Page 23 of The Only Way Out Is Up

“Stars know I understand that. But I’m trying to do what she would have done, and that means keeping everyone safe.”

“Well you can stop!” I slam my hand against the wall. “I can handle myself. Haven’t I proven that by now?”

“By coming back half dead? By sneaking out and lying to us?”

“Someone has to take chances! If you had your way, we’d all be tucked up safe and sound and fucking starving to death!”

The look on his face makes my gut twist. Shit. Shit shit shit. Why am I doing this? He’s my brother, and I love him more than anything else in the world. Which means I know how to hurt him better than anyone.

“If Fara was alive, she would tell you the same thing,” Somi says.

Of course, the same goes for him. I turn away, not wanting him to see the tears pricking my eyes. Before I realize it, I’m stalking for the door.

“Where are you going?” he calls after me. Plaintive, like a fucking child.

“Out,” I mutter. I doubt he hears.

NINE

This late in the evening the Stair market has a different feel. The day-pass workhouse inmates have returned to their bunks and been replaced by the scavengers, returned after a long day’s combing through the Heap. Those who were lucky enough to find a rich vein of scrap have money in their pockets, and they’re eager to spend it on booze, sex, and food, typically in that order. So vendors of tools and cloth have packed up and been replaced by the rotgut-slingers, the barbeque carts, and the whores, all eager to relieve lucky scroungers of their winnings.

I don’t come here often; the atmosphere grates on my nerves. Other people my age can afford to blow a day’s lucky break on a plate of pork ribs and a night with a pretty partner. I’ve never had that luxury, thanks to Somi’s generosity. But tonight, if only to piss him off, I can at least get fucking drunk.

I pay a bit for a mug of vile swill, the sort of stuff that’s only good for dissolving your synapses or stripping paint. Several half-dressed women home in on me like hungry rats scenting bacon, but I wave them away and stare determinedly into my drink. Nobody else bothers me. Plenty of better prospects than the gloomy fucker hunched over his booze like he expects it to escape.

Fucking Somi. Fucking… life.

I don’t blame him, is the thing. I can’t. He’s just doing what Fara spent her life doing: taking care of everyone she possibly could. If not for that I’d almost certainly be dead; like Somi and Spike, I was a baby nobody wanted. Fara took us in and raised us. Somi feeding Ema and Athie and Gort and the rest is just his way of paying her back.

It’s not that I’d want it any other way. I just wish Somi would admit what’s been obvious to me for a while: Selling mash-bread isn’t going to cut it. We need the money I bring in from the tunnels to stay afloat. Just like Fara needed her… other job. The point is…

I’ve gotten through about half the glass and I’m having a hard time remembering what the point is.

I sober up real fast, though, when a meaty hand lands on my shoulder.

“Taj,” a low voice rumbles in my ear. “You’re looking well. Very healthy.”

Rekas. The big enforcer gives me a smile, the triple scar of the Clawmarks standing out white on his ruddy cheek.

“Too bad about the fight,” he says. “Tough break. But I’m sure you’ll have that runic up and stumbling about in no time.”

I grunt something noncommittal, eyes fixed on my drink.

“I heard you had a big score lately. Brought home some goods.” He kneels down behind me until he’s level with my ear. “Don’t you think some of that lucre ought to go to your kindly Uncle Claw?”

It’s never a good idea to talk back to a Clawmark, but I’ve got alcohol in my veins and rage in my stomach. I scrape the chair back and stand up to look him in the ugly face.

“We’re paid up until next month. So fuck off.”

“Hmm,” Rekas says. He stands, too, rising up and up until he towers far above me. “Oh. Oh. I see.” He puts a hand to his scarred cheek in mock surprise. “The fat kid didn’t tell you.”

The bottom drops out of my guts. “Tell me what?”

He leans forward, eyes suddenly dangerous. “Uncle Claw raised your rate.”

Oh fuck. “How much?”

A toothy grin. “Double.”