Underhand

[Handy's POV]

The door swung open with a bang, and there they were—Rowan and Elias. But somethin' was wrong. Real wrong.

My eyes dropped to Rowan's side, and my stomach twisted. Blood. A lot of it. Soakin' through his shirt, drippin' down his side, paintin' him in a mess of crimson.

"Good lord." The words slipped outta me before I could stop 'em, but there wasn't time to dwell on it.

The room erupted into motion.

"Rowan, what the fuck happened?" Talia's voice cut through the air as she rushed toward him, not hesitatin' a second before pullin' his arm over her shoulder, takin' on some of his weight.

Beside me, Tobias stepped forward, his face scrunched with somethin' between shock and concern. "Are ya okay?" His question was aimed at Elias, and I saw Alicia movin' to his side too, her hands hoverin' over the wound on his arm, brows pulled tight.

What the hell happened out there?

Rowan let out a breath, ragged and shallow, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke. "I'll tell you later. Just—stitch me up before I fucking bleed out."

Then, wincin' through the pain, he peeled off his ruined shirt. Even through the blood, his frame was solid, muscles lined with scars of past fights. But this one—this wound—weren't just another scratch to add to the collection.

This one was bad. I could only hope he wouldn't bleed out like a pig in a slaughterhouse.

Talia and Alicia moved quick, reachin' for one of my bottles of alcohol—good stuff, strong stuff—but I shot out my hand, stoppin' 'em before they did somethin' stupid.

"What the hell ya doin', little girls!? That ain't how ya clean a stab wound!" I barked, movin' in closer. I'd had my fair share of livin' with a knife in my gut, but at least back then, the knife was still in there. This? This was worse.

Then I saw it—Rowan's face, turnin' pale like a ghost. A cold dread crawled up my spine, and my heart kicked up.

"How long ya had this beauty?" I asked, keepin' my voice steady. No use panickin' now.

Rowan blinked at me, his eyes unfocused, like I'd just asked him what day it was. "About ten minutes, I think?"

I nodded, then turned to the others and bellowed, "Get me clean water and a fresh fuckin' rag, or our chef's gonna bleed out on this damn floor!"

That got 'em movin' real fast. I kept my only hand pressed firm against the wound, tryin' to slow the damn flood. Then Rowan started swayin' where he sat, his body leanin' too far to the side.

"Shit—hey! Tobias, get your ass over here! Hold him in place!"

Tobias was already on the move, grabbin' Rowan before he could slump over. My grip tightened on the wound, but it weren't enough—not yet.

"Rowan, ya hear me? Can ya speak?" He looked at me, his eyes a little unfocused and nodded slowly, good, at least he still conscious, I need to clean him up fast, or this bad boy is gonna claim him. 

Rowan's head bobbed like he was tryin' to fight off sleep, his eyelids heavy, breath shallow. Not good. Not good at all.

"Shit, come on, Rowan. Stay with me," I muttered, my hand firm against the wound. His blood was warm, too warm, slippin' through my fingers like sand.

Tobias kept a solid grip on him, but even he looked shaken. Hell, we all did.

Footsteps scrambled behind me, then Talia shoved a tin cup into my chest, water sloshin' over the edge. A clean rag dangled from Alicia's hand, her face drawn tight. I snatched both without thanks, no time for pleasantries.

"Hold 'im still," I ordered, then pressed the rag against the wound, soakin' up the worst of the blood. Rowan hissed through his teeth, a weak sound, but it meant he was still here, still fightin'.

"Alright, now for the cleanin' part," I said, mostly to myself, mostly to steady my own nerves.

I tipped the cup, lettin' the water flow over the gash. The moment it hit, Rowan jerked, suckin' in a sharp breath. His fingers dug into Tobias's sleeve, his body shudderin'.

"Yeah, I know, kid," I muttered, keepin' my voice steady. "Ain't pretty, but better than dyin'."

I wiped away the excess blood, squintin' at the wound. It wasn't deep enough to kill outright, but bad enough that if we left it be, infection'd take 'im within a few days. It needed stitchin'—badly.

I swallowed. I could dress a wound, clean a cut, hell, I could even set a bone if I had to. But stitchin'? That was another beast entirely. And with only one hand to work with? No damn way.

I turned to Alicia. She was already watchin', her hands twistin' at the hem of her shirt.

"Alicia," I said, firm but not unkind. "Ya gotta do this."

Her eyes snapped to mine, wide as full moons. "M-Me?"

"Yeah, you." I gestured at her hands with my chin. "You got steady fingers, right? Ain't no one else here better suited."

She hesitated, glancin' at Rowan's wound like it might bite her. "Alicia," I said again, quieter this time. "Ain't no time to be scared, girl. He needs ya."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. Then, finally, she gave a small, shaky nod. Talia shoved a sewing needle and some thick black thread into her hand. Alicia's fingers trembled as she threaded it, breathin' like she was tryin' not to be sick.

Then, she bent over Rowan, hands hoverin' above the wound. He stirred at her touch, mumblin' somethin' under his breath.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Then, she pierced his skin.

