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I recognised that tattoo as one Kane had. The one that had looked new. The rose with a cross stem and pentagram. I wondered what it meant. In our world, tattoos were messages, labels. It could be as simple as Angels getting matching tattoos after a particular fight or getting drunk and randomly picking something out of the tattooist’s book, or it could mean affiliation. Sinister or otherwise.
Then I felt a blade at my throat, and I gave zero shits about anyone’s ink. “The same fate doesn’t await you, Miss Vanguard,” the guy behind me said into my ear.
The first guy walked towards us, and I realised they were all wearing the same jacket. A black bomber with ‘BB’ in red on the left chest side. They probably had ‘Black Bloods’ scrawled across their backs like they were trying to be some motorcycle club.
“I’m going to enjoy making you bleed,” he said with an evil smirk.
“I’ve been more scared,” I told him harshly.
“Oh, I’m not done with you, yet,” he said.
He stopped in front of me, and I squirmed against the guy holding me. I felt his knife slip and slice my right shoulder.
“Idiot,” the first guy snapped. “Get them to the nest.”
Then something hit me in the side of the head, and everything went black.
† † † †
I woke up with a pounding headache and tied to a chair back-to-back with Florence. At least, I hoped that was Florence behind me, trying to loosen her bonds.
“Floss?” I whispered.
“Harlow?” There was a flood of relief in her tone.
“How long was I out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are we?”
“Don’t know that either. They put our phones on the table over there.”
I looked around and saw what looked like an abandoned warehouse or factory. It was dirty and dusty and incredibly poorly lit. Some wan moonlight filtered in from outside and I could just make out pillars and boxes dotted around. There seemed to be some old machinery lurking in the semi-dark, but I was definitely not the person to ask about identifying shadowed machinery.
“I like what they’ve done with the place,” Florence said, matter-of-fact.
“I hear hobo chic is making a comeback,” I replied.
“Nice interrogation tactic, leaving us alone to shit our pants for a while.”
“Very O’Malley-esque,” I said, pretending I knew anything about it.
“From the school of Kincaid,” Florence added, clearly picking up the joke – such as it was – because it was better than either of us acknowledging we might actually be in a bit of danger here.
“Of course, handed down from the Volkovs.”
I felt her chuckle, then we sat in silence for a little while.
“So…” Florence started, and I felt her testing the bonds at our backs. “Is this the kind of escape you had in mind?”
I sighed and leant my head back against hers. “Yeah, not so much.”
“We really should have told someone where we were going.”
“Yes, thanks. I’ll just go back in time and do that, will I?”
“That would be helpful, thanks.”
