Page 8 of Savage Reckoning

Gabe

It’s unnerving to find Megan seated beside the pilot’s bed. I’d hoped our next encounter would be a little more private. I have some serious explaining and more than a little grovelling to do, and I can’t see any merit in doing it in front of an audience. Short of better options for now, I pull up a chair for myself and concentrate on charming the patient, only to realise that I’m actually using my real name these days. As soon as I introduce myself to the injured pilot, Megan’s astonished glare reminds me that she knows me by another name entirely.

Shit. Could this become any more of a clusterfuck? I decide to brazen it out.

I don’t miss her outraged expression, but fortunately for me, Megan lets Rome have the floor while he questions Magda.

I remain silent during the account of the crash. It all sounds like pretty standard battlefield stuff, except that it occurred over a sleepy English village. The last time I checked, the UK is not at war, and the crew and passengers are all alive to tell the tale. I’m impressed by Rome’s assertions that the pilot will be taken care of. My research before I flew over here from Minsk gave the impression that the Savage empire was run by a close-knit leadership team, and I now know that Megan and Magda both qualify as part of that.

His questioning complete, Rome swings his chair around and makes for the door. I need to follow him, but I’m keen to start building bridges with Megan, too.

“We need to talk,” I say, getting to my feet.

“You need to go to hell,” is her terse response. “I’ve nothing to say to you.”

“Megan, I know—”

“Fuck you, Ed Baker, or Sawyer, or whatever the fuck name you’re going by.” She sends me a withering glare. “Just, get out. Disappear.”

I treat her to a sardonic smirk, which is probably not the best approach, but what the fuck…? “I can tell now’s not a good time.”

“It’s not a good lifetime, jerk. Go be a lying, cheating wanker someplace else.”

I admit defeat, for now. “Later, then.” I take a few steps after Rome’s retreating chair.

“Are you still here?” Her gaze could slice diamonds.

“Evidently. It was pleasant meeting you, Magda.” I tip my head at both women and make a hasty exit. Well, as hasty as I can, considering the limp Megan left me with after our last encounter.

I manage to catch up with Rome before he disappears into the lift. “I’ll need details of this warehouse.”

“What warehouse?”

“The one your boss said was to be the venue for his meeting in two hours.”

He tilts his head to look up at me. “What gave you the impression you were invited?”

“You need me.”

His eyebrows disappear under his dark-auburn hair. “You think?”

“I know. And in case you don’t quite get it yet, we’re on the same side, so maybe a bit less with the ‘fuck you’ attitude.”

He shrugs and types something into his phone. A few seconds pass, then, “Jack says you can join the meeting but you go in unarmed.”

“Like everyone else there, no doubt.”

“Don’t be a dick. Those are the terms, take it or leave it.”

Now it’s my turn to shrug. “I’ll take it.”

I have to find my own way across the city to the dilapidated industrial unit that the Savages have commandeered for their temporary base. Rome has an appointment with an orthopaedic surgeon, and everyone else has already left. I get back in my hire car and follow the satnav instructions Rome gave me until I find myself cruising past row after row of corrugated-iron shells. I locate the right one and hammer on the huge roller shutter door.

It rattles up to a height of about six feet to reveal three soldiers, bristling with weapons.

“Jack Morgan’s expecting me,” I inform them.

I’m kept waiting while they check, then instructed to drive right inside the hangar-like space and park at the end of a row of SUVs. I do as I’m told, then join the rest of the assembled force.

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