I jump when I hear a weird static. Judge lifts a radio com out of his pocket—I haven’t seen those since the military base. “Go,” Judge says.
“Just got word from Skinner that Chops is on 74.”
Judge pauses, moving the radio slightly in his large, annoyingly manly and tattooed hand. And for some reason, I’m utterly mesmerized by watching him contemplate a decision. He holds it up to his mouth. “Execute.”
“Yes, sir.”
Before he can lower the device, it crackles again. “Rainstorm expected, too. Potentially turning into snow. Recommend break-off within the next two hours.”
Judge grips the wheel tighter, just for a moment, then nods. “Push through. Make it to Gunner’s. We ride out the storm there. Notify him.”
“Copy that.” The voice almost sounds relieved.
Judge lowers the radio, eyes scanning the horizon. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it—me, unarmed and barely dressed, sitting in the back of a moving prison with my kidnapper, and considering my odds like this is some kind of game. I almost want to ask if he’s going to just leave me back here while we drive… Wait… Why am I not attacking him?
Now I feel like an utter idiot.
As calmly as possible, I look around for anything, but see nothing except the canteen. My pockets are empty because I was too stupid not to have a weapon on me at all times. I glance around the vehicle. No tools. No sharp objects. Everything the Enclave had in here has been stripped.
I bet this is a part of an omega collection protocol. Keep all weapons away from me. Attacking him while driving also seems like a last resort, as it’ll likely kill me. I’m not above it, though, but like he already called out… I’m too chicken shit to get it over with. Maybe it’s because the adrenaline is wearing off, making it harder to commit. Time drags as I try not to think about what comes next, some part of me aware and worried that he could let many fuck me. Maybe I can beg. I’m not above begging. I’ll hate it, sure, but I’ll beg if I need to.
Or do I crash the car and take us both out first?
When does one make a decision like that?
My fingers keep dancing like I just need to do it and get it over with. Throw us into a tree…
In the distance is a settlement we passed on our way in, and everything slows. The caravan thins its formation as we come to a stop, remembering that last time we had to state our purpose and where we’re going. People approach a biker behind us—too many of them. I scoot toward the center of the seat, pulse spiking, staring directly at the center console.
Another radio crackles, and Judge picks it up like he’s been waiting for it. “They want to know if the omega is up for payment. They can smell her.”
My eyes widen, and Judge flashes his gaze in the rearview mirror at me, raising the device to his lips as he stares me down, pressing the button with his thumb. “No.”
“Copy, sir.”
What game is he playing? He’s making me feelrelieved.Like he might actually help me. It’s a fucked up psychological game, and I’m shocked how well it works.
They speak, and the man who approached looks at me through the window and then waves reluctantly to Judge. Once the car starts rolling, I sigh and close my eyes. He’s playing something. A long game. I can feel it in the tension that stretches between us like a wire about to snap.
Why is he soquiet?
Why amI?
Eventually, we pull up to a sprawling structure that looks like an old manor, with dark wood and brick retrofitted forsurviving in this new world. Judge spins the wheel with one hand, pulling us tight into the driveway. Then he steps out without a word.
The lights are on outside, this place flooding the night with its electricity. I watch as Judge goes around the car, something in me feeling vulnerable that he’s leaving me here, but survival returns, and I try to open my door, but it doesn’t budge. I back off when a woman starts approaching the jeep, her long black hair braided down the back. Her jacket barely contains her breasts, which are all smooshed up from a very capable zipper. Tall boots reach her knees, and she walks with a swagger.
I’m shocked when she opens the door and slides in, with Judge watching a few feet away. I scoot far to the other side of the door, jiggling it to see if it’s locked too. This woman smells like exhaust, sweat, and pine.
“Hey there,” she gently says, her voice smoky. She appears to be in her late forties, maybe.
I don’t answer.
She leans back, casual, removing her leather gloves to lay her hands in her lap, her nails painted red. She lifts her chin with pride, accentuating the tattoo of a skull across her neck. “Name’s Kitty. I’m the Iron Lady to Skinner. You’ll learn who that is in time.”
“What’s going on?” I finally ask. “Am I being sold here?”
Kitty snorts. “Oh, honey, no. That last stop was the only one that had the nerve to offer. They’referal. Like a pack of hyenas. You’re lucky you made it through the first time, but uh, I bet you didn’t smell like you do now.”
