An Airship Named Desire (Take to the Skies Book 1) (9 page)

“Nice and open. Why do you think they chose somewhere like this? Witnesses galore,” Jensen said with a frown.

“Well if they’re hoping for a quick exchange, the random worker won’t make a huge difference. Besides, the captain marked a specific warehouse. We’ll be trading inside there.” I poked the circled box on his drawn map. “This one, number fourteen.” I squinted. “Can you make out any numbers from here?”

“Barring hawk-like vision, no,” Jensen said, pulling out a pair of binoculars, “But I have these.” He scanned the area as we approached the freighter district. “The ones nearest us are in the twenties. Fourteen must be further in.” While we strolled along, Jensen and I surveyed the perimeter. Like I said, Captain hired no slouches. At the end of each line of warehouses, a ladder led to the connected roofs, and that, I didn’t like. Unless you stood by the loading dock, the rooftops weren’t in line of sight.

“Smart spot for a sharpshooter.” I tossed my head in that direction. “As long as we place one of ours out here, we’ll have the rooftop in range. As for the warehouses, most look like one entrance, one exit deals.” I spotted a scraggly stenciled number fourteen on one of the doors down the lane. Jensen and I strode past the dock workers to approach the building.

“Home sweet shithole.” I turned the knob, and we entered the darkened warehouse. Jensen quick drew first while I fumbled around my leather bag, and he flicked on his aetherlight, part of a multi-tool he kept on his person at all times. The aetherlight’s dim orb of greenish light brought dozens of boxes into visibility. I brushed a hand over the nearest crate, which was marked by numbers and odd letters giving no inclination as to the contents.

“What do you think, doll?” Jensen jerked a thumb at the box. “Any chance they’re filled with tobacco and aged scotch?”

“As long as they aren’t filled with flammables or explosives, we’re safe. We don’t want anything dangerous.” Under the ray of his aetherlight, a crowbar glinted in the corner of the room. I picked it up and wedged the end into the top of the nearest crate. “Jensen, come shine that thing over here.” He stalked over, and the light shook with his steps. He held the aetherlight over the open box. Rows of bright pink parasols stacked inside.

“This is where you left your stash!” I offered a cheeky grin. “We could have used these during that storm.”

“Those cads stole my pretty pink parasols.” Jensen smirked. He shone the light over the ceiling, but atypical to other warehouse cells, the flat aluminum provided no entrance to the roof.

“Well, we’re counting on a clear meet and greet. The only sore spot is the rooftop, but we’ll work around it.” I scanned the room one last time. “The outside crates too—we need to keep an eye out for any hidden snipers and maybe station one of our own.”

“Aye, aye madam. Are we finished?” Jensen stood by the door.

“Should be,” I said with a shrug. “All we can do is hope for a smooth trade at this point. Got to get rid of that damned box.”

“You’re telling me.” Jensen pressed his palm against his forehead. “Can we swing by a bar on the way back?”

“Why? It’s not even lunchtime.”

“Hair of the dog.” He grunted.

“Let’s get going, I could go for a mug of ale.” Before I followed Jensen out the door, I placed a hand against the frame. An inexplicable shudder traveled down my spine. Without Jensen’s light, gray misshapen shadows contorted throughout the chamber. Not lingering any longer, I turned and exited the building.

A crowded town street lay past the right turn at the crossroads. Laundry lines hung across tenement balconies, and canopied tents littered the worn dirt streets. Jensen batted a large loaf of fresh bread out of his way after one of the peddlers kept trying to shove it in his face and shout about his loaves to anyone in the vicinity. A nearby stand with cameos of all different sizes and colors caught my eye, but I stayed on task. Within seconds a neon ‘Bar’ sign with an arrow pointed down came into view.

“Why not try the obvious?” I pointed, and we descended the stairs into the basement of the building. The doors swung back and forth, and fluorescent lights cast a bluish hue over the room, making the ceramic black tiles of the long bar counter gleam. Liquor filled the shelving behind it from the rounded bottles of aged brandy to the long, thin vodka cordials they produced nowadays. In my younger years I’d made the mistake of trying the peanut brittle variant—it looked similar to the candy coming back up.

I swaggered in, and Jensen followed close behind. A few older men loitered around the pint-sized room, most with a five day old scruff and wearing stained trousers. I snagged a seat at one of the torn red leather barstools.

“Barkeep,” I called over to the man slouched behind the counter. “A mug of ale for me and-” I turned to Jensen. “What do you want?”

“Just a shot of whisky. It’ll clear this straight away.”

