9. Ambush at the Broken Wheel
AMBUSH AT THE brOKEN WHEEL
DAWN
Gods give us life. Guns make it equal.
FRONTIER VERNACULAR, ORIGIN UNKNOWN
Dawn shoved through the swinging doors of the Broken Wheel and scanned the room. Counted exits. Let her eyes adjust. She spotted the scholar at a corner table, laughing with three soft-looking men. Still alive after a week. Lore should be pleased.
A low whistle drew her attention. Flint Jones again. Bastard had his back against a wall, hat low, smiling like he’d already decided who’d die tonight. That meant there’d be—sure enough, two of his boys posted near the door, ready to cut off her exit.
Shit.
She could’ve left then, but she crossed to the bar instead. Ordered a whiskey, just to hold. Flint drifted closer, easy as ever, the smell of smoke and rot rolling off him.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” he said all casual. “Babysitting again?”
“Walk away, Flint.”
He tilted his head toward the scholar’s table. “She’s a pretty thing. You sure you don’t want to let me have her?”
“What the fuck is your problem? I said walk away.”
“I saw her first,” he said. “And I want a bite.”
He nodded at his guys, casual-like, but Dawn was ready.
Her revolver was in her hand just as quick.
The first boy standing by the door never cleared his holster.
One shot to the chest, and he was down. The second got his gun up.
Dawn put one through his throat. Two clean shots clear across the room.
Folks hit the floor as soon as the gunshots rang, chairs crashing. Dawn glanced over at the girl—and an arm clamped across her windpipe. Birdy. The other fucking Jones brother. Fuck. Bastard must’ve come through the kitchen.
He twisted her wrist, and pain shot up her arm. Her gun hit the floor. Flint scooped it up and handed it to Birdy, who pressed the hot barrel to her head.
“Evening, Dawn,” he breathed.
Her eyes darted between each exit: front door, balcony, kitchen, windows. Every way out was useless with her own gun jammed in her face. His sweat stank worse than his breath. Sour and rank, rolling off him in waves.
Dawn kept her eyes half lidded, like she was bored. She could take Birdy’s head off before he blinked. Tear out his throat, at a minimum. It’d be messy, and she still might take a bullet.
“Oh, honey.” Birdy chuckled as he followed her gaze to the windows. “You wouldn’t make it halfway.”
What a dick. She was pretty fucking tempted to tear his head off.
The gun clicked under Birdy’s thumb.
Dawn’s skin prickled. Heat wanted to pour from her hands. Turn these fools to ash. Not here, she told herself. The Jones brothers were not worth it.
Another click answered across the room. Her eyes slid sideways.
Huh. Didn’t see that coming.
Lore’s little scholar, the one who’d frozen at the flux shop, had an arm locked around Flint’s neck, a relic of a revolver jammed against his skull.
Chin high, eyes flaring. She smelled like fear and adrenaline tangled together.
Holding the gun wrong. But fuck if the girl didn’t commit to the bluff.
“Let her go,” the girl said slowly, voice steadier than her hands.
“You shoot, I shoot,” Birdy barked, spit flecking Dawn’s cheek. Birdy yanked Dawn’s arm tighter. Oh, this man wants to lose some body parts.
“Ow,” Dawn snarled, mostly for the show of it. She let heat creep into her voice. “You really want me angry?”
Flint’s eyes darted between the girl and Dawn. The math had changed now that he had a gun to his own head. Sweat beaded on his scalp as his situation sank in. The girl pressed the barrel in harder. She had spirit.
“Just let her go, Bird,” Flint croaked. “This ain’t worth dying over.”
Birdy eyed their boys piled at the door. Friends of his? A pity.
The girl’s chin lifted. “Drop the gun. Let her walk out. Your boss can follow.”
Birdy muttered curses, grip slipping. The second his fingers twitched loose, Dawn twisted free, cracked an elbow into his ribs, and put a table between them. The girl shoved Flint hard and stepped back, revolver still up.
The whole room exhaled.
“You bitch,” Birdy spat at Dawn.
Bitch? She hadn’t even scratched him yet.
Dawn rolled her shoulders. That girl had stepped up and saved Dawn’s life when she could’ve run. Maybe the scholar wasn’t completely useless.
She winked at the girl. “Not bad, professor. First rodeo’s always the roughest.”
The tavern slowly came to life around them. Folks worked together to right an overturned table. The girl’s friends checked on her, then made themselves scarce.
Sheriff never showed, and neither did the enforcers. Local garrison had been a bit of a mess since that captain got killed. She didn’t want to deal with it herself, so she let Flint and Birdy slink off.
Then Dawn bought the girl a whiskey. Stars knew she’d earned it.
The scholar’s hands shook around the glass. She introduced herself as Talent Salaren and paused after the name, like Dawn should know it.
“Talia, actually,” she said, cheeks going red. “Only my grandmother calls me Talent.”
“Dawn.” She studied the scholar over her glass. “So, what was it? You brave or reckless back there?”
