Broken Arrow

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sherwood Forest.

It was the most obvious choice, after all. Deep down Adele knew that's where they would go, because she'd followed them there once before. She knew that's where Robert belonged — if he was still alive (no-one seemed to be able to confirm it either way). So it was where Mark, Tate and Sophie would go, too.

They hadn't really needed the torture session with Jack at all: conducted in the smithy, in one of the archways adjoining the stables..

But it had been fun.

Adele — the… what was it Jack had called her just before his interrogation? Oh yes, the femme fatale. The pain Jack had experienced at the hands of this master craftsman, this artiste, had sent tingles through her entire body. He hadn't had time to do a complete number on the man, because The Tsar was demanding results, but it had been enough.

In lieu of his usual equipment, Tanek had made full use of the now dead blacksmith's furnace (after all, he wouldn't be needing it, now he was over in the corner riddled with bullets): the tongs, the poker, the red-hot coals spitting in that square metal tray with open sides, the kind they used in the old Hood's day. He hadn't even asked any questions to begin with, just inflicted his agonies on Jack — the screams of the big man so piercing they could be heard throughout the grounds.

Tied to a chair, and naked apart from a pair of boxers, Jack had looked up at Adele and the sense of betrayal on his slick face was incredible. It was like a physical thing, all adding to the torment the ex-wrestler was enduring. Adele knew that he had been starting to fall in love with her, in spite of everything she'd done to show her 'affections' lay elsewhere — or at least her obsession. With Robert. With his downfall. With his death.

Tanek had even let her have a turn with the irons, sweet man that he was. Her father's second, and now her protector. They'd hardly had a chance to talk since meeting earlier that day, but they hadn't really needed to. Tanek recognised her almost immediately, knew that she was from the great man's stock. And that allegiance continued even after Daddy was gone. Murdered by Robert and his followers; including Jack. It brought her great satisfaction to torture the latter, chasing any last doubts from his mind that she might be talked around or turned.

Or be his.

"Y-You… traitorous s-slut," Jack spat through clenched teeth, love turning to hatred.

She studied his face again, then she kissed him — because she knew that would cause more pain than she ever could with the irons. Adele bit his lip as she pulled away, laughing as the blood dribbled down Jack's chin. "Poor, deluded idiot," she said in her true accent, the one she'd been so careful to conceal during her time playing the helpless heroine.

"Where are the others going?" Tanek asked. Maybe he was uncomfortable with the way the session was going. Maybe he was just jealous. Was he hers for the taking as well? Adele had already observed the way The Tsar had been looking at her. But his time would come soon enough, she understood that. At some point she and Tanek would rule this army, or rather she would — with Tanek by her side. Whether that was as her willing slave, bodyguard or lover — or all three — remained to be seen.

"I saw how this went in Reservoir Dogs. Go screw yourself, pal," Jack breathed. That earned him a slap in the face. Adele could still taste the copper in her mouth as she continued to watch Tanek at work; now picking precise spots on Jack's body and hammering in horseshoe nails. It wouldn't kill him, but would deliver the maximum amount of lasting pain. Tanek hammered them home until Jack passed out. Then he threw a bucket of cold water over him.

But they were getting nowhere. "He'll never talk in the time we've got left," Adele said, and Tanek could see that she was right. Given a couple of days, he could get anyone to talk, even someone as loyal as Jack. But The Tsar was breathing down their necks and, like it or not, he called the shots.

"Let me try a different tack." She brushed a finger over one of the nails. "If you'll pardon the pun."

When Jack was awake, Adele ran a sharp fingernail down his cheek. "If you don't tell us where your little friends have gone, we will execute Mary."

Looking at her through a haze of anguish, Jack spluttered, "Don't have her… Mark said…"

"Oh, in spite of my best efforts she's still alive. Just. But how long she stays that way depends on you, my dearest Jack."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

She couldn't help but smile at that. "You don't, mon cheri. But you have my word as a De Falaise that she will die if you do not co-operate. Now, that really does mean something. That is important to me."

He thought about this for a second or two, weighing everything up and coming to the conclusion that if she'd done all this to avenge her father, then she would never take his name in vain.

"Tell us what we need to know," she'd pressed.

So, hanging his head in shame, he did.

She remembered the shame.

The nights lying awake as he snored beside her. Spent, after he'd done whatever he pleased with her. Of all the places the soldiers could have stuck her.

Focus on Clive Jr, not the room. Not the bedroom where De Falaise kept you locked up, where they are keeping you locked up right now.