Rowan sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body tensing like a drawn bowstring. Tobias held him tighter, murmurings of reassurance spillin' from his lips. Alicia kept goin', her stitches messy but strong, pullin' the wound closed inch by inch. Sweat dripped from her brow, her face twisted in concentration.

By the time she was done, her hands were shakin' somethin' fierce. She sat back, breathin' heavy, her face paler than a sheet.

"Good job," I muttered, meanin' it.

She didn't answer, just wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

I reached for a strip of cloth and the small tin of honey sittin' nearby. Had to be careful not to waste it—this stuff was worth gold in the slums. I smeared a bit over the stitches, then pressed the cloth against his skin. Honey'd keep the wound from festering, or so I'd learned over the years.

Tobias helped me wrap the bandage tight. Rowan barely reacted, just lay there, his breath shallow but steady.

I sat back on my heels, exhalin' slow. The worst of it was over—for now. But somethin' in my gut told me this was only the beginnin'.

"Now we pray that he won't get infected." I said to the others, humor maskin' the unease I felt. The two girls already helpin' Elias, the boy said that he wanted to rest, going to his room.

---

The sun had long dipped past the rooftops by the time Rowan could sit up without swayin' like a drunkard. We all gathered 'round him, the whole lot of us, hungry for answers. The air was thick with tension, the kind that settled deep in the bones, the kind that came when you knew trouble had come knockin' but hadn't yet shown all its teeth.

Tobias broke the silence first, his voice even, measured. "So… what exactly happened?"

Rowan let his gaze drift over us, meetin' each set of eyes like he was weighin' somethin' in his mind. Then he exhaled, slow and heavy, and started talkin'.

"It was the fuckin' Angels," he said, his voice scratchy but certain. "Four of them. Jumped out of the shadows, nearly got us killed."

I flicked my eyes to Elias, fishin' for a reaction. Sure enough, the kid stiffened just the slightest bit, his hands curlin' into his lap. He was listenin' real close, but there was a look in his eye—one of those uncertain, nervous kinds. Interestin'.

"And how would you know that?" Tobias asked, his tone laced with somethin' just shy of doubt.

Rowan didn't miss a beat. "They told me," he said, leanin' back against the wall like the pain in his side was just a damn inconvenience. "Right before they nearly put me in the dirt."

Lie. A smooth one.

The others ate it up like his word was scripture, noddin' along, acceptin' it without question. But me? I weren't so easy to fool. I'd been 'round long enough to know when someone was spinnin' a tale, and Rowan? He was spinnin' somethin' alright.

Rowan's face hardened, his jaw settin' like stone as he spoke, his voice cuttin' through the thick silence like a blade. "I fucking told you it wouldn't end with just the shit at the factory," he growled, his eyes burnin' with somethin' fierce. "This ain't just some scuffle in the streets—we're at war, and they know who we are. So you've got a choice."

He let the words hang in the air, lettin' 'em settle deep in our bones before he continued. "You either pack your bags today and leave the Slum for good, or you stay here and fight, cause these bastards ain't gonna let you live in peace."

Clever bastard.

I watched him, takin' in the way he played the room like a well-tuned fiddle. Rowan wasn't just tellin' 'em the stakes—he was backin' 'em into a corner, makin' 'em decide right here, right now. There weren't no middle ground in a choice like that. Either you ran with your tail tucked between your legs, or you stayed and fought to the bitter fuckin' end.

The room shifted, a heavy weight pressin' down on all of us. The faces around me twisted, some with fear, others with somethin' close to resolve. I saw a few hands tremblin', shoulders tense like they was ready to spring up and run. Others, though? Others looked like they were ready to sink their teeth into the Angels and tear 'em apart.

Rowan had them right where he wanted. And me? I weren't sure if that was a good thing or a real dangerous one.

I flicked my gaze to Tobias, the most rebellious bastard of the lot. His face was set like stone, eyes burnin' with a fire I'd seen before—the kind that meant he'd already made up his mind, and nothin' short of the world endin' was gonna change it. Slowly, he parted his lips, his voice a low, simmerin' growl.

"Those fuckin' pieces of shit almost killed you. Almost killed Elias," he spat, his hands ballin' into fists at his sides. "There ain't nowhere to run. We either make them pay, or we wait 'til they hunt us down like dogs. No more hiding. No more takin' their shit. We teach them some fucking manners."

Talia, looked damn near proud, like a mother watchin' her kid take his first steps—only, in this case, the steps were walkin' straight into a bloodbath. It was a rare sight, seein' her and Tobias agree on anything. Must be some divine miracle at work.

Even Alicia, sweet little Alicia, the one who always tried to talk us down from fights, had somethin' fierce in her eyes as she glanced at the wound on Elias's arm. The sight of his blood must've flipped a switch in her, 'cause when she finally spoke, her voice carried none of the hesitation she usually had.

"You're right," she said, her jaw clenchin'. "There ain't no running anymore. They'll chase us down like rats, one way or another. If they want a war, we'll give them one."

And just like that, Rowan had 'em all dancin' to his tune. Didn't even have to push 'em much—just dangled the choice in front of 'em and let 'em trip over themselves like a bunch of drunkards. A few well-placed words, a couple bloody wounds, and suddenly, they were ready to throw themselves into the fire.

Clever bastard. Real clever.