14. Vesper
VESPER
“So . . .” I start as I sit back in the booth and pat my stomach.
I’ve eaten far too much, my stomach bloated and aching, but I don’t regret it.
Every bite of the food was amazing, even if I don’t know what most of it is.
It was rich and full of flavor, the complete opposite of the shit we eat on Dross.
I’d been excited for fruit before. That excuse for fruit is nothing compared to the cubes of fruit on my plate.
Dox is going to lose her mind when she gets here and tastes some of this.
Locke meets my eyes from across the booth where he’s doing the same, his face almost sickly with the amount of food he’d managed to put away. “So?”
“You were a Black Abacus?” I ask. My eyes go to the bar code on his face. “A pretty important one it seems.”
He studies me, as if he’s trying to decide if I’m about to be an asshole or not.
I don’t blame him. Black Abacus members aren’t exactly respected in Dross despite them being the only reason there’s a bustling economy.
Without Black Abacus, there’d be no currency, nothing to exchange, and chaos would be rampant.
People would kill each other for perceived value.
Black Abacus keeps everything running smoothly, but the members of that gang aren’t exactly friendly.
I’ve seen them brutally murder someone because they miscounted their credits.
But the barcode on Locke’s face means something else.
He wasn’t just a Black Abacus. He belonged to the woman at the top. Mother Remainder.
He was owned by one of the Big Five.
The Big Five are the conglomerates that run the trade industry of Dross.
They set the price, the value, and how much an item could be worth.
Without them, Dross crumbles into total chaos.
With them, it’s not much better, but at least we have a bit of civilized currency.
Still, working for the Big Five is almost a death wish and a blessing all in one.
You’ll always have a job, but at what cost?
“Yeah,” Locke finally says. “I was one of the top Spine Jackers before I was . . . well . . . chosen for the inner group.”
“You get paid well?” I ask curiously.
I’d tried to be a Spine Jacker a few times after my first big fall, but I realized it wasn’t for me.
It’s the heights. I can handle a lot of things, but once I get up past the twentieth floor, I start feeling queasy and my legs shake.
Shaking legs aren’t exactly helpful when you’re that high up and I doubt I’d be lucky enough to survive another big fall from higher up.
“Sometimes,” Locke shrugs. “Sometimes the payment was good. Sometimes it was shit. Just depended on how the boss was feeling and if she liked you.”
I lean in closer. “What was Mother Remainder like?”
“A bitch,” Locke laughs. “She was an absolute bitch, but she ran her shit tight and she paid well when she liked you.”
“Did she like you?” It’s a silly question.
The barcode on his face means only one thing in Dross.
He belonged to her. She wouldn’t keep someone she didn’t like in her stable.
But I don’t want to just assume. It feels rude.
I prefer Locke speak about what he’s willing to.
After all, the last Remainder Toy I’d met had been relegated to a bed in a Suffer Saint Home.
Locke hesitates. “Sometimes. Depends on if I was willing to whip my cock out or not.”
My stomach drops at the flippant way he says it, and I realize I’ve overstepped. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Locke says, waving away my apology. “That Union fucker that was after you in Dross, I assume that was a similar situation?”
“I . . . no,” I answer, flushing. “Orion is, was, an ex-boyfriend that didn’t take no for an answer.” I sigh. “And then Dox and I handed off a delivery back to its mother that he’d hired us to do after that, so he wasn’t exactly happy with the betrayal.”
Locke’s brows go up. “You willingly slept with the leader of a gang? You broke up with the leader of a gang? I thought everyone knew you had to kill those fuckers and take over if you want out.”
I roll my eyes. “Some of us have no desire to run a gang. I was able to handle Orion. It was the constant hunting that would have gotten old had Dox not suggested we go through the Harrow.”
Nodding, Locke picks at the small pieces of food left on his plate. “She gonna be okay?”
“Dox? Yeah. She’s a viper and she has connections that will get her through until the next gate opens. She even has an Chronal Mapper who loves her, so I have no doubt she’ll be coming in with the next gate.” I tilt my head back. “I just gotta survive until then.”
“I don’t have any family in Dross,” Locke says flippantly. “No one to leave behind. No one to miss. No one that’s made it to the other side either.”
“So then why did you enter the gate?” I ask curiously. “Most have a reason.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t plan on entering. I was just walking past when the Harrow Gate formed.
I was pissed because Mother Remainder hadn’t paid me for my last haul and there those Ascendant Guard bastards appeared like shiny fucking beacons.
My anger shifted when I saw them.” He tilts his head back and leans it against the booth, slumping down in the seat.
I can feel the warmth of his legs spread around mine beneath the table.
“I thought to myself, ‘Why am I putting up with this shit when those rich bastards are living in luxury? Why do they get all the glam and we have to fight for scraps and prostitute ourselves for some terrible fucking Harrow Bars?’” His eyes go half lidded.
“I decided I wanted to make them all pay for that, so I got in line. The rest is history.”
I study him. He speaks about anger as if it’s some outside entity begging to be heard, but Locke practically vibrates with it despite his attempt at flippancy.
