Page 15 of Redstone
“You’ve got it,” the man congratulated him. “Just a tiny little lick, and then I’ll help get you out of this mess.”
“I think I’m managing my mess just fine,” Kyle retorted, but even as he said it, his head began to spin. Shit, right, he hadn’t finished the treatment.
“Perhaps you are for the moment. But we’re about to have some more visitors, and they’re not as … eager and incautious as Big Charlie there.”
“I don’t trust you.”
The man laughed. “You shouldn’t trust anyone, my dear, not after getting pushed out through the asshole of this fine facility. Someone wants you dead. I can help you avoid that, for the right price.”
No, this … this wasn’t the way things were supposed to go, was it? Wasn’t something supposed to … to …
“Too late,” the copper man said, with a hint of real regret in his voice. “Here comes the horde.”
***
Isidore swore when he realized what was happening. Of course, it didn’t happen according to plan. Why would it? First Wyl and Robbie were running late, now Kyle Alexander was here early. And he wasn’t arriving in a way that would let Isidore lay an easy claim on him either.
New arrivals happened once a week, always at the same time, same place: the main entrance in the mess hall, in the hour before dinner. The timing ostensibly gave new inmates a chance to find a place to settle before directly slotting them into the routine of Redstone. In reality, it made the fighting rather fierce when newbies came in because the major players wanted their chances at them first.
Kliassne had first dibs on any woman who came through the door, hands down, blood up if anyone tried to argue with her—which no one did since she was capable of packing a hell of a psychic punch. She didn’t treat anyone well, but if that particular boss had any redeeming feature, it was her refusal to allow other women to be turned into sex slaves. The guards wouldn’t have prevented it, and the robots were next to useless, so Kliassne—or Klia—took steps. It bought her both loyalty and bodies, which she needed since although she had a strong mind, her body was weak to the point where she kept half a dozen bodyguards around her at all times.
Rory played the field more widely, and while a few people slipped through the cracks the two of them left behind, most didn’t. One of the few that did was Big Charlie, a wolf with a little pack of his own, not big enough to swat but not necessarily fun to fight with either. Charlie had friends in high places, high enough that it wasn’t worth it to fuck with him unless you had to, because he’d twist things around, and the next thing you knew, it was solitary down in the heart of Redstone. People went mad down there in short order, so it was to be avoided if at all possible.
Kyle was supposed to be in the group scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes. Isidore was prepared to buy, bargain, and steal to get his claim in on Kyle first. He’d hidden away a trove of little treasures in his clothes, things his fellow inmates were sure to want, and he was ready to fight if he failed at that too. He was positioned near the door, his intent demeanor turning away anyone who might have tried to start a conversation with him. And then … then …
“Side door!” one of Rory’s wolves called out suddenly. “Side door! One young’un, and he’s laid out Big Charlie and his shadow!”
Isidore knew immediately it had to be Kyle. The side door was for people who were supposed to disappear, and if he didn’t get there soon, Kyle would be overwhelmed. He began to push through the crowd, which surged along with him toward the little indent on the far wall where the side door was located. He had to play this just right, had to get to Kyle and stake his claim without giving away his purpose, his role. He couldn’t be a protector; he had to be dispassionate about it. How was he going to handle this?
“This new boy’s crazy as fuck, gents,” Pence said with a gleeful smile as he exited the little tunnel. “I suggest you proceed with caution.”
Isidore barely spared him a glance as he plunged ahead, only to see Big Charlie and his shadow on the ground, and another person—one of Klia’s girls—darting at Kyle with a length of metal in her hand. She was going for his legs and doing a decent job of it. Kyle looked disoriented, honestly like he was about to fall down. He slid into the wall as one of his legs gave out, and Klia’s girl shrieked with glee as she moved in to incapacitate him.
Fortunately, Isidore was close enough at that point to intervene. He stabbed the point of his foot into the girl’s kidney, and the thin layer of iron he’d painstakingly patched into his shoes paid off beautifully as she shrieked and fell to the floor.
Isidore darted forward, took one look at Kyle’s pained but determined face, and made a split-second decision. He brought his reinforced palm around to the back of Kyle’s head, smacked it hard enough to knock Kyle out, and scooped him up onto his shoulder in one smooth motion. Isidore picked up the girl’s baton, knocked the next two closest people in their respective temples, and prepared to stand his ground. He only had to last long enough to make a deal with one side or the other …
“A claim?” one of Rory’s men shouted. “You’re making a claim? You? Sharks don’t keep harems, Iz.”
“But a man’s ways can change,” Isidore said. “He’s still wet from the tank. Let me have him without more trouble, and I’ll give you his shirt.”
“Kliawants something too,” her girl hissed from where she lay on the ground. “You bargain with her, or you make an enemy, Iz!”
“Klia can have the pants,” Isidore allowed.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d carried a bare-assed, unconscious Kyle Alexander past a hundred leering prisoners, who nevertheless weren’t quite prepared to fuck with him, down into the heart of Redstone. Even with the boost the residual Regen that soaked into his clothes gave him, Isidore was tired by the time he got down to his bunk. He set Kyle down carefully, rolled out his tired shoulders, and sighed.
“Well. It could have gone worse.”
Chapter eight
To be honest, Tamara was expecting the alarm to go off. She’d been situated in the guest quarters of Redstone for less than a standard day, but she was already expecting the alarm.
This wasn’t a quiet, well-managed prison: this place stank of darker emotions that chem scrubbers couldn’t remove, filled with fear and anger and a pain so deep that it tugged at her blood just like the iron core did. Her father would have said she was imagining it all, but Tamara had been active in espionage for long enough that she knew there was more to a place than what your most obvious senses could tell you. She wasn’t a psychic, had never tested positive in any of her evaluations, but Redstone was so steeped in violence that apparently it didn’t take anything special to realize what a hellhole the place was.
The alarm wasn’t unexpected, and neither was the call to the warden’s office. Guests were few and far between, and all of them were connected to high-profile prisoners, so it made sense to pass on information. What Tamarahadn’texpected was forKyle’s lawyer to corner her as soon as she walked into the office, so furious he was practically spitting with every word.
“Not even adaybefore you tried to get rid of him!” he shouted. “You couldn’t even give him a fucking day; you had himabductedout of the med unit and thrown into that—”
