James stirred from his light nap to find the rest of the group broken into their own circles. Laim and Raven were sitting at a table in the back, talking quietly. The two remaining guards and drivers had formed a small group of their own, their body language making it clear they weren’t exactly pleased with their employers. Even Ryan was still alive—somehow. The three surviving scientists stood huddled near the door, peering out into the hall as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows at any moment.

  Aurora, however, remained exactly where she had been—seated on the opposite end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, arms loosely folded. She was fast asleep, completely unbothered by their situation. Her breathing was slow and steady, her expression peaceful, as if she had no doubt she’d make it out of this alive.

  Now that James could get a proper look at her, he noted just how well-built she was. The Cryoweave jacket clung to her frame, snug around her chest and waist, accentuating her toned stomach and the curves beneath. She was fit—more so than any scientist he’d dealt with. Not just built for looks, but for something else. The way her body moved, even in sleep, was fluid, controlled—too practiced to be natural. Someone trained. Someone dangerous.

  His eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary before he forced himself to look away. Now wasn’t the time for distractions.

  With a quiet sigh, he pushed himself up and made his way over to Laim and Raven, the wooden chair groaning slightly as he pulled it out to sit. Both mercenaries shot him a look—not one of hostility, but of suspicion.

  James arched his brow. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, his tone casual as he leaned against the table.

  Laim didn’t answer right away, studying James with a calculating expression. It was Raven who finally spoke, her voice low and edged with curiosity. “You hide your capabilities really damn well.”

  James shrugged, his usual smirk creeping onto his face. “Of course I do. It’s better for me to be underestimated by my enemies.”

  The two exchanged glances, considering his words before Laim nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. “Yeah,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. “You’re right.”

  He gestured for James to take a seat.

  James smirked as he leaned back in his chair, glancing around at the others before asking, “So, what are we talking about?”

  “We’re telling tales of our contracts to pass the time,” Raven replied, rolling a knife between her fingers before planting the tip into the table with a soft thunk. “It’s a story for a story.” She exhaled. “This was a few years back. My contract was simple: track down and eliminate a guy called The Preacher. Sounds harmless, right? Except this bastard wasn’t preaching salvation he was leading a cult that was gutting people alive and calling it purification. They’d take in survivors, travelers, stragglers anyone desperate enough to believe their bullshit—then rip ‘em apart under the guise of ‘cleansing the soul.’”

  Raven’s orange eyes darkened slightly. “The payout was good. Real good. But I took the job because I’d seen what was left of one of his ‘ceremonies.’ Bodies strung up like decorations, faces twisted in agony, carved into scripture. The worst part? Some of them were still alive when I found ‘em.” She flexed her fingers as if shaking off the memory. “The hunt took me to an old cathedral in what used to be Charlotte, North Carolina. Place was half-collapsed, but these freaks had rebuilt it, made it look all holy and untouchable. I spent three days watching. The Preacher didn’t just run the show, he was the show. Wore this golden mask, walked around like some goddamn prophet, and had people hanging on his every word.” Her lip curled. “Night four, I moved in. Slipped through the ruins, managed to avoid the patrols. Got inside just as they were starting a ‘sermon.’ They had a girl, maybe fifteen. She was bound and crying on the altar. The Preacher was making a speech, knife in hand, ready to spill her blood in front of his flock.”

  She clenched her jaw. “I didn’t let that happen.” The smirk returned, sharp and predatory. “I dropped his guards first, silent and clean. A death to good for them. But someone always screams. Soon enough, it was chaos. I remember the way the Preacher turned to face me, that golden mask reflecting the firelight as I tore through his people. He tried to run like most cowards do. But I pinned him down before he could escape.” Raven’s fingers twitched. “I ripped that mask off his face. You know what I found? A scared little man with eyes that begged me to let him go. He tried to barter. Said he could make me ‘pure.’” She let out a dry chuckle. “I cut him up like he’d done to so many others.” Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “The cult fell apart after that. The survivors looted what was left. The girl lived. I never asked her name. Never saw her again.” Raven leaned back in her chair, picking her knife up from the table. “So. That’s my story.”