Even now with a full belly and fully healed, he carries that anger like a shield, and at any moment, he could use it to bludgeon me to death.
“No parents?”
“Nah,” he says, looking down. “I was a street rat. By the time I was old enough to understand what parents were, they were gone. You?”
I look at the television where it flashes some sort of strange looking woman dancing around a field of flowers. It looks peaceful. She’s singing but I can’t hear what she’s singing about.
“I had a mother,” I admit.
Locke picks up on my phrasing. “What happened to her?”
“She was fragile. Luxe-born.” Locke’s eyes widen.
“She couldn’t handle the shitty air in Dross.
Died when I was seven, but she was never quite right before that.
I don’t have any happy memories to look back on or anything.
” I hum. “Unless they involve Dox.” I meet his eyes.
“We were children in the Suffer Saint Covenant where my mother was treated. We left together once she died.”
“Fuck,” Locke says. “Luxe-born? I’ve never met a Luxe-born in Dross.”
“You wouldn’t,” I say. “She wasn’t an Ascendant.”
“How did she get to Dross then?” Locke asks. “Only Ascendants can come to Dross from Luxe.”
I could tell him the truth, but some part of me doesn’t want to.
I don’t want him to know what kind of blood flows in my body.
I don’t want him to look at me with that anger he carries even if that’s ridiculous.
I’m not an enemy. I have just as much anger as he does, if not more, but it’s been a secret I’ve carried for years.
Only Dox knows, and she’s not here to reassure me that it’s okay to speak about it now.
If anything, it feels more dangerous since I’m one step closer.
“No idea,” I lie. “There wasn’t exactly many Suffer Saints who were forthcoming with information.”
Locke accepts that answer and closes his eyes. “Do you at least have something to remember her by?” At my hesitation, he adds, “You don’t have to tell me if it’s some secret.”
My hand runs down my thigh to the pocket there.
Weapons don’t come from Dross into the Harrow, but apparently, tiny journals do.
It’s worn and falling apart now. I’ve read it too many times, poured over the contents as if they’d give me some new answers.
They did eventually, but it wasn’t any of the answers that I wanted. There were only more questions.
“Her journal,” I admit. “Did you know there are books in Luxe? Great libraries full of them?”
“Not surprising considering they hoard all their wealth,” Locke replies. “Of course, they’d have that sort of luxury. Meanwhile, we have to learn to read by letters scratched in rusted metal and drawn in the dirt.”
I pull the small purple journal from my pocket and gently set it on the table. Locke’s eyes focus on the worn leather cover, the gold initials, and the way my hands hover protectively around it.
“She liked animals,” I say. “My mother. So, she read lots of books on those.” I flip open the book.
“She was also an artist and copied some of her favorite parts in her journal.” I flip to halfway into the book, where I know the pictures are.
It falls open easily because I’d stared at these particular pages for so long, I knew all the markings and words by heart.
“These are my favorite, and they were hers, too.” I tape the delicate sketched ink. “This . . . is a hyena.”
Locke leans forward and stares at the drawing. “It’s weird lookin’,” he comments. “Deformed even. Look at those shoulders.”
“No,” I laugh. “They’re just built that way. They’re interesting creatures that lived a long time ago.” I smile at the drawing. “My favorite is that they’re matriarchal.”
Locke frowns. “What does that mean?”
“That the females lead the pack,” I say. “Instead of the males.”
He looks contemplative as he studies the picture. “In my experience, women can be more savage.” He leans back, his eyes focusing on me. “No wonder you relate to the creature.”
I raise my brow and close the book before tucking it back safely in my pocket. “Are you saying I’m savage?”
He smirks. “You can be. Don’t forget I watched you smash a howler monkey to death with a rock.”
“Yeah, well you stabbed an anaconda, so . . .” I smile despite the situation, despite missing Dox, and despite this place trying to kill me. “Look at us. Two murderers.”
“Yeah,” he replies, grinning at me.
I’m suddenly hyper aware of the heat his legs give off beneath the table again. His knees close a little, brushing against mine when they get too close, but he doesn’t move them. He just watches me.
“I wonder if there will be any hyenas here,” I comment, my eyes trailing back up to the television.
“Maybe there will be,” Locke says. “Maybe you’ll be the hyena.”
Something hangs in the air between us, some tension I can’t place. When I look back at him, he’s just watching me carefully, cautiously, as if I’m dangerous. Maybe I am. Maybe he is.
“You are getting too attached,” Cipher says, interrupting the moment. “Stop it.”
I ignore him and drink the rest of the water in my glass. “I think I’m going to go clean myself up,” I say, remembering how dirty I am. “We should also get some more rest.”
Locke nods. “I agree. We spend some more time in the safehouse, stock up on food, rest, and then figure out how to level up our XP enough to choose our Glitch. Then we make all the motherfuckers at the top pay.” He grins, as if he can’t wait for that part.
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, standing. But my plan has an extra step in there. Find Dox. And it’s the most important. “Good resting.”
And then I walk away from him.
I can feel his eyes burning holes into my back the entire walk to the healing room.