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(or; keg â a small thing in a smaller world. bravery and heroics are for dead people).
They are this: cold kisses and colder smiles. Ruzzaâs lips burn ice along Kegâs skin.
Shady Creek Run is the kind of place that breeds violence and bleeds betrayal â the streets under Kegâs boots are paved in blood and bone and bodies (so many bodies, there are so many bodies, Keg has buried so many bodies). Sheâs lived here long enough to know better than to get attached to anything. Anyone. Permeance is a pretty lie â everything is a stab away from being long gone. There isnât much in this town worth keeping anyway, is what she tells herself.
âI need to talk to you,â Keg says, arching into the way Ruzza kisses along the base of her throat. Theyâre in bed in the morning, holed up in a rented room with sun bleaching the floor white and empty walls bracketing them in.
âTalk?â Ruzza says, voice thick with suppressed laughter. She digs her nails in tight, tighter, so that she rips at skin and paints blood along Kegâs thigh with her fingers. âI donât feel like talking.â
âNo, we need to â ah,â Keg says. âYou bit me.â
âOh my god, shut up,â Ruzza says, and then theyâre not talking anymore.
Keg kind ofâŚitâs complicated, okay. Sheâs working with limited options here.
And itâs not like she canât hit things! Keg is very good at hitting things â one of the best, in fact. Itâs the only thing sheâs good at, so she tries her best to live up to her (broken, itâs all broken, shattered and bloody and gone) dreams, and itâs sort of working. Keg can adapt. In every job interview that sheâs ever had (one and a half), sheâs named âadaptabilityâ as one of her key personal attributes, up there with âcan take a punchâ. Of course, then the asshole has asked if she could spell adaptability, and Kegâs hazy visions of skirting legality had gone down the drain with a knuckle to his stupid, smug face.
Lorenzo comes along during a period of Kegâs life that she likes to call âmore fucked up than usualâ, which is saying something. It was a weird stretch between enforced formal schooling (which was a joke, but not Keg can read â sort of â and write â sort of â and she doesnât know what to do with that), and a corpse. People look at her stubble and her grin and think, nope, and either walk away or walk closer. Kegâs knuckles are tattooed with bruises every night, when she goes to sleep tucked away in whatever corner is closest. She runs with some kids, and then she doesnât, and then she does. Her gang life is like her love life, which is to say â messy.
âIâve heard some things about you,â Lorenzo says, smiling. Heâs always smiling. Gentle and kind and lying, always lying. Thereâs blood on his cheek, but Keg doesnât ask. Keg doesnât ask a lot of things.
(Sheâll regret that, one day).
âThings?â Keg says, wiping dirt off her nose and baring her teeth. Her voice only recently stopped cracking from high to low, and sheâs not taking any chances under extreme stress â and from what sheâs heard of Lorenzo and the Iron Shepherds, Keg counts this instance as one of extreme fucking stress.
âBad things,â Lorenzo promises, and then grabs her by the scruff of her neck and hauls her to her feet. âCome with me.â
The options in Shady Creek Run are these: work for a family, or die.
Keg doesnât intend to die.
âHey, hey, hey,â a creepy little halfling says, arms crossed and sneer wide. âWho the fuck is the new kid?â
Keg jerks forward, instinct taking over reason (as per usual), but Lorenzo has a firm hand on her shirt, and she doesnât go two steps before sheâs choking herself.
âBe nice,â Lorenzo says. Keg isnât sure which of them heâs talking to, but she doesnât really want to take any chances.
âI thought we werenât taking on any new hires,â a human female says, leaning against the wall. Sheâs taller than â well, basically everyone is taller than Keg, but sheâs twice as broad, forearms thick with ropey muscle. Keg runs her eyes along the thick slope of her shoulders, the brightness of her eyes.
âWe werenât,â Lorenzo says.
âLetâs get this straight,â Keg starts to say, âIâm not an â ngh ââ
Lorenzo doesnât even glance her way as he once again casually pulls back on her shirt, hard enough to cut the air circulation to her lungs. Keg backs up so that she bumps into his leg. Itâs degrading, but at least she can breathe. That seems to be her motto, these days: stay alive, stay alive, do whatever you can to stay alive.
(Keg has lived with the chill of Shady Creek Run in the winter burrowed into her bones; sheâs spent so long looking at corpses that sheâs wondered if sheâs dead herself. Frozen things â frozen places, frozen faces.
This is the story Keg likes to tell people: I emerged, fully formed, from the mud.
Itâs kind of true).
The human female grins, sharp and bright and gorgeous. Keg smirks back at her, because when it comes to beautiful people, Keg has no sense of self preservation.
âI kind of like her.â
âYou would, Wohn.â
âThis is Protto, and Wohn,â Lorenzo says. âYouâll meet the others later. Wohn, youâre in charge of making sure she doesnât get herself killed.â
Protto lets out a wild cackle, but Wohn only looks quietly amused. And Keg isnât in the business of making promises she canât keep, but she makes this one to herself: if she can get this to work, sheâs staying.
Thereâs blood on the wall, and on the ground, and on Kegâs clothing and skin and everywhere, thereâs blood everywhere and itâs never coming out.
âHere,â Wohn says, crouching in front of Keg and giving her a damp cloth. Keg stares at it, unblinking. Wohn gives an annoyed sign before grabbing the cloth and roughly scraping it over Kegâs battered forehead. It stings, but itâs a hollow thing. So far away. Keg canât â Keg just canât.
âWhat was that?â she whispers.
Theyâre in a dark place, tucker away in the far corner â if Keg has learned anything, itâs that corners lend a weight to your back and walls to your sides. Pinned and desperate is where Keg shines, and it means thereâs no way for someone to come up behind her. The other Shepherds arenât in the immediate vicinity â Keg doesnât know where they are (out, getting more people, getting more people for â) and Keg needs to get herself under control, or she wonât like the consequences.
