Page 4 of Bender

I’ve already made up my mind. I’ll take them home to the club. They’ll be protected and looked after there. They can heal and recover from their ordeal.

“I mind, Peanut. Nobody’s going to hurt you ever again. Not even me.” I’m still unsure why I feel so protective over this boy and girl, but I’m not the type to sit around with my thumb up my ass, pondering the whys and wherefores. I’m a doer and a make-shit-happen kind of guy. It feels right to think of these two as mine to care for, so I’m gonna go with it.

“You can’t make that kinda promise.” The boy’s words are weary, older than his years. I know trauma ages a person, but for the first time since I heard the two of them trying to keep quiet behind the wall, I wonder at their ages.

From the size of the limbs I’ve seen so far, I’d guess they’re in their teens. My stomach turns as I think of the horrors Huber inflected on these two innocents. If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him again. No questions asked.

“I sure as fuck can, Boy. As long as there’s life in this body, I’ll be standing between you and any harm coming your way. That’s a promise you can depend on.”

There are few things that truly mean anything to me. My brothers. Our club. My bike and the freedom I get on the rare occasions I get to take it out without any demands or limits on where it takes me. For whatever reason, fate’s decided these two made my list.

“We’ll see, I guess,” he mumbles.

I heft the weight of the two of them into my arms and stagger backward to the desk behind me. The surface is cleared off, because why would a wealthy shipping magnate slash criminal drug runner have work cluttering up his fancy office. I turn at the last moment before bumping against the wood and set down the heap of humans swaddled in curtain.

The grayest irises I’ve ever seen in my life stare up at me from a face so arresting I can’t tear my own eyes from him. This is no little boy. His angular face is all sharp cheekbones and mink dark brows slashed over stormy eyes cloudy with suspicion.

“You don’t look like a superhero, mister. Not like how Blu says they look. Are you sure you’re not a bad guy?” His interrogation is as innocent as it is fierce, and I’m reminded of how hard he’s worked to guard and protect the girl.

“Not a superhero, Peanut. But I’m also not a bad guy. Not to you, anyway.” My assurance must not be terribly convincing, because he wraps tighter around the unconscious girl entangled with him.

“What’s your name?” he demands.

“Konrad. My brothers call me Bender, though.” If I had any intention of walking away from the pair, I never would have let him see my face, much less told him my name. I wonder if he realizes that.

“Where’s our master? Is he really dead? What’s gonna happen to us now?” His rapid-fire questions tumble one after the other.

“On the floor over there. Don’t look. You don’t need to see that shit. What’s going to happen is, I’m going to get some clothes on the two of you, then you’re going to follow me to where my truck’s parked about a mile from here. Then you’re coming home with me. You’ll be safe there. Both of you. That’s a promise.”

“Can I trust you?” He’s suspicious, but even just guessing what he’s been through, I can’t fault him for it.

“You got any other options, Boy?” I can’t keep calling him Boy, but we need to get moving. I’ll get their full names later. When I’m sure they’re safe.

Chapter

Five

GREY

Superhero—or I guess he said his name’s Konrad—never asks my name. He just untangles me from the curtains, snaps the chain holding me and Blu together with a tool from his belt, and starts searching around the room. I don’t know what he’s looking for, so I keep my mouth shut.

I dunno why I let it bother me that he doesn’t care what our names are. Maybe because, for a minute there, I let myself believe Blu’s fairytale about being rescued. He’s not doing anything to rescue us right now, though. He’s just digging through drawers and pulling books off the shelves in sweeping armfuls.

I’m sitting on top of master’s desk, and even though Superhero told me not to look, I can’t stop staring at master’s body on the floor by the door. It looks like most of his head is gone, and I didn’t know anything could look so gross and so perfect at the same time.

“Told you not to look at that shit, Boy. You don’t need that image in your mind. You’ll have nightmares.” Superhero steps between me and master’s body, and I can’t help it. I lean to the side to keep staring at the gore all over the once spotless beige carpet.

“I already have nightmares, Superhero, not that it matters. I’m watching to make sure he doesn’t get up.”

He takes my chin in his giant hand and pulls me upright until I can’t see anything but him. “Half his head’s gone, Peanut. He’s dead. He’s not getting up. Now, cover your eyes and stop looking at shit that will make those nightmares even worse.”

“You’re not the boss a me,” I mumble.

“You can’t call me Superhero, and then not do what I tell you to do.” I’ve only known him for a little while, and already, I can hear how he feels when he talks. Blu says it’s my special talent to know what someone is feeling when they speak.

I already heard Superhero mad. And frustrated and disgusted and crabby. He doesn’t sound like any of those feelings now. He sounds happy. I don’t know what there is to be happy about, but I guess that makes sense since I’ve never felt happy.

“You want me to call you something else?” I ask. When master talked at us, we had to call him master or he’d get angry.

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