Gwen screwed her eyes shut, then opened them. It was just a room, just a room in the castle. At least it was on the ground floor, with no chance of rockets hitting the wall. Not that there was any fighting going on anymore. The Tsar's forces had won, swiftly and confidently.

Perhaps he'll be like the Frenchman, her mind whispered. Do you think he'll want to play games, as well? Dress you up and pretend, while you lay there, catatonic?

Gwen felt sick to her stomach. If Tate was here right now, she might just put her hands around his neck and squeezed. Reverend or no Reverend.

But it could be worse. She was still alive, and so was her son — her one connection to home, to New Hope, to Clive.

Could be in the same state as Mary, she said to herself. Gwen had seen her being carried in, helped by Lucy, the woman who'd assisted when Clive Jr was born. She'd been training as a nurse. And Mary looked like she needed one, looked like she was barely hanging on to life. Gwen had exchanged a brief look with Lucy as they'd passed, and could see pure terror in the woman's eyes. Like she knew it, too. Like she wasn't sure she could pull Mary through.

Gwen had been bundled into the room then, the door locked behind her. As far as she could tell there weren't many other survivors, unless they were being held in different parts of the castle? Perhaps The Tsar had shot them all?

She wondered what might have happened to Jack, Mark, Sophie… and, yes, Tate. She did still care about him, in spite of herself. Were they all dead, or in the same state as Mary?

But the room. Oh God this room.

It looked different; had no bed in it for a start and had been turned back into some sort of office. Probably where Robert organised his little missions. Just who did he think he was, appointing himself the guardian of this land, withholding vital things like weapons from people who just wanted to protect themselves? Leading suicide squads of young men to their doom? He was lucky they'd go with him, though she had to admit he had a way of sucking people in. Didn't work on her, of course. Too bloody-minded.

Gwen rocked Clive Jr on her knee. "I won't let anything happen to you, sweetheart. Not while there's still breath in my body."

The door lock clicked and Gwen jumped. She watched as the handle slowly turned. When the door opened she felt a lump rise in her throat.

"Remember me?" said the man standing there.

Gwen said nothing.

"I had to see if it was true, that you were back." He grinned, but it came out more like a leer. A leer that stretched the scar across his jawline tight.

"Jace," she said.

"That's right," he chuckled. "You haven't forgotten me, then?"

How could she? He'd been her means of escape, the guard posted to keep an eye on her. She'd lured him inside, then stolen his clothes and knocked him unconscious with the butt of his own gun.

"But you were-"

"A prisoner? Just like you were back then? Fucking locked away when I hadn't even done nothin'."

Is that what you really believe? Yes, I think it is.

"Well, the new boss around here's letting all of the prisoners free who want to work for him. Good old Tanek vouched for me."

Shit, he's here as well? One big, happy family reunion.

"Hey, it'll be just like the old days, 'cept for the fact you've got a sprog now, eh?"

Gwen stood, holding Clive Jr close to her. "If you go near him, I'll-"

Jace pulled out a pistol and levelled it at her. "You'll what, Duchess?"

Her eyes were fixed on the gun. Gwen was keenly aware that he'd pull the trigger in a heartbeat. He had a grudge not only against her, but this whole place.

"Now, take it easy and everything will be fine." Jace's eyes were crawling downwards, over the front of her jumper, just as they had that day when she'd deliberately enticed him into the room. He'd been distracted then, the horny little shit, and she'd been able to get the better of him. How was she supposed to do that now, holding Clive Jr and with a handgun pointed at her?

"I seem to recall that you got me to strip off the last time we met. So, how's about we start by you returning the favour."

"Please… My son."

"What about him?"

"You can't, not in front of him."

"Listen, I've been banged up in that fucking hotel jail the best part of a year, bitch. I haven't had any in all that time, so I'm going to make up for it. Just a happy coincidence that it's you, so I can kill two birds with one stone. Now, put him down so you can get on with things."

Gwen closed her eyes out of resignation. It was all happening again, wasn't it? It would happen in this room, just as it had before. But instead of the Sheriff it would be some wet behind the ears young thug. Only she'd changed so much, been forced to change. She'd do what he wanted, just until she could get that piece off him. Then she'd fucking well blow his brains out.

"I said put him down!" shouted Jace.

Gwen placed Clive Jr in the corner, telling him everything was going to be okay. Then she turned to Jace.

"Make it nice and slow. I don't want to miss nothing." He said.

Swallowing dryly, Gwen took hold of the bottom of her jumper and began to raise it. She took her time, like he said, but was apparently taking too long, because Jace jabbed the gun in her direction and told her to get the jumper off. "Now! I want to see."

