Rachel Vincent - Shadow Bound

“You? Trouble? I am shocked and appalled.”

I glanced up to see Holt watching me with no hint of a smile. “You may be the most sarcastic man I’ve ever met.”

“It’s a gift.” We stopped at the corner, but only had to wait a second for the light to change so we could cross the street. “So, what is a grunt’s primary duty?” Ian asked as soon as we stepped onto the opposite curb.

“Depends on the color of the mark. Rust is the most common. A rust-colored mark means unSkilled muscle. They’re sentries, on the lookout for anything that doesn’t belong. And they’re everywhere, whether you see them or not. They do much more than the police to keep crime rates down on this side of town.”

Unauthorized crime, anyway. No one intervened when Tower ordered someone found, punished or killed. But that was one of the things we didn’t talk about. One of many.

Ian glanced at the people all around us, carrying shopping bags, having breakfast at the outdoor tables spilling onto the sidewalk from various restaurants, or just rushing to and from wherever they had to be on a Saturday morning. “What’s green?” He nodded toward a woman stepping out of a coffee shop with a cardboard container of steaming paper cups. The two chain links on her arm were the color of tarnished copper.

“Green is for unSkilled service. She’s a secretary, or accountant, or something like that. She’s not muscle, but she’s not Skilled, either.”

“And there are red marks, too, I assume?”

“Yeah. Red for the skin trade, same as for most other syndicates, but they don’t work on the street. Private appointments only. Their clientele is established and wealthy, and unlike Cavazos, Tower marks them on their arm, same as all the other initiates. He doesn’t see the point of either degrading or hiding them by putting the marks on their thighs.”

Holt’s brows rose. “Prostitutes are people, too?”

“It’s just another way to serve.” I couldn’t spit the lie out fast enough. “Of course, whatever you want would be on the house—at least until he marks you.”

Ian scowled, and I wasn’t surprised. Jake was right; Holt didn’t want a whore.

“And your mark?” he asked, glancing at the half sleeve covering the top quarter of my left arm.

“Iron-colored links are for Skilled initiates, no matter what the position. I’m security, obviously, though no longer on Tower’s personal guard.”

“Why not? Did Tower get a splinter on your watch?”

Yeah. A big metal splinter to the chest. “Something like that.”

“So, after you recruit me— assuming you recruit me—what will your job be?”

“I don’t know.” I would never work as Jake’s guard again, nor would I be trusted to protect his wife or kids. “General security, maybe. Like the guards stationed every where at the party.”

Ian grimaced. “That sounds boring as hell.”

But I’d take boring over the basement any day.

“What would I be doing?” he asked, as we turned another corner.

“Whatever Jake needs done. Blinding the opposition. Punching holes in a defensive infrared grid, so his men can get in.”

“But we’re talking about crime, right? Criminal enterprise?”

I hesitated, trying to decide what he wanted to hear, and how best to merge that with the truth. “That sounds a little …”

“True?”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “That sounds a little true. Also, insufficient. Not all of the syndicate’s business is illegal. Some of it’s just highly discouraged by legal, spiritual and political authorities.”

“Semantics.” He brushed off my reply with an ironic grin. “What are we talking about? What’s his bread and butter?”

I hesitated, weighing my options.

“What’s wrong?” Holt glanced at me as we stepped onto another crosswalk. The light changed before we were halfway across the street, but no one bothered walking faster.

“I’m not sure I’m allowed to answer the kind of questions you’re asking now, but I’m supposed to do whatever it takes to keep you interested. Which means I’m walking the line between a couple of conflicting orders.” And if I actually got caught between them, my body would tear itself apart trying to obey both at once.

“I’d never intentionally put you in that position,” Ian said. “So if I ask something you can’t answer, just tell me and I’ll withdraw the question.”

I frowned up at him, trying to decide whether or not he was serious. Nice guys didn’t usually last long in syndicate life. Neither did nice girls, which was why I’d signed on to protect Kenley.

“Have you ever been bound?” I asked, and his sudden, startled look darkened quickly into something I couldn’t interpret.

“No. So, no, I’ve never felt resistance pain, if that’s what you’re getting at. Nor have I been caught between conflicting orders. Have you?” he asked, watching me carefully, and I nodded. “What’s it like?”

“It’s like dying, in slow motion. One piece of you at a time …” But my words faded into silence when a pair of unfamiliar eyes caught my gaze from several feet ahead on the sidewalk. I pretended not to notice, but it took real effort to keep tension from showing in my step. The stranger had glanced at me, but his gaze lingered on Ian, and his casual stance was as false as my grandmother’s teeth.

The would-be poacher was young, which hopefully meant he was inexperienced, but I was unarmed, which automatically put me at a disadvantage.

I prattled on for several more steps without really listening to myself. Waiting. Hoping Holt wouldn’t freak out when the shit hit the fan. You never can tell with civilians. And finally, as we stepped even with a narrow alley, a hand grabbed my right arm from behind and something sharp poked me to the left of my spine, through the thin cotton of my blouse.

“Scream, and I’ll cut you,” a young voice whispered into my ear, and I rolled my eyes as he pulled me into the alley. Ian didn’t even get a chance to look surprised before a second man—this one bald—shoved him after us.

“You okay?” Ian asked me, his voice soft and taut with caution as he backed away from the bald man, who carried a knife no one on the street would be able to see. If anyone noticed us at all. With any luck, no one would.

“I’m good,” I said, stepping carefully as I was tugged steadily backward. “They don’t want me. You feel like being abducted today?”

“Wasn’t on the agenda, no.” Ian stopped with his back to the brick wall, halfway between the bald man and the one holding his knife at my back.

“Plans change,” Baldy said. “Come with us quietly, or he’ll gut your girlfriend.”

I rolled my eyes again. This was a farce of an abduction at best. “First of all, I’m not his girlfriend. Second, it’s kind of hard to gut someone from behind, dumb ass.”

The hand around my arm tightened, and the first fiery threads of anger blazed up my spine. “Anyone ever tell you your mouth is going to get you in trouble one day?”

“Only hourly,” I said, and Ian laughed without taking his attention from the bald man’s knife.

“Last chance,” Baldy said.

Ian glanced at me, brows raised in question. “What do you think?”

I shrugged, in spite of the knife at my back. “Well, they’re not total morons. Knives instead of guns, so no one will hear gunshots. And they’ve got balls, coming after you in broad daylight. That one’s a Traveler,” I said, nodding at the bald man. “I’d bet my last drop of vodka on it.”

Ian frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because the other one can’t drag you through the shadows while he’s threatening my life.”

Baldy scowled, and I gloated silently.