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She spun around, her eyes falling on the dead man before finding mine. It took me a moment to notice no one was left around us. Two men were running for the carriage door, deciding their life was worth more than dying here. The rest were sprawled on the ground around us, blood soaking into the straw.
Heaving in air, I wiped blood from my face, going over the bodies. A few would not be moving for a while, their injuries so severe they’d be in comas for weeks while they healed. Another one sputtered out his final gasps, but the rest lay immobile.
Dead.
The women and men who had minded their own business were tucked into balls against the wall, sniffing and crying softly, staring at us in terror.
My attention drifted to Scarlet, taking in her tiny, delicate frame. She was covered in blood, bruises, and cuts, hair tangled and messy, now left in only a black lace bra and a scrap of what was left of her sweater dress covering her ass.
Brushing hair off her face, she tilted her chin up, her green eyes landing on mine with sureness. “I told you I might be useful.”
“Might be?” I stuttered and stumbled, my head wagging, peering around the bodies. “What the fuck was that?”
“What do you mean?” She straightened the patch of clothing she had on, like it was just slightly out of place, not nearly gone. I noticed eyes still on her, their attention on her practically naked body. Fae weren’t prudes; we loved nudity and were very comfortable with our bodies, unlike a lot of humans. But something about her had me feeling protective. Like she was too young to be leered at in such a way.
“Don’t play stupid,” I growled, tearing off my jacket. I marched up to her, trying to plaster it over her body. “How the hell do you know how to fight that way?”
“You mean how did a young, naive, rich girl with fancy earrings know how to defend herself?” She blinked at me, playing innocent. “Guess you don’t know everything about me, old man.” She brushed by me, swinging my jacket onto her shoulder like she was on a runway instead of covering herself, strolling to an empty area by the sliding door.
“Oh, hell no,” I muttered, storming after her. “What you did wasn’t just defending yourself.” I motioned back behind me. “That was skill. I know people trained in war who don’t fight like that.”
She shrugged, lowering herself to the ground. “My brother and I were trained young to protect ourselves. We had excellent teachers.”
“Where was that wonderful training last night?” I quipped.
“I wasn’t…” Shame and deep sadness shifted over her expression, tears watering her eyes, instantly making me regret my words. Her friends were murdered right in front of her, a gun held to her temple. She fought back more than most would in her shoes and was holding up extremely well under the circumstances.
My friends were murdered in front of me, and I did nothing to save them either.
I waited for her to continue, but she looked away, twisting the red stone ring on her finger, signaling the conversation was over. I could sense there was alot more she wasn’t telling me. A depth beyond the spoiled rich girl. But pushing her to answer would mean I cared to know more, which I didn’t.
She was a hiccup in my plan, but she would soon be on her way back home and no longer my problem.
Standing over her like the big bad wolf, huffing and puffing, a strangled cry hummed in my throat, my fists balling. Whipping around, I stomped back for the bodies, grabbing the heels of each one and dragging them to the rickety wood door. The wind howled when I slid it open, thrashing icy flakes and freezing air against my skin. Darkness consumed everything beyond the glow of fire lanterns inside the wagon, the speeding train going too fast to see anything more than thick, prickly brush along the tracks.
Without a word, Scarlet joined me, grabbing their arms. Dead or alive, human or fae, we dumped each man out of the moving cart into the hostile landscape. Tree fairies were usually pacifists. Maybe my childhood with my parents spoke of peace and no violence, but my life had shown me the opposite, especially being friends with Warwick. Everything about him was violence, death, rage, and war.
The one thing I had learned in this last year was that I was no different.
But certainly, rapists didn’t deserve any consideration in my book. If they lived through this, then fine, but if these chilling temperatures and the brutal fall killed them, I was more than okay with that.
Not a word was spoken between us, and no one said a thing when we slammed the door shut. The red-tainted hay was the only thing left of what happened. Everyone minded their own business, keeping their heads down.
“Put that on.” I nodded at my jacket, noticing Scarlet shiver from the cold. “And try to get some sleep.” I found a clean spot and settled in. “I won’t be going anywhere.”
“Why did you leave, anyway?” She curled herself up against the wall, wrapping my jacket around her, her gaze on me.
Pulling up one knee, I stared blankly out, shamed for needing to get drunk, to be numb so badly it was the only thing I could think of. I left her vulnerable and alone, even when I knew better.
“Doesn’t matter. It won’t happen again.” I shifted, settling deeper in, my gaze not meeting hers. “Get some sleep.” I wrapped my arms around myself, leaning into the wall and closing my lids.
Somehow, I could feel her eyes on me, burning into the side of my face as if she was peeling back all my layers and seeing the truth. My heartache, guilt, shame, anger, and agony. Everything I was trying to drown in drugs, sex, and booze.
Squeezing my eyes tighter, I ignored the sensation sizzling at my skin, an awareness of this person who had been a perfect stranger until the night before. I didn’t like it. At all.
I had no time to be a babysitter.
“Tomorrow, whatever you need to do or whoever you need to contact, you are heading back.” I huffed out with authority.