(Dwelna is there. Dwelna is down there in the dark, suffocating heat, and Keg is never going to look at people the same way again).
ââThatâ is what you signed up for,â Wohn says, finished with Kegâs forehead and moving onto her cheeks. âYou know what we do.â
Keg hadnât known they had doneâŚthis.
(She hadnât known, she hadnât known, she hadnât known â)
âThose are people,â Keg sounds out, because this is Wohn and because the others arenât here to flay her open. âThose are ââ
Wohn takes her by the chin and looks her dead in the eyes. Her voice is firm when she says, âNo, Keg. Those are sheep.â
âSheep,â Keg repeats dumbly.
Wohn shrugs, sitting back on her haunches and settling her elbows on her knees. She looks unbearable hot in this light, but Keg is too out of it to really appreciate the view. âWeâre Shepherds, Keg. They stop being people the moment we get them,â she says. âBefore that, even. Weâre in the business of trafficking slaves.â
âThis isnât trafficking,â Keg says. âThis is â why do we â?â
Lorenzo prides himself on selling â uh, malleable workers,â Wohn says. âBest to keep it all in-house.â
In-house, Keg thinks. She sleeps upstairs.
She doesnât know how sheâs ever going to sleep again.
âWell, hello, there,â Ruzza says.
Well, Keg hadnât known her name then, but she does now. The memory is awash with rain and muffled screams as they unload the back of the cart, cages hauled out of impossible, hidden spaces. Keg pauses in her work, Wohn beside her as they pull them out, one by one, and stack them on the ground. The things (people, the people) stare at her with wide eyes, panicked eyes, pleading eyes. Keg looks away to the half-elvan woman with short hair and red lips.
âIâm Keg,â she says, and then gets back to work. There are a lot of cages.
Ruzza ducks around playfully, so that Keg is facing her once again. She makes no move to help with the unpacking of cargo. âItâs very nice to meet you, Keg,â she says, and okay, so like. Keg is traumatised, not dead. And Ruzza is gorgeous. Maybe itâs not Wohnâs muscular attractiveness, but Ruzza is tall and slender and fine-boned and hot. Keg could better stop the sun from shining than interest sparking low in her stomach.
âYou as well,â Keg says, trying to keep her syllables even. Her voice has finally stopped giving her problems, but the instances of occurrence always seem to exponentially increase the longer sheâs around good-looking people. (In the back of her mind, a little twit with glasses and large ears says, âCan you even spell âexponentiallyâ?â). Smooth, Keg. Be smooth.
âIâm Ruzza,â she says, folding her arms across her chest and smiling wide.
Beside her, Wohn snorts. âKeep going,â she says. âWeâve got another cart after this. You can â ah, get to know each other, later.â
Keg keeps her eyes forward and gets back to work, but thereâs a small grin to the corner of her eye, now. All she has to do is not look down. (Thatâs not a human, thatâs not a halfling, thatâs not a half-elfâŚ). With Ruzza standing there, tall and graceful and gorgeous, itâs not that hard.
They leave.
Keg walks away. Money talks, and Keg is out of Shady Creek Run, and thereâs no one to stop her. Itâs not raining. Itâs not anything. The sun is so far away, but itâs burning through the cloud cover and itâs visible, holy shit, itâs visible. Keg is moving forward and she doesnât recognise anything. Sheâs going to have a heart attack, soon.
âLike what you see?â Ruzza says. Sheâs sitting next to Keg on the cart, long legs swinging back and forth. Itâs empty, and feels light in a way that Keg doesnât usually associate with the creaking wood.
Keg turns to her, rolling her eyes. âI donât see what the big deal is,â she says, because being cool is a priority around Ruzza. âItâs not that different.â
Ruzza laughs. âWait till you see the rest, then.â
(This is what the rest is:
Silence.
Creeping, cold.
Keg waits in the still air, waits for Ruzza and Protto and Dwelma to come back, waits for her blood to start flowing again and her joints to unfreeze. Lorenzo is next to her, leaning against the cart and staring up at the stars.
Itâs their first hit on the run, but it wonât be their last. Twenty cages stand, stacked, in the cart â hidden under a thick spell that leaves Keg dizzy every time she pokes her head through.
She wants to say something, but nothing will come up through her teeth. If she opens her mouth, sheâs going to throw up. No matter what, Keg is not allowed to throw up.
Lorenzo glances at her, amused. Always, endlessly amused. Thereâs blood flecking the corner of her his cheek, but Keg doesnât ask. Keg canât ask, because if she doesnât know, she doesnât have to do anything about it.
âDonât worry, Keg,â he says. âTheyâll be back.â
And itâs funny, itâs hilarious, but Keg doesnât know if she wants them to or not).
Ruzza laughs, when they fuck, when they tangle into each other with rain on the windows and blood on their hands.
âYouâre on the next run,â she says, kissing her way up Kegâs collarbone. âAll yours, next time. Iâm sure youâll have lots of fun.â
âCan we not,â Keg says, shrugging off her shirt and grappling for Ruzzaâs. âIt this really the time ââ
âYouâre fun when you scream,â Ruzza says, and thereâs something cold about the way she says it. Keg canât help but shiver, but itâs too late, the warningâs too late, sheâs in too deep. Ruzza just laughs, and keeps laughing, well into the night.
Keg is born with ice in her veins and mud in her hair.
She clawed herself up and out, up and out. Sheâs got a trail of bodies and hearts behind her (less hearts than bodies, unfortunately), and thereâs no point in looking back, not now.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming