Chapter 2

Libs pushed open the swinging doors, hand lingering on the worn wood, and they flapped behind him as he passed through. The bar was scratched, and the stool onto which he swung himself creaked alarmingly as he settled his weight.

“Whiskey,” he demanded, taking a worn, brown hat off his head and placing it on the counter.

As the bartender poured his order, Lib scratched a rough hand through the tangles of black hair that tumbled over his forehead. His body was incapable of being tired, no matter what he put it through. There was something about living here that wore on the mind, whittling away until all he could do was sit in the Saloon and drink whiskey. Whiskey itself did nothing for him except taste sharp and burn its way down his throat. He liked the feeling; it reminded him that he was still here.

He hadn’t been at the bar for long, sipping his whiskey and savouring the razor edge of the liquor on his tongue, when the doors flapped closed again in the wake of a fellow disreputable soul. Lib lifted his chipped and cloudy glass in a salute, and she pulled up the stool next to him. A red bandana pulled the fiercely curly black hair off her dark face, clearly displaying a set of inky, piercing eyes. She had two bandoliers of ammo slung across her chest, a bolt-action rifle over one shoulder, and two pistols holstered at her wide hips.

“Stella,” he said, voice low and rough.

“You finish what miss ordered you?” she asked, skipping her usual greeting. “She’s been waiting for your word for over an hour now, Libs.”

“Yeah, it’s done.” He knocked back the remainder of his whiskey and the bartender refilled the empty glass without question.

“Good. You here to report in?” Stella and snagged his drink, taking a mouthful before returning it. She was the only person on the station that Libs would allow such an action, and she knew it. She took advantage of it whenever possible, but Libs didn’t much care. That was what people did here, they took whatever they could lay their hands on. It helped quite a lot that Stella knew everything that happened in the Core, no matter if she’d been there at the time or not.

“I’ll be there soon. I don’t suppose you could take a look at my scope? The sightings not adjusting quite right.” Libs dug into his equipment bag to hand her the piece and she took it without a word.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Stella murmured, already pulling out her repair kit and fiddling with a tiny instrument that would undoubtedly return his scope to its former state of perfection.

Stella knew he expected high standards from his rifle, and her repairs to his equipment were always the best. She knew her way around any piece, and it showed in the quick, dexterous flip of her long fingers over the equipment and her tools. It took less than five minutes for her to return the scope to him. He looked it over with an eye trained for detail, and nodded in satisfaction. He ordered another whiskey and pushed it across the bar to her.

“Miss Jane is waiting on you, Libs. Best not keep her waiting,” Stella warned, raising an eyebrow accentuated by a shiny steel bauble.

“No time for a quick bite?” he asked with a heartfelt sigh. “I’m feeling quite insatiable.”

Stella sighed and shook her head. “There’s a guy round back who likely won’t be missed. Have at him.”

“This will only take a moment.”

“Be more careful this time. Last time you went into Jane’s covered in blood, she threw a fit!”

“As if I could forget.”

Libs slipped out of the Saloon and into the coolness of the night air. It wasn’t truly night; someone had turned down all the lamps and the lack of warm bodies rushing about left the area cool and still. It didn’t take Libs long to smell him, and a moment later, he could hear the hot rush of blood through veins as he approached his victim.

This person he could call “a victim” and not “a target.” There was absolutely no finesse in this. The guy was drunk and leaning against the side of a long-abandoned building, and given more time, he’d have likely crawled into one of the empty apartments to pass out. He was somewhat clean, and Libs gave a silent thanks for a substantial meal. A moment later, he had the man easily held up against the side of the building, and the guy didn’t even try to struggle. Libs pushed the man’s chin up and to the side to give him access to the throbbing artery along the neck. He was so close, he could smell the heady rich scent of blood, hear it rushing through the vessels close to the surface of the skin. His mouth filled with saliva, and his fangs elongated in response to his sudden vicious thirst.