“You heard the man.” I shrugged. The barkeep’s sunken brown eyes bored into me, but he flipped the tap handle. With his free hand, he poured the whisky into a shot glass. I rummaged into my bag and pulled out the satchel of coins to slap one onto the table in exchange for my ale. Jensen picked up the shot glass and held the whisky towards me in acknowledgement before tipping it back. Lifting the mug to my lips, I sipped a deep draft right as the door opened behind us with a smack.

“Owen, get the hell out.” The barkeep didn’t hesitate, spreading both palms over the countertop. I peered behind me. A hulk of a man stood by the swinging doors with a red kerchief around his neck, and a beard rivaling the mythic pirates of old. His arm looped around the waist of a younger woman who couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen.

“You’ll just bring us trouble. Out,” the barkeep commanded. Owen growled like a deranged mutt but listened. He exited, dragging the silent girl behind him, her lip trembling all the while. A glimpse had been all I needed to realize their relationship. The baggy man’s shirt she wore slipped off her shoulder, same with the straps of her oversized overalls. Mottled purple bruises covered her arms, and the dark spots glared against her pale skin.

Slavers.

Anger boiled within me, sparked by the life I left behind. I would not stand by and tolerate the sight of an abused woman. Never again. I chugged my beer and slammed the mug onto the countertop.

“Jensen,” I barked, “We’re going.”

“Didn’t the captain want us to stay out of trouble?” He placed a palm onto the counter. “It’s just a girl, and she’s none of our business. Leave it alone, Bea.” Wrong words. I gripped his collar and shoved my face inches from his.

“We saw it. That makes it our damn business. Get your weapons ready. We’re going to go stir up some trouble.” I pulled Matilda from my holster and checked the safety. We stalked out of the bar without a backwards glance. 

Chapter Eight

I gripped my pistol so tightly my knuckles whitened and pressed my tongue against the back of my teeth. Owen stood down the street with the girl he held captive next to a fruit stand teeming with ripe oranges and apples. The shop’s yellow-and-green striped canopy marked it out from the rest on the street. With all the innocents wandering through the crowded marketplace, I couldn’t get a clear shot at Owen, or people would get hurt. Before all this rage sent me rushing in with my pistol waving, I forced several deep breaths back and placed a hand on Jensen’s chest.

“You wait as my backup. Let’s see if I can’t manage a diversion.” I unlaced the top loopholes from my bodice, and my cleavage spilled out. Blowing Jensen a kiss, I sashayed over to handle the slaver.

Owen’s eyes probed me the moment I stepped into his sights, though I refused to meet his stare and arched my back a little more. Men always fell for a touch of aloof and some feminine sex appeal. My boots scraped against the worn dirt path as I swerved past a group of larger women carrying thatched baskets. Owen’s dark eyes followed me, and saliva pooled at the corner of his mouth. I winked.

“Hi, sweet thing,” I managed my smokiest tone, holding back a shudder at this greasy mammoth of a man. Within close proximity he smelled riper than the garbage lining the street sides. His gut swung over his ratty leather belt, and his eyes hadn’t moved from my chest. “I couldn’t help but hear you were searching for a place.” I glanced down both sides of the street before continuing. “Why not swing by mine?”

His bushy eyebrows rose, but the leer stayed on his face. I pushed my chest forward and extracted the pistol from my holster. Distracted, he didn’t notice the movement until I jammed Matilda’s muzzle straight into his side.

The click of my pistol menaced, but I maintained my sweet smile.

“This can be real simple, lad. Hand her over and walk away. Any trouble and I won’t hesitate to shoot.” The poor girl’s eyes widened as her jaw dropped. I dug the pistol in further, glancing to my side. No odd looks flashed our way, and no authorities patrolled the streets. To anyone watching, we had a civil, rather close conversation. “So what will it be?” A harsh metallic edge ringed my dulcet tone.

“This girl?” Owen’s voice bellowed. “What’s she to you?” He jabbed her side, and she flinched.

“Consider me an interested party.” I gritted my teeth. Owen opened his mouth as if he’d argue, but shut it.

“Fine, fine.” He waved his hands. “Take her and go, she’s not worth any trouble.”

“Good choice.” With my free hand, I gestured towards the girl. “Please, follow me.” The girl took two steps forward but paused and viewed me with terrified eyes. “It’s okay, I don’t mean you harm.”

“Well I do,” A foreign male’s voice came from behind as the click of a cocked gun sounded at the back of my head. Frosty metal bit past my thick tresses, and I froze. The gruff voice continued, “Why don’t you remove the pistol from my boy here and place it on the ground. We’ll proceed from there.” The young girl took a step backwards.

