A Tale of Two Airships (Take to the Skies Book 2) (3 page)

I lifted a brow at Mordecai. “And I make the messes?” As I crouched down to examine the body, my chest tightened. These guys meant business of a death and doom sort of variety, which didn’t bode well for our meeting. Though part of me wanted to turn around and call this whole thing off, the need to know why seized me greater, demanding I find answers. What could I do? I had a terminal case of curiosity from birth. Besides, behind Isabella’s bluster, I caught the fear lurking in her eyes. Those gypsy bastards had her scared, which switched my temper to a boil. No one got away with threatening my friends.

“So, girlie, do you think we can make a barter with our contact? I’m guessing they’re best of friends.” I plunked my pistol into my holster.

Isabella’s brows scrunched together while she kept the last of the three attackers pinned. His eyes widened as he stared at the bodies of his friends on the pavement.  “It depends. After all, they were pretty quick to cut me loose despite the fierce promises of blood and family.”

“Counterpoint, Mordecai?” I asked. Lucky for me, two gypsies of differing clans and experiences would help me form a balanced viewpoint of the situation.

“Depends on the clan—each one’s different.” He shrugged.

I wrinkled my nose and let out a sigh. So much for an informed decision. Looks like I’d be playing this the way I always did—plunging in headfirst. “Well, let’s get going to the Rusty Scupper. We’ve got a client to meet with and confront.” I grinned at the man Isabella kept obedient by force. “You, as the luckiest of lads, get to be leverage.”

Isabella placed an arm around his shoulders and slipped her knife to his side, ensuring the blade stayed out of view. Only someone who paid close attention would notice, and most wouldn’t interfere.

“One move, cherie, and you’ll join your friends.” She gave him a smile, all sugar, and proceeded to take the lead through the streets of Shantytown. Jack shoved his hands in his pockets, a frown on his face.

“There’ll be plenty of time for you to shine, soldier,” I murmured, leaning in beside him. “After all, alleys don’t hold a candle to dive bars.”

All around us, folks jabbered at one another, paying us little mind apart from a group of kids, probably orphans, who gawked at us until I winked their way. Knives glinted, wielded openly in palms, and most guys and gals around this part of town displayed their holsters with pride. Dissuaded common thieves and the like, as anyone who spent time in a bad neck of the woods knew. I scrubbed at the hem of my blouse peeking from under my copper plated bustier. A couple flecks of blood stained the white fabric, and they wouldn’t be coming out any time soon.

In the distance, the Rusty Scupper’s awning stood out with letters illuminated by the glow of the sun. Rotting meat wafted along in the breeze, followed by a cloud of smoke trailing from inside. The smile on my face widened the closer we got to the fire hazard of a bar. An old jukebox piped out scratchy melodies, mingling with the shouts and laughter inside. Even if our client tried a turnabout on us, I knew how to operate in places like these. Dirt and rot gummed the lining between the bricks, which themselves were chipped and faded.

“Ready to go make some new friends?” I glanced to Isabella, her captive, Mordecai, and Jack. Without waiting another second, I pushed the door open and strolled inside. Already, my nerves frayed, my temper boiled, and my lack of patience was at an infinitesimal low. If our contact thought they’d overtake us, they had no idea what a hurricane they were about to unleash.

“Let me at ‘em, Captain.” Jack grinned, following suit. Stepping inside, the scent of cigar smoke wafted sharp in the air, and the cloying perfumes of the waitresses working made for one choking inhale. The second I walked in, I scanned every angle of this place for any unfriendlies who might be glowering in the background for us. If our contact happened to be the sort who dabbled in hired thugs and sabotage, chances were they’d utilize the same techniques here.

An old vet sat at the bar, redcoat hanging off the chair, and even though the words were rough around the edges, a posh English accent still pervaded his speech. Behind the splintered wooden bar, the barkeep gave us a cursory glance before continuing his chat with one of the waitstaff. Her low cut top sloped along her breasts, showing enough smooth skin to attract anyone’s attention. My hand rested on Matilda, and the floorboards creaked as we sauntered our way across the room.

Most of the tables this time of day were empty, because nightlife at the bars was a young man’s game. Since we weren’t meeting with the card-playing locals who slouched in their seats, nursing pints or the old biddy in the corner with her legs propped on the table, our contact had to be a certain gentleman who sat, stiff-backed, and mid-sip on his glass of absinthe when he spotted us.

Raven hair, eyes the color of amber, and a sharp jawline made this gentleman stand out all the more amidst a bar of roughshod and skunked-ale sour men and women. This man’s refined sort of cunning pinged my distrust meter. I liked rough around the edges and never trusted posh and polished—too cutthroat for the likes of me.

However, it wasn’t until I glanced to Isabella that I stopped in my tracks. Her face had paled, and her shoulders tensed as her fingers tightened around her blade.

A second later, Isabella’s fear purpled to fury as she pinned him down with her gaze. “What the hell are you doing here, Julian?”

Chapter Three

Julian stood and gave a mocking half-bow. I already developed a disdain for our contact before we stepped foot in this place, but knowing he was Isabella’s ex-husband skyrocketed my feelings to outright hatred. This man wore arrogance like a tailored waistcoat, and though his features could be described as attractive, I had the feeling whatever came out of his mouth would ruin the package.

“Was he the intended contact?” Mordecai asked as all four of us glowered at this man.

“No, and I’d bet my pretty little pocketwatch he jumped in the second he found out who they were dealing with.” I placed my hands on my hips and marched to him first. “We found your friend in the alleyway, so let’s make this short. You’ll explain what the hell is going on, and maybe you’ll get this asshole back. The second you try any funny business, your friend here will join the other two in the depths.”

“Why are you here, Julian?” Isabella asked through gritted teeth. The shock faded, replaced by bitter anger glittering in her dark gaze. She sat at the table, jerking her captive down into the rickety chair beside her. I snagged the spot across from him while pressing my palms on the table, and Mordecai and Jack stole two chairs from nearby.

“My dear, you always think it’s about you.” His smooth voice contained the exact amount of slimy I expected. She must have been thinking with her hormones when she married this gem.

“Probably because it is.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re not about to turn this shit around and make her feel crazy, because you assholes sent her the sparrow in the first place, and then happened to tangle yourself in her ship’s business. I’m no moron—she’s the only big connecting factor.”

The shift in Isabella was small, but I noticed. Some of the anger leeched away, replaced by the poise I’d known her so well for and the solid control she never let go of. Even with an asshole ex as a curveball, she straightened her mask back in place and returned to the formidable force I trusted at my back.

“Come now, why such hostility? We’re here for a business meeting.” His cultured voice grated my nerves to ribbons as he continued with his feigned civility. “Why not order a drink and settle in. If you feel the need to keep your knife on a member of our clan, Isabella, you may, but I think you’ll find it unnecessary.”

A sour frown turned my lips. Gods, I hated men like him. Smug and domineering were an instant recipe for a brawl in my book.

“Do what you want, Isabella.” I didn’t look away from Julian, lifting my chin and meeting his gaze. “Either way, if the guy tries to run, he won’t get far.” Though I wanted to not order a pint out of spite, my parched throat could use the refresher. One of those tarted-up waitresses wandered over, and I ordered us a round. Except for Julian and captive-boy—they didn’t deserve a cent from me.

We sat in silence as I let my temper simmer while we waited for the pints. A couple glances followed our way out of a grim sort of curiosity, but most refused to meet my eyes. The air around us thickened like the wake of a fired shot and with the matching scowls we wore it wasn’t about to clear up any time soon.

Finally, I got fed up with glaring at everyone and skipped past the niceties. I never much cared for tact anyway. “So what kind of job is it you want us to do?” I asked.

“I’ve always heard Americans were aggressive. Thus far you’re proving all the rumors true,” Julian said, following with another sip from his glass of absinthe. His lazy glance spelled danger, and I didn’t trust the stiffness of his stance to be upper class rigidity and not armed caution. The gypsies wouldn’t send an idiot, which meant anyone who appeared so at ease was as dangerous as our resident sword-for-hire, Mordecai.

“Care to explain why you’re stalling?” Mordecai asked.

I raised my brows, appreciating we’d brought along our talent. The man had been an asset from day one and continued to prove his worth. Julian’s lips curved into a smile, proving Mordecai’s statement true. At that moment, the waitress plunked our ale onto the table, frothy liquid sloshing over the sides and creating damp spots on the chestnut surface.

“Well now, all these questions and I don’t know which one to respond to,” he continued, with a lazy smile on his face. Once Mordecai pointed it out, the signs were clear—the way he turned roundabouts in the conversation, how he sat here in no rush, and the way his gaze kept slipping over to Isabella as if he were looking to start an argument. Most of our contact meetings were couple word affairs, a passing of ships in the night as they’d finish their pint and leave while we got ours.

“Answer his.” I jerked a thumb at Mordecai and took a long swig of ale. The sort they served was nuttier and darker than the stuff I normally swigged but not shabby. Not like I claimed any expertise—a pint was a pint and achieved the necessary purpose of calming me the hell down.

“Our request might seem rather unsavory to this one.” He glanced to Isabella who lifted a brow. “After all, it involves stealing a necklace from her grandmother’s estate.”

I stopped mid-sip when he said it and spluttered. “Estate? Isn’t that for fancy rich folk?”

Julian fixed his gaze on Isabella. “So, you haven’t told them.”

“Told us what?” I jumped in, staring down Isabella all the same. I thought I’d known most of her secrets, but the woman remained a constant enigma even to her closest friends.

“Just because she was blood doesn’t mean I’m like her,” Isabella shot back, lifting her chin. She tucked a loose curl behind her ear, not quite meeting my gaze. “My grandmother forsook her heritage, marrying into a wealthy family even though her father was the clan Elder. However, my mother ditched the riches and rejoined with the clan. I’d never met my grandmother and don’t recognize her as such.” I acknowledged her response, and my surprise faded. Whatever her reasons for divorcing herself from the past, I trusted they were as good as her ones for separating from this scumbag.

Our captive slouched in his seat, even with Isabella’s knife by his side and ready to dive in at the first wrong move. Julian barely cast him a glance though, and for the life of me, I couldn’t gauge their reason for sending folks to rough us up if they wanted to hire us. From the get-go, this whole situation stunk like Edwin’s hydroponics, and clear answers drifted far from the dock.

“Please, explain to me why our clan wants anything of theirs so badly they’d resort to contacting the shameful exiled one.” The bitter tang of old, unhealed wounds dripped from her words. Whatever they wanted, Isabella was right, we had every reason to be suspicious.

“There’s a jewelry box at the estate, and inside is the heirloom necklace of your great-grandfather, and one of your claims to rule the clan. Since Anton passed without an heir, the only other ones with ties are so flimsy everyone’s been in an uproar. Some have made it clear with your bloodline, it’s your birthright, and since your great-grandfather was the elder before Anton, you have the strongest claim. Others, like the gentlemen you offed in the alley and the one you’re holding captive, think it’d be easier to murder the competition and sway the clan their way. The item we’re seeking of your grandmothers would give you the right to make the choice.”

My brows lifted. Isabella, Queen of whatever mystery clan she came from? She’d mentioned the name of hers maybe once or twice, but the woman guarded her secrets with the possessiveness of Seth and his flask. Her lips pursed, but her expression didn’t shift much—so she’d been aware of her place in the ranks all the while.

“So what’s the deal? We steal this box from the estate, and you’ll pay us? Do you have anything to go on?” I asked, though to be honest, the mere mention of retrieving a box made me want to run screaming in the opposite direction. “You do realize if we take on this job, I’ll be expecting you folks to rein in your jihad gypsies hell bent on taking out my girl.”

“Of course,” Julian murmured, passing a folded sheet. I opened the crinkled paper to view the blueprints of one massive estate.

“And who the hell owns it now to keep Isabella from waltzing inside and claiming it?” My palms circled around my pint as I hunched forward. Though I hadn’t tied together all the loose threads here, at least he spilled information in abundance on this topic.

Isabella heaved a bitter sigh. “My relatives, but I’m certain they don’t know I exist. If I asked, they’d be suspicious; however we could easily arrange an audience due to my bloodline. Retrieving this item should be simple.”

“Simple is one thing.” I turned to Isabella and avoided Julian’s calculating stare. “Are you okay with this job? Say the word, and we’ll find another.” Even though I meant my words, we needed cash bad. On top of that, if this brought us the chance of making an alliance with the gypsies, I’d leap on the connection. Not because I liked them—so far they’d been a splinter in my heel—but because we had an overabundance of groups who wanted us dead.

“It took us this long to find the job, and chances are this is what they wanted to talk with me about anyway. I’m in, on one condition—they provide a different contact. Five minutes and I’m already sick of his face.” She frowned, keeping her focus on me rather than him.

“I’m sitting right here, you know,” he commented, waving his fingers for attention.

“We know. We just don’t care,” I dismissed him. “Let’s get some easy money then. Can you promise a change in contacts?”

Julian nodded with an assured smugness in his gaze, making me want to retract my statement on principle alone. “So we have a deal. I’ll meet you in three days time, and we’ll make the exchange.” He extended his hand.

Begrudgingly, I clasped it and shook, confirming the deal. A man’s worth was judged on the promises he made and kept, from handshakes to any sort of gentleman’s agreement. If I made a deal, by storm or hellfire, I’d keep it.

Not everyone followed our code, but if they proved themselves dishonorable, we’d switch to cold steel. I might give folks a chance, but I wasn’t a fool—I planned for the worst regardless. And as it stood with her clan, even though Julian sat here delivering velvet promises, I hadn’t chewed and swallowed yet. I simply hadn’t pieced enough of the puzzle together to gauge our plan of defense.

Julian flipped his pocketwatch open, glancing at the face. “As much as I’d like to stay and chat, I have work to do.” He finished his absinthe with a cog-like efficiency, placing the empty glass down for the barkeep to collect. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be taking my tribe member with me. The council of elders will judge his actions.”

Though her rose lips jutted out with her frown, Isabella removed the knife to his side and pushed him from his seat. He stumbled towards Julian. Since the man sat there like a bloated fish carcass, keeping him proved pointless. However, I didn’t trust the cool confidence with which Julian waved farewell as the two men strode out the door.

The second they left, I turned to my team. Isabella, Mordecai, and Jack appeared three shades of troubled as they sipped their pints. While I scanned the blueprints my stomach sank. Not from anything I perused—those prints marked out the plan clear as day, but because this rendezvous had been too easily explained. Too simple. I’d been through enough jobs high on distrust and laden with complications—that was the norm. Yet large holes gaped through the fabric of their story.

Why not retrieve it themselves and then call for Isabella? Had those men been after her, or the rest of us? Something was off on this job and in the way they sent Isabella’s ex by his lonesome to greet us.

If I were in their shoes, choosing him would be a premeditated move—the perfect distraction.

My stomach plummeted, and though my mind probed for answers, my gut tugged hard. We’d made a huge mistake somewhere along the way, and I grew quite certain we’d pay for it dearly. Queasiness overrode me, and bile threatened to rise in my throat.

“Finish your ale,” I commanded. “We’re heading back to the Desire.”

The three of them must’ve sensed the urgency in my voice as they downed their pints in unison.

“I don’t trust him in the slightest.” Isabella plunked her mug onto the counter.

“Nor do I,” Mordecai agreed as he stepped up from his seat and readjusted his scabbard.

“He’s an ass, but am I missing something?” Jack asked while we exited the bar.

“Stay in this business long enough, and you’ll learn to trust your gut.” The sunlight glared down on us, causing me to squint. “And my instincts are roaring right now.”

Though all around us the streets bustled like they had before, I couldn’t shake the weight in my stomach or the chill raising the hairs on my arms. I double-timed it, trusting the others to keep up. My boots crossed cobblestones three at a time as I made my way back to the docks. Before we pushed forward on this job, we’d have a sit down with the crew and figure out our steps, see if anyone else might spot something we missed. Though I’d allowed Isabella to keep her secrets, now they spilled into everyone’s business.

Above, the sun shone pure innocence as it washed over our backs, heating our cheeks. Clear skies meant little to any sailor though—we knew how fast storms whipped through on the horizon with no notice at all.

Isabella couldn’t be the sole reason they contacted us. Their pitch seemed all too convenient—after all, they hadn’t bothered with her all these years. Why now? The question plagued me with every hurried step.

As my boots hit the planks of the docks though, jitters began to tingle through me. My insides squeezed as I kept focus ahead. Had to return to my girl.