Gwen pushed her elbow into the hem of the jumper and peeled it off. It wasn't particularly cold but she shivered anyway, and thanked God she'd worn a bra today. It was the last thing standing between Jace's beady little pig-eyes and her nakedness.

"That too," Jace ordered, indicating the bra. He licked his lips, eyes glued to her chest. With his free hand he began to undo his belt, his trousers swelling where he was growing excited.

Gwen began to walk towards him. "Wouldn't you like to get a closer look, Jace? Maybe touch them?"

He straightened his gun arm and pushed her back. "I'm not falling for that twice. I'm not a moron."

Are you sure about that? thought Gwen. Quick as a flash she flung the jumper at him, knocking the gun sideways and allowing her a clear shot with her foot, to kick him between the legs. Jace managed to twist around, though, and the kick caught him on the thigh.

Angrily, he pushed her back, shrugging the jumper off his gun and pointing it at her again. "Gonna regret that."

Gwen tensed herself, but the shot didn't come. He didn't want to kill his plaything. Instead, he turned the weapon in the direction of Clive Jr.

"No, please. Not my son. I'll do anything."

"You will anyway," Jace reminded her. "Remember what you said to me last time, how was I going to do anything with my 'maggot'? Heh. When I've shut the kid up, I'm going to show you exactly what I can do."

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As she flung herself across the room — in an effort to put her body between the bullet and Clive Jr — Gwen noticed every tiny detail. Like the slight pressure on the trigger of the pistol; Jace's forehead crinkling as he concentrated on shooting her boy; the scar along his chin stretched tighter than ever. And the exact moment Jace's expression changed, his face creasing up in pain rather than concentration. At the exact same time a trickle of blood sprang from the corner of his mouth and began its downward journey.

Then there was the flash of metal and Jace was pitching forward, the gun falling from his grasp. He caught her eye as he followed it, dropping first to his knees, before coughing up blood. She knew he was thinking: Why is this happening to me? I'm not such a bad guy.

Gwen felt nothing as he collapsed onto the carpet, but she could now see the vicious blow that had caused his death. A long cut across his back, so deep it had probably severed his spinal column. And behind Jace, his attacker. The man she hadn't even seen or heard come in.

He stood there, blade dripping with Jace's blood, the hood he wore obscuring his features. But Gwen knew what he looked like. Knew it was him.

Knew that under that hood there was a painted face, a skull. Lifting the machete, he wiped the blood off on the edge of his dark robes.

Frozen in the process of running to Clive Jr, Gwen gaped at him, not comprehending. Skullface had just saved her, and her child.

Clive Jr! Gwen found she could move again and went to her son, gathering him up into her arms. She didn't once take her eyes off the cultist, though.

He had something in his other hand, the one not clutching his huge knife. He tossed it over, and when she held it up she saw it was one of their robes. "Put it on," he said. His voice was flat, robotic, but was she imaging things or was there a hint of humanity in there? (She thought this regardless of the fact this man had just killed someone in cold blood without showing a trace of emotion.) At first Gwen thought he might also be telling her this to cover up her dignity — as she was still standing in only her bra and jeans. Then she realised he had other plans.

"They will be coming for you soon," he stated. "You must leave the castle."

"Who will? The soldiers? Are they going to kill us?" Gwen placed Clive Jr down by her feet a moment while she slipped into the robes.

Skullface, who still hadn't removed his hood, answered: "They are taking you and the other women to the forest."

"What?" Gwen was more confused than ever. Why would they take them to the forest to kill them? And why just the women?

"You are to be bait."

Bait? She still didn't understand… unless Robert had returned to Sherwood? But then surely they'd take just Mary? Gwen cast her mind back to the hostages that had been on the gallows when De Falaise had been at the castle — Robert had been willing to come into the castle grounds alone to save them. Perhaps they were banking on him coming out because they had some of his closest friends? Closest female friends? The sexist shits.

It still didn't explain why this guy was helping her escape, why he'd stopped Jace from attacking them. From attacking Clive Jr…

"Why?" she asked as she scooped up Clive Jr again, joining the cultist at the door. "Why are you doing this for us? For him?"

"He must be kept safe," said the man in that monotone voice, tinged with the slightest hint of compassion. "Hide him under your robes."

Gwen did as she was told, covering Clive Jr as much as she could, before pulling up the hood to conceal her features. Their saviour led them out of the office and into the castle, where other robed figures were waiting.

She didn't have much option but to go with them, especially as they were able to move freely. Where they were taking her, she had no idea, but Gwen began to hope again.

For her there was always New Hope.