiling at this point was out of the question as one side of his face was already starting to swell.

“But it won't work with you, will it?” Daud gave Garrett a once over and smiled. “I have the feeling you don’t talk much anyway. Do you think defying me will buy you time?”

Ah! You read people too. Picking up on that Garrett knew just how to trick this bastard.

“You are new here, aren’t you? I’ve never seen you in my city before and trust me boy, I’d remember.” he chuckled darkly as he unsheathed his dagger. “Which means you don’t know who I am. Is that right?”

Garrett scoffed, “You’re a lucky old bastard, that’s all.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it. You were caught because you were sloppy. Had you known who I was you never would have come here.”

Garrett spat blood on the ground by Daud’s feet and glared up at him. “I’m not sloppy. I’m a master of my craft. You’re just a thug with underlings who don’t measure up in your eyes.”

If looks could kill, Garrett would be six feet under. But thankfully his peepers weren’t so powerful and the look was simply that. He slowly prowled around the room, ideally toying with the blade by his side. “So that’s when you snuck in here.”

Garrett swallowed. He meant to goad the man, get under his skin, keep him talking. Not tell him when Garrett had stolen his coin.

“I’m curious as to who you think I am, boy.” he said quietly. He silently tossed the dagger in the air without watching it and caught it, once, twice, a third time.

Much like Garrett had done with the lord. He realised bitterly.

Daud was still trying to scared him. Best not give him what he wants. “You’re a gang lord.”

Daud’s chuckle was a loud, joyless ‘ha!’ “You really have no idea what den of vipers you’ve fallen into, have you little rat?” Then he... disappeared. One second he was there and in the span of a heartbeat he was gone. A flash of black smoke taking his place.

Garrett’s eyebrows married and he blinked a couple of times, sure he’d been knocked in the head too many times to be seeing things clearly. But then Daud’s face appeared before him, rematerializing from black smoke as though he were... piecing himself together again.

Garrett leapt back to the extent he could and was forced into a wall, Daud’s dagger at his throat. Too terrified to keep up his pretence Garrett gasped and froze not able to fight or flee. “And since death doesn’t seem to frighten you, perhaps loss of your livelihood will.”

Garrett’s heart stopped in his chest. The man couldn’t be serious? Could he?

“How’s a thief steal with no hands, men?”

The men holding him flattened his arms against the wall behind him. Exposing his wrist to Daud. “He doesn’t.” the men chuckled.

And Garrett, in a panic, lurched forward and head-butted the bastard.

Daud backed off quickly, gripping his nose and Zachary was back with his fists of iron knocking the sense out of Garrett with one blow.

As Garrett hung there panting, he braced himself for more pain, but when nothing came he chanced a look at Daud who was grinning at him with bloodied teeth and a hand on Zachary’s shoulder. “You wanna keep your hands?”

Garrett nodded because this pisspoor excuse of outwitting the man had run its course. Somewhere along the line Daud saw his hand and knew he’d been bluffing. A good poker player conceded when beat.

“Then you’ll work for me.” Daud sneared. “For one year. As a thief. But you’re mine. You make a break for it. You try to defy me. I’ll remove those precious hands of yours, seal your wounds shut, and give you to the Guard. Don’t test me boy. I want my men loyal.”

A year?

An entire year?

Garrett glanced at his hand wrapped in the thug’s grip. Daud already knew what he would choose. He simply wanted to hear Garrett say it aloud. “And… if I don’t perform to your liking I take it?”

“Obviously. You said yourself you are a master thief, aren’t you? Or are you full of it?”

Garrett shook his head. “I am a master thief.”

“Then I expect nothing less than your best. Now if you perform well and you adhere to my standards, I’ll consider shortening your sentence. Cross me though? I’ll add time.” the treat in Daud’s voice was tangible. “Now, do we have a deal?”

Like I really have a choice? “Yeah… fine… we have a deal. I’ll be your thief for a year.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” he sauntered over to the table were Garrett had swiped the trinkets from Duad earlier and snatched the quiver that was resting there. Obviously, they had striped him of his weapons while his was down for the count. The broken bow hung out of it loosely and the belt full of Garrett’s hard-earned weapons was retrieved from there as well.

“Now then.” he tossed the belt in the hearth and that piqued Garrett’s interest. “You won’t need any of this anymore, I’ll ensure you have the tools you require.” he pulled the bow out and frowned at it as he tossed the quiver still filled with arrows into the fire.

“Wait!” Garrett shouted and Daud glanced over at him holding the ruined bow over the flames. “Stop! Please!”

He lifted the bow in askance but thankfully didn’t drop it. Garrett could see Senior’s handprint on the leather grip. He had a chance to save it. A small chance. He wasn’t ready to let Senior go. So naturally, he had to try. Even if that meant giving Daud a little more power over him.

Garrett wetted his lips and shook his head, “Don’t burn that. I can… fix it. I want…” He shook his head, refrazing himself, knowing Daud wouldn’t give one good god-damn about his wants. “I need that...”

“What? This useless thing?” Daud scoffed.

Garrett swallowed hard, and hoped to hell the man wasn’t going to suddenly change his mind… again… “Yes. It… it’s important to me.”

A raised brow was his only reply and Garrett knew he’d screwed himself harder when a smile graced the man’s lips. “Is it?”

Burn anything else. Burn everything else, but please… please don’t take Senior’s last legacy away.

The words were simple enough.

If only his voice hadn’t made a break for it.

“Your old life is over, boy. You’re mine now.” Daud cemented that statement by chucking the bow into the fire.

“No!” Garrett lunged against the two assassins holding him, he didn’t make it far, but his strength surprised them enough that he pushed them forward a few paces. His heart withered as the bow blackened and the bowstring let out an eerie screech before snapping in the hearth. He whilted as the leather grip began to melt under the heat.

It was beyond saving even if he had been able to get it out.

It was crazy but Garrett could feel the flames on his skin as though he was the one in the fire.

His eyes drifted to Daud, looking rather pleased with himself. Hatred surged through his body, making his skin tingle, his hands curl into fists, and his body feeling as though it had been supercharged by adrenaline. “You bastard!”

His outburst didn’t faze Daud at all. He marched over to Garrett and snatched his chin, angling his face up. “Just look at that defiance. I wonder how long you’ll take to break?”

Garrett stayed silent. Speaking fueled this bastard and he was done giving him the satisfaction.

“I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.” Daud nodded at the men holding Garrett aloft. “A couple of days in one of the cells should cool that temper of his. Be sure to nail it shut. I’d just bet this kid knows how to pick locks.”

He smiled at Garrett again before releasing his chin. “And kid?”

Garrett could feel his nostrils flare at Daud’s tone. His words made Garrett ready to put the man’s head through a damn wall.

“Welcome to the family.”