“And why should I do that? You’ll just add me to your slave cartel. Besides, I guarantee I’ll pull the trigger faster on Owen.” I stalled, scanning around the marketplace in front of me. “If that didn’t compute, my answer’s no.” Without a clear view behind me, any premeditated moves became impossible.

“I’ll chance that bluff.” The man growled, digging the muzzle in deeper. Bravado or no, there was nothing as jarring as the shiver of icy steel against skin. A sweat broke out on the nape of my neck and matted down loose strands of hair. I scanned the crowd past Owen. People began staring. Nobody neared us—they weren’t stupid—but the man behind me didn’t mess around. If he had the audacity to pull a gun in public view, he’d follow through. I gulped, and my tongue scraped against my pinched dry throat.

Around the edge of the crowd, a head adorned by a bowler cap stuck out over the others. Jensen kept close behind like I’d asked. Our eyes met, and he jerked his head down. If we didn’t get out of direct eye soon, we’d garner official attention, and the captain would be angrier than a prodded lion. Sometimes a situation gave you a cornucopia of options, but sometimes the ballsy move was the only route to go.

I ducked.

Spinning around, I kicked out behind me. My boot hit solid leg, and his knee gave way. Matilda moved off Owen, and I dropped right as Jensen lined a shot, taking fire over the crowd. The bullets pummeled the man with the raised gun, and he hit the ground like jettisoned cargo as the sharp stench of gunpowder filled the air. The sound reverberated in my ear. His blood pooled on the worn dirt street, mingling with dusty pebbles.

Unfortunately Owen pulled his gun in the meantime and hid behind the girl. Several shouts ripped through the air on the sound of bullets, and a crowd gathered in the distance. Jensen muscled past the growing throng of people, but Owen’s finger jumped the trigger. I dove towards him and knocked the line of fire askew with a tackle. The bullet flew astray, ripping into the crowd. A scream flared through the air, and a young man’s knees buckled when the shot burrowed into his leg. Blood spurted from the wound as passersby swelled around him.

“Thick painted bastard,” I swore. I tried to bat the gun from Owen’s hands, but a horn pierced through the air, startling both of us. He took the distraction and scrambled up.

Owen yanked the girl by her shirt collar and dragged her away, still using her as a shield. Renewed anger seared through me at the sight of him batting her around, since I’d seen the same plenty of times before through younger eyes while I had watched from my cracked door. I whipped Matilda in his direction, but the girl stood in the way of any clear shot. I darted after him, and Jensen followed close behind.

Several people stepped forward as if they’d follow us, but the fluxing crowd closed around the injured man and dragged in the stragglers. Owen shoved past a vendor stand and knocked over the pearls and pendants lining the counter. We wove around the merchant while he bent over to pick up his wares. The girl’s collar bit into her neck, and she wheezed while they ran. Her face turned two shades bluer, offset by the dangling strands of her black hair. Anger tore at me like a rabid dog unable to let go that he dared to treat her that way.  

“You’re a pro at staying out of trouble, darling,” Jensen murmured.

I clenched my jaw. “We’re getting the girl away from him.”

“What about those authorities?” He jerked a thumb back at the suited officials filtering into the square.

“We’ll need to pick up our pace.”

Owen dodged behind another bright canopy but managed to vanish into the crowd. I squinted, cocking my head to the left. His overgrown shoulders protruded from behind several caravan tents stationed where the street emptied into a clearing.

I slapped Jensen’s shoulder. “Besides, what better way to deal with your hangover than to run it off?”

Jensen grunted and reloaded his gun. The sun struck the canopy, exposing Owen’s large shadow, so I sidled towards the clearing. We crouched behind the several low-lying bushes fringing the edges. 

“Looks like he’s hiding there. Coward,” Jensen said.

“Slavers always are,” I agreed and stopped in my tracks. Slaver rings weren’t run by one singular person, and the man who dodged in to help Owen had proved that. But how had he arrived so quickly? I placed a hand out to keep Jensen from moving forward. A man with a thick coarse beard peered out from one of the tents on the far left. Owen’s hands flew with signals, and the man ducked back inside. Of course. He’d go straight to his own caravan. We’d have to move fast if we wanted the girl, so Jensen and I crept around the other side with our guns cocked and ready.

The bright mid-day sun exposed their silhouettes on the canvassing. Owen’s hulking form squatted on the right, and the petite girl cowered beside him to the left.

“You tackle the big guy, I’ll grab the girl,” I mouthed. He nodded, and we jumped into action.