“Both, probably.” Talia’s laugh was shaky but honest.
Dawn grinned. She liked the honest ones.
“Hell of a bluff.” Dawn threw back her whiskey and tapped her glass for another.
“Was it that obvious?”
“If you’d pulled that trigger, you’d’ve lost that thumb.” Dawn grinned. “But Flint didn’t know that, so no harm.”
Talia took a bigger sip of whiskey and looked down at her thumb. Kid has spine under all that polish. Dawn leaned back in her chair.
“So, what’s a fancy scholar like you doing in this shithole anyway?”
“Research. I want to study the ruins here—Starscript inscriptions, flux technologies—”
“Can you read that shit?”
Talia blinked. “Starscript? Yes. Fluently. I teach courses, actually, at the Lyceum back in Vaelis.”
Dawn’s grin widened. Perfect. Lore needed a translator. Dawn hadn’t exactly told him she couldn’t read. And here was a real-life professor, desperate enough to be in Gateway and reckless enough to pull a gun she couldn’t use.
Just then both saloon doors crashed into the wall. A hulking figure filled the doorframe, chest heaving like he’d run hard. Gray eyes swept the room and locked on their table, and Dawn’s stomach dropped. What the fuck is he doing in Gateway?
Dawn shot to her feet, but he was already moving. He crossed the tavern in seconds, dropped into a crouch next to Talia’s chair.
“Are you hurt?” His voice came out rough. Controlled, but barely.
“I’m fine.” Talia blinked at him. “How did you—”
“I heard about trouble at the Broken Wheel.” His eyes swept over her before he exhaled sharply.
Then he noticed Dawn. His eyes met hers, and an emotion flashed. Fear? Grief? He shut it down and his face went clear, like weather moving through.
“It’s Dawn now,” she said quickly, before he could use her old name.
“Dawn.” He said it, testing, like it didn’t fit in his mouth.
“Oh!” Talia seemed oblivious to the tension. “How rude of me. Riven, this is Dawn. Dawn, Riven. He was my bodyguard for a little while, but now he’s—” She trailed off like she didn’t actually know.
He stood slowly, keeping his eyes on Dawn. “We know each other.”
“Hey there…Riven.” Dawn stumbled on his name too. “Didn’t know you were still taking bodyguard gigs.”
He flinched. She enjoyed that. Okay, she could work with this.
“You missed the show,” Dawn said, flashing her best smile. The one that showed the dimple on her chin. “Our professor just won a shoot-out with some local lowlifes.”
Riven’s head snapped back to Talia, and Dawn grinned as the muscles rippled along his jaw. She’d forgotten how fun it was to bait him.
“You did what?”
“I thought that revolver looked familiar. You should have taught her how to shoot it.” Dawn handed him her whiskey. “Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”
Now his mouth twitched between a grin and a grimace. Almost proud—Dawn wagered—and scared shitless. “You do not understand. You could have been killed.”
“I understand that I wasn’t.” Talia’s chin lifted.
He made a low frustrated sound. Dawn almost felt bad. Hard enough work keeping this girl alive. Dawn’s offer was about to make that job even harder.
“So, you’re in town to study relics?” Dawn tapped the table with her fingers, itching for her drink back.
Talia nodded. “Yes, I am. Or at least, I was.”
Dawn cocked her head to the side. This was a trick she’d learned watching Lore, using silence to draw out a story. Riven leaned in, too, like he didn’t know what she’d say. Interesting.
“It’s just, I thought I’d be able to study real ruins,” Talia said, looking down at the table and fidgeting with the neckline of her dress. Dawn gave her another beat, but Talia didn’t fill the quiet this time.
“Well, if you’d like,” Dawn said, “I do know some people with those kinds of connections. I could make an introduction.”
Riven’s glare burned a hole through her, but she ignored him. If Talia wanted to dig up every cursed relic in this graveyard of a continent, that was her right. This prick wanted to play bodyguard? He could damn well do his job this time.
Talia bit her lip, then nodded. “If you don’t mind. It can’t hurt to make connections.”
“Smart.” Dawn grinned, snatching her glass back from Riven and downing the last bit. He glared at her some more.
“Are you ready to go?” Riven asked Talia. “It’s getting late.”
Dawn nodded. “Get some sleep, professor. You deserve it. Just let me know when you’re ready for that intro.”
Talia seemed to stumble as she gathered her satchel, bumping into Dawn’s arm. Riven’s hand found her shoulder, steering her toward the door. He didn’t look back.
Dawn took another sip and watched the doors swing close. She didn’t often read people wrong, but Talia was hard to pin down. Too timid to voice any opinion. No survival instinct at all. But she stepped up when it mattered. Girl was braver than she had any right to be.
Shame that Lore would chew her up. Dawn knew she’d be sacrificing Talia if she made that introduction. But she didn’t have a choice. She needed Lore to fulfill his end of their deal more than she cared about some brave, reckless scholar. Dawn sighed and signaled the barkeep for another round.