  Laim chuckled, shaking his head. “Not bad, but I got one better,” he said, stretching his arms before settling in. “This was back in the wastes of North Carolina, not far from the ruins of Raleigh. Place was crawling with raiders, but there was one gang in particular people feared—the Highway Butchers. They weren’t like most gangs that just wanted loot and power. No, these bastards took pleasure in making people suffer.”

  Laim’s expression darkened, the usual warmth in his features fading. “They’d ambush travelers, drag them back to their hideout, and take their time killing them. I don’t mean a a couple hour I mean days, sometimes weeks of torture. And they didn’t just kill for sport—they ate their victims.” James and Raven exchanged a glance, but they let him continue. “I was hired by a group of traders. They were sick of losing people to those animals and wanted the Butchers wiped out. I took the job without hesitation.”

  Laim’s fingers drummed against the table. “They had a fortress of sorts—an old truck stop reinforced with scrap metal, tires, and bones. Yeah, bones. These sick fucks decorated with their victims. I had a plan: wait for their next ambush and turn it against them. Took me a week, but I got my chance. They set up on an old overpass, waiting for a caravan. What they didn’t know was I was waiting for them. When they sprung their ambush, I sprung mine.” His lips curled into a smile. “I had set charges along the bridge supports earlier. Soon as they got comfortable, I blew the whole damn thing. Half of them went down in a rain of steel and stone. The rest? I picked them off one by one.”

  He exhaled, shaking his head. “But I wasn’t done. I made my way to their hideout that night. Stealth wasn’t an option; they were already on alert. So I went in loud. Grenades first, shotgun second.” James smirked. “Let me guess things got messy?”

  Laim laughed. “Messy is an understatement. These bastards fought like cornered animals. Had to put two in the head just to make sure they stayed down. Their leader, a big son of a bitch named Cutter, came at me with a machete—not a gun, not a club, but a goddamn machete.” He mimicked a wild swing. “Nearly took my arm off. But he got too confident. I let him think he had me, then put a knife through his eye.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Laim leaned back, satisfied. “By morning, the Butchers were no more. Traders moved through that stretch a lot safer after that. Got paid, got a bottle of whiskey as a bonus, and left before anyone could ask too many questions.” Laim glanced between James and Raven. “Well? Who told the better story?”

  James smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Damn good stories from both of you.” He took a sip from his flask, grinning. “But I gotta admit, I might have one that tops ‘em both.” Raven raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” Laim chuckled. “Alright, Grayson. Let’s hear it.” James set his drink down, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Alright. Story for a story.”

  James leaned forward, cracking his knuckles as he began. "Alright, first thing you gotta know—I wasn’t in Virginia at the time. I was all the way up in what used to be Maine. I was looking for an old friend, I’d heard rumors about him moving up there. And let me tell you if you think this wasteland is cold, you haven’t felt real cold. Even I had to put on heavier clothing, and that doesn’t happen often”.

  “Anyway, I was searching for him in this rundown town called Black Hollow. Place looked like it had barely survived the war—half-collapsed buildings, people bundled up in rags, scavengers watching your every move like starved wolves. I was poking around for information when this elderly man approached me. The guy looked like he was about to keel over at any moment, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He asked me if I was a mercenary, and, well, I said yes. I needed whatever passed for currency in these parts.

  “When I gave my answer, his face did this thing—like he was about to cry from happiness and heartbreak at the same time. He asked me to find his granddaughter. Which, on paper, sounded simple, right?” James let out a dry chuckle. “Wrong. It took me two whole weeks to find a single lead. Turns out she had been taken by a group called the Bloodfangs.”

  Laim let out a low whistle. “Shit. Them?”

