Page 16 of Rescued By the Convicts
He’d have to go to Powell, wait for the man to take his fucking time to look up from whatever seeds he’d be sorting or vegetables he’d be inspecting for Kartuthian Blight so he could give him the physical yes or no nod. It was Powell’s way of belittling him every fucking time.
Reece approached Powell from behind, exchanging stares with the manager’s two personal bodyguards while Powell took his time weighing a handful of white buds from one of the potted trees.
“Do you know what I’m doing, Callahan?” Powell asked without looking up at Reece. Powell continued weighing the buds, taking notes, and moving onto the next batch.
“Rather silent today, aren’t you, Callahan?”
Reece wasn’t going to dignify anything the asshole said. He simply wanted to be dismissed so he could return to the bunker and smooth things over with Melina.
“Since you’re good enough not to interrupt, I’ll let you know,” the balding man with dark blue eyes and a smug expression said when he finally lifted his head. “I’m weighing out buds from a plant that’s used off-planet. The spindle trees you see potted around the greenhouse are rather rare. There’s a market for their spores. Some medicinal property that I can’t even begin to explain, but that’s not my concern. I’m in charge of seeing to it that Manager Thorne’s side business runs smoothly. Understand, Callahan?”
Certainly. He wasn’t an idiot. Thorne was selling illegal products behind The Company’s back and Powell, the asshole, was giving Reece a warning. But why now? Reece had worked in Section B for nearly a year. He’d never knocked over one of Powell’s precious trees, let alone disrupted his operations.
Powell stopped weighing the spores and stared at Callahan. “I didn’t hear your answer.”
Asshole.
Reece nodded.
A sly smile crept onto the manager’s face. “Good. Now see to the trash out back. Forget about the slag pits for this bag. Dump it inside Mine #17. Right in the middle where it will stink up the mine. Someplace where Obray won’t find it easily.”
This time Reece groaned so Manager Powell would know he didn’t like the idea. Powell and his ongoing pissing match with Manager Obray was going to start another series of fights among the prisoners like six months ago when Obray dumped a pile of casp dung in front of the greenhouse. A very large pile. He and three other prisoners had to clean up the pile and then lug it to the mine which had made it look like they were starting the trouble. Four men ended up stabbed, one man was thrown down a mine shaft, and they’d all lost commissary credits for four meals. Thorne did nothing to punish or even reprimand either manager.
Powell shot to his feet. “It’s not your place to question my judgment, Callahan. Unless you’d like to go back to working in the mines full time.”
He would because then he wouldn’t be gone from his unit—from Melina—for days at a time. But being a hunter allowed him to bring back additional meat for the unit to store. As long as he hunted and killed game at night during rest periods on long hunts, the guards on the hunt allowed him to hunt for his unit. Building that reserve was crucial. To appease Manager Powell, Reece nodded and lowered his eyes.
“Dismissed. Get that trash out. Now.”
Without sneering at either Powell or his guards, Reece headed outside. The smell struck him like a shovel to the head the moment he rounded the greenhouse. The pit never smelled this bad from the decaying plants that the greenhouse workers dumped there until they had a full load to cart off to one of the serilium pits to incinerate.
On the ground lay a military-grade sack with rotting meat and vegetables from the commissary spilling out of the top. Apparently, the damn war between managers had extended to include Manager Ives from the commissary. Fucking fantastic.
Reece situated the bag on his shoulder and headed toward Mine #17 where Ivan worked. His unit leader would be finishing his shift soon. This could be a good time to talk to him. Fuck. He couldn’ttalkto him. Or anyone. Reece wished he could kill Crimshaw all over again. Or better yet, slice his throat so the manager could live like Reece, never being able to speak his mind to anyone, especially the ones who mattered to him most, like Melina and Zev. Hell, Ivan and Jayce too.
Never had he expected to care about anyone on Veenith, but he’d grown close to Zev and then Melina. While Ivan and Jayce irritated the hell out of him at times, they were decent men, reliable, and Melina cared for them. Reece wanted their unit to work, for Melina, for all of them. These guys were the closest he’d ever had to a family. Farlis had taken him in to train him alongside the other orphans, to sell them into service as bodyguards. The only attention Reece ever had from him was when it came to how his physical training was coming along.
“What the fuck are you carrying in that bag, Crusher?” a miner leaving Mine #17 asked.
Reece hated that nickname. He hadn’t realized it until the day Melina first called him Reece, his given name. She had respected him from the start.
“Stinks worse than Klath’s breath,” another miner said.
The group of miners exiting the mine quickly parted, leaving Reece a path as he trudged into the mine. No one normally challenged him, and with the stink he was hauling, they kept their distance.
More miners passed him as he moved deeper into the mine. Each group always had that one asshole that had to comment about the bag. . . and him.
“Dumb fuck forgot where to empty his trash,” another miner said. “You’re headed the wrong way, Crusher.”
Reece felt his temper slipping. He’d had enough of these morons. He didn’t want to be here anymore than they wanted him here, and they were looking for a fight. Another few turns and he could dump the bag and head home.
Four men blocked his path. Reece scowled. They didn’t move.
“Not smart coming down here,” Tevok said. “Your manager shoulda gotten the message after last time. No more dumping your fucking garbage in the mines.”
Reece dropped the bag. He swore he heard a groan.
“You don’t want to start a fight, Tevok,” Ivan said from behind the men.
