Merc's Revenge

It was all very innocent in his…house. It was a cave, a stable, a hideout of sorts, far on the outskirts of New Mecca, but filled to the rafters with bits of busted jewelry and rigged up strings of oil lamps, bags of food, cartons of cigarettes, gutted machinery, computer panels, five pair of black boots, and a few collars and shackles, the kind mercs use, broken and battered in a pile like picked over bones.

He lit the lamps then brought over a pail of near boiling water and some gray rags.

"Alright sweets, take your pants off."

I hestitate and he threw a blanket at me. "Give me a break. I'm not in the mood right now."

i unbuckled my pants and wrapped the grimy blanket around my waist, stretching out on the bed. Cleaning the leg wound first, he performed the task in silence and with great concentration. It stung in a wonderful, cleansing way, and I sucked gasps of air through clenched teeth. I dug my fingers deep into his shoulder and he didn’t even flinch.

“Don’t move good girl,” he said, wrapping cleaner rags around the leg. “It’s not broken.”

I watched him carefully as he cleaned my arm, his face just inches from mine. Scars. He had scars all over his body that were hidden behind smoke and hair. Sideburns to the middle of his cheeks made him a bit more angular, more animal. Marks from knives, scratches, a jagged line from left jaw to temple. Some were much fresher than others.

“OK, hold on,” he said, getting up. I heard one of his knees crack. He pulled off his jacket and let his suspenders fall. There was another scar on his bicep, a tattoo of a gravestone.

When he came back he had a syringe filled with a cloudy liquid. This was the end for me, I was sure of it. I’d bought into that smile. I hobbled to the furthest corner of his cave and he shook his head at me.

“What? Scared of needles? Come on.”

“Get away from me,” I said, holding out the first thing I grabbed. It was a keyboard of some sort. Definitely not a weapon.

“What? Gonna write me up?” He said, calmly walking closer. He wasn’t smiling as widely as before, but he wasn’t particularly threatened. If anything he was curious as to what was going to happen. “You keep running around like a rabbit and you won’t heal up. Look, your leg is bleeding again.”

I didn’t look away from him. “What is that?”

“It’s fucking morphine, what did you think it was, a sperm sample?”

“I…I don’t know. Where would you get morphine?”

“Where would I get anything? Where do you get anything?”

“You stole from a hospital? From a doctor?”

He didn’t answer. “Come over here. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s a painkiller OK? It’ll help you sleep. It helps ME sleep. OK? Don’t worry.”

He crept closer and quickly grabbed my elbow. Without warning, he pushed my head to the side and jabbed the needle into my neck. It stung briefly, then ached in waves of pain. Warmth spread down my throat. I cried out and stumbled away. I could feel, hear my own pulse.

“It works faster if you stick it there. You’ll feel real good in about a minute.”

He was right. He wavered in front of me. I breathed in through my nose, a loud, rushing breath, and fell forward into his chest.

“You have a pretty smile,” I said.