Jensen swung around the tent to confront Owen, and I looped around the opposite side. The girl crouched with her back against the canvas while she trembled. Her eyes widened as Jensen appeared. Owen turned at the sudden sound and raised his pistol, but Jensen didn’t hesitate. He smashed the butt of his revolver against Owen’s head, and a crunch echoed as the metal connected with his skull. Before I grabbed her wrist, I stared her straight in the eyes and nodded in the direction of the town, hoping she understood we were trying to rescue her. She followed without a fight.

Owen collapsed from the blow, but now we had a whole new problem. Jensen crouched beside us. The bearded man emerged from one of the other hovels and brought several burly friends. I guess we’d invited one too many to our tea party. 

Our silhouettes from the sun’s glare against the fabric made us easy targets. I scanned behind for any sort of cover, but aside from the bulky set-ups in front of us, no good rocks or crates cropped up along the empty campground. Several yards to the right, a leftover wooden merchant stand stood without canopy. I jabbed my finger in that direction, and Jensen followed my gaze.

A shot ripped through the canvas, and the bullet whizzed by my knee as I slammed to the ground. Anger still simmered through me, boiling too strong to allow fear. We couldn’t just stand there. The gap between the tent and the stand spanned several meters but under the glorious impossibility of open fire. Granted, our sad strip barely counted as cover. Jensen shoved us to the side right as another shot ripped through. That made my mind up.

I grabbed the girl’s hand, and we broke into a sprint towards cover. The loud booms of their sawed off shotguns blistered my hearing. I cocked Matilda and fired bullets into the fray, hoping they’d find their way into those blackened bits slavers called hearts. A couple screams burst from their end because even blinded, I was still a better shot than most.

A bullet tunneled into the dirt next to us. I rebounded using the soles of my feet and pushed us the extra distance toward the stand. Jensen dodged under the cover, and I followed, dragging the girl with me. This flimsy wood wouldn’t hold under the gunfire they emptied on us.

A shot burst through the front panel of the stand, and I motioned for the girl to get behind us. Silent, she followed our direction, even though she trembled with every step. I didn’t want to know what those bastards had done to her. Poking overtop the stand for a moment, I emptied my rounds into three different targets. Matilda gave off a hollow click, and shots stopped firing.

I ducked back down with a curse and pulled open the leather pouch by my side. No more ammo. Jensen peered over the stand but dove back when another round of gunfire bit into our shoddy cover, sending splinters flying and chips scraping past my arms. An alarm sounded from behind, and the officials ran towards the clearing.

“We need to get out, now,” I spat.

“Really? We shouldn’t have gotten ‘in’ from the start. You and your sentimental crap tossed us into this.” His eyes darted over to the girl. I clenched my jaw, and my free hand tensed into a fist. Matilda dangled in my other. Jensen might have logic on his side but that didn’t make him any less of an ass.

“Well, we’re in it now. How are we going to dodge the authorities?” A bullet whistled by overhead, so we ducked again as shots rang through the air and bounced around us. I glanced behind. Three uniformed men jogged down the trail towards the clearing.

They didn’t care about our Robin Hood heroics to save a girl from slavers. We killed several men at this point, and they’d throw all of us, slavers included, into a holding cell. That cooked up a big batch of dead man’s stew. We were no use to the captain there, and we still had to report back about the warehouses, and all the while those officials barreled into a hot zone. My mind ticked like the hand of a pocket watch as they approached. Who would draw more attention, men firing at them or three lone escapees?

I placed an arm over Jensen’s broad back and drew him in close. “All right. Here’s the plan. Once the authorities cross into the clearing, we’re going to run. Do not fire at them or at the caravan. Don’t even brandish your gun.” My heart pounded inside my chest. We’d have to get our timing on this perfect. If we used the authority arrival to our advantage, the slavers might focus on the new intruder entering the scene. I pinched Jensen’s cheek. “Don’t you love this gorgeous bed of roses I planted for us?”

“Wouldn’t know what to do without your bed planting.” He winked. I counted the seconds, and the men drew closer. Their strong and uniform strides carried them swiftly across the distance. The group of five or six men carried military grade shotguns. I honed in on each step, shutting out the noise from the bullets littering the ground around us.

The authorities entered into the clearing.

“Now!” I shouted, and we ran. A pregnant pause held like a tensile bubble through the air while we sprinted back towards the path. The authorities whirled toward us with guns drawn and ready to open fire.

I’d tucked Matilda away, and Jensen plunked his pistols back into the holsters, but I prayed they didn’t perceive our headlong run as a threat. I bit my lip. If the slavers didn’t start firing again soon, we ran straight into the embrace of a holding cell. My skin crawled with anticipation, but my legs kept running. The official nearest to us placed a finger on his trigger, and my self-preservation begged me to stop. I didn’t.