  James nodded. “Yeah. Nasty bunch. Slavers, cannibals, raiders—you name it, they dabbled in it. Now, I don’t make a habit of doing rescues. Too many variables, too much chance for things to go sideways. But I took on the contract, so I followed the trail. Led me all the way into what used to be Canada. Figured I’d try to buy her back sometimes, it’s the easiest way. But when I got there, I found something I didn’t expect.”

  James leaned back, smirking slightly at their reactions.

  “The whole damn compound was in flames. Gunfire echoed through the trees, and from what I could tell, someone had beaten me to the punch. I had two choices: turn around and call it a loss or go in and see what the hell was happening.”

  James gestured toward himself. “Obviously, I went in.”

  The ruins of the Bloodfangs' camp were hell on earth. Smoke clogged the air, thick with the scent of burning flesh and gunpowder. The corpses of raiders were scattered across the compound, some riddled with bullets, others torn apart as if an animal had ripped into them.

  James moved in with his rifle raised, keeping his steps quiet. Whoever had done this was still here—he could hear the gunfire in the distance.

  He slipped through the ruins, stepping over bodies, passing through corridors of shattered wood and twisted metal. A pair of Bloodfang survivors were dragging a wounded member into cover. James took aim—two clean shots, one in the skull, the other through the throat. They crumpled, dead before they could react.

  The deeper he went, the clearer it became that this wasn’t a raid—it was extermination. Whoever was attacking wasn’t leaving anyone alive.

  James moved quickly. He reached the main hall just as a group of Bloodfangs were making their last stand. In the flickering flames, he saw them exchanging fire with another gang, from the look of them.

  It was over fast. They swept through like a goddamn storm, cutting the raiders down in a hail of bullets and steel. James took cover behind a crumbling wall, watching. Then, he saw her.

  A woman, no older than twenty, stood at the front of the attackers, her coat billowing behind her. She moved like she owned the battlefield, issuing orders with a voice that cut through the chaos. Her eyes burned with a ruthless fire, and her men followed her without hesitation.

  James wasn’t stupid. He’d been in this game long enough to recognize who was really in charge. Then he took out the picture the old man gave him and it was her.

  She was the one leading the slaughter.

  He watched as she walked through the wreckage, stepping over the bodies of the Bloodfangs like they were nothing but insects beneath her boot. This wasn’t just revenge—this was her claiming the throne. The Bloodfangs were gone. She had taken their place.

  James exhaled through his nose. Well, shit James left calling this job a bust.

  But that wasn’t the end of it.

  Three months later, James got another job. A hit. Someone powerful, someone who had a lot to lose if the new leader of the Bloodfangs kept expanding her influence wanted her gone.

  And they were paying very well.

  So James did what he always did. He took the contract.

  Tracking her down wasn’t hard. She had set up in the ruins of an old hydroelectric dam, using it as her stronghold. When James infiltrated the place, it was like stepping into a warlord’s palace armed guards, stolen tech, banners of their new sigil hanging from the rusted beams.

  She was in the control room when he found her. Alone. No guards. No gun in hand. Just standing there, looking out at the frozen landscape beyond.

  She somehow knew he was coming.

  He leveled his rifle at her back, but she didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Just exhaled and said, “I thought it would be you. After he only hires the best”

  James hesitated for a moment. Just a moment.

  Then he pulled the trigger.

  She dropped.

  And just like that, it was over.

  James dragged her body back through the frozen wasteland. He didn’t know why. He could’ve just taken a picture, sent proof, and been done with it. But something in him told him to finish what he started.

  When he got back to Black Hollow, he went straight to the old man’s shack.

  He didn’t say a word. Just laid her down in front of him.

  The old man didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. He just knelt down beside her, ran his fingers through her hair, and whispered, “You found her.”

  James turned and walked away. He didn’t ask for payment. Didn’t want it not this time.

  Laim let out a low breath. “Shit.”

  Raven just shook her head. “That’s one hell of a story, Grayson.”

  James smirked slightly, though there was no humor in his eyes. “Yeah. Guess it is.”