The Last Builder Page 8

  “Take care of my kid, will you?” He got up and kissed the top of Katherine’s head.

  Butterflies fluttered to a frenzy in Katherine’s stomach. She tried not to let it show on her face. Her father smiled at both girls and then made his way out of the bar.

  “He really does talk about you all the time, you know,” said Jessie. “That wasn’t just something I said.”

  “What does he say? He can’t possibly know that much about me.”

  “Oh, everything,” Jessie said, smiling broadly. “Your grades, your accomplishments. How much you’re like your mother.”

  “Was. My mother’s dead.”

  Jessie’s face fell. “I’m sorry.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them.

  “I never met her. She sounded pretty amazing.”

  “I suppose Dad talked about her a lot too.”

  Jessie laughed. “He never shut up about either one of you.”

  “That wasn’t weird for you?”

  When Jessie tilted her head in confusion, Katherine cocked an eyebrow, mimicking the redhead's earlier expression.

  “I see,” Jessie said, and laughed again. “Your father is a good man. One of the best I know, in fact.”

  “But...?”

  “But he’s stubborn. And loyal. And pragmatic and completely frustrating.”

  “And you like him anyway?”

  Jessie gave a sharp laugh.

  Katherine didn’t smile. “He likes you, too.”

  “I know,” Jessie said, leaning in toward her. “That’s what makes it so frustrating.”

  10

  Cutler

  He stared at the illuminated map on his Omnis. The meeting place with Boyle was well outside the city limits, tucked away between abandoned buildings and large warehouses full of commercial supplies. The place was volatile to begin with, but adding Boyle and his gang to the mix was just asking for trouble.

  Which was exactly what was happening here. He knew Boyle wouldn’t come alone, despite his pride. The gang leader would rather have a leg up and prove his point with his goons looking on than be embarrassed a second time. There was no way Cutler was getting out of there unscathed.

  But if it meant getting Katherine away from the mess he created, then so be it.

  He tucked his Omnis back into his coat pocket and rolled his shoulders. He was standing in the shadow of a brick building that was guaranteed to fall with the next moonquake. In front of him were the remnants of a building that didn’t make it through the most recent seismic event. Dirt, dust, bricks, and rusted steel beams lay in a pile no one bothered to clean up, other than scavengers who repurposed some of the materials for their own gain.

  As soon as Cutler stepped into the light, a ringing laugh pierced the air.

  “I didn’t think you were stupid enough to come alone,” Boyle said.

  Cutler turned toward the voice, but he still couldn’t make out his opponent. “See, that’s the difference between us, Boyle. I knew you were stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.”

  Boyle growled and hopped down from his hiding place amongst the rubble. When he landed, his boots sent up a cloud of smoke that swirled around him like a tornado. He would’ve looked intimidating if Cutler didn’t know better. But he did know better.

  Boyle and his sister were night and day. Where Jessie was small, freckled, and bright with energy, Georgie Boyle liked to suck the life out of everyone around him. He was short and stocky, pale in a way that could only be described as alabaster, and had shaved his hair so short it looked as though an orange fungus had sprouted on top of his head.

  “I’d like my circuit board back,” Cutler said in a calm voice. “I’ve got no beef with you. I just want to get off-planet.”

  “See, that’s the difference between us, Copeland,” said Boyle. “I’ve got beef with you.”

  As if they’d rehearsed their entrance, four of Boyle’s lackeys emerged from the shadows, each one uglier and beefier than the last. Boyle wasn’t an imposing figure in terms of stature, but he was ruthless enough so that it made up for both his lack of intelligence and his lack of skills. Where Cutler had always been a tactical fighter, Boyle relied on brute strength.

  “Let’s not start anything here, Boyle. I’ve got my kid with me.” Cutler backed up, keeping everyone in his line of sight. “I just want to get her off this moon safe and in one piece.”

  “You’ll get your parts back, Copeland, but rest assured we’re definitely starting something here.”

  Boyle looked to the man on his immediate right, nodding in Cutler’s direction. The lackey grinned, twisting the already jagged scar that ran from the corner of his mouth all the way back to his left ear, and charged forward.

  Cutler was by no means a pacifist, but he didn’t enjoy fighting in the way other men did. He’d rather negotiate with his words than his fists, and nine times out of ten it saved a lot of energy for both parties involved.

  But Cutler Copeland wasn’t above defending himself either.

  Cutler ducked as the scarred man swung, then used his opponent’s momentum to throw him over his shoulder and onto the ground. One well-placed kick to the head, and the scar was out.

  Boyle cracked his neck from side to side, and then barked out, “Johnson. Rodgers.”

  The next two men didn’t hesitate. Johnson was large enough to lift a boulder over his head, and Rodgers was lean in comparison, though both still outweighed Cutler by at least fifty pounds. When Johnson swung, Cutler blocked the punch and jabbed the man in the gut, grabbing his other arm in the process and kneeing him in the same spot. As the man gasped for air, Cutler turned to Rodgers. Cutler took a right cross to the jaw. He managed to shake off the light that erupted in front of his eyes quick enough to block a second punch. Rodgers was quick, though, and before Cutler knew it, had already gotten in two punches to his gut and one more to his face. So much for trying to avoid bruises.

  Cutler stepped in close, taking a poorly aimed punch to the shoulder and absorbing it with a wince. Being this close to Rodgers allowed Cutler to twist the other man’s arm behind his back and render him immovable. His ears pricking at the sound of Johnson recovering his breath and charging at him again, Cutler swung to the side at the last second, putting Rodgers’s face in the spot where his own head had been a moment before. With calculated precision, Cutler knocked out Rodgers without ever having to throw the punch himself.

  Johnson roared in anger, pulling his friend out of Cutler’s grip and tossing him to the side. With one rage-fueled punch to the face, Boyle’s lackey sent Cutler tumbling to the ground. Blackness seeped into the edges of his vision. He pushed through the thundering pain in his head and zeroed in on the other man, who jumped on top of him and began pummeling Cutler’s ribs.

  One solid thrust from the heel of Cutler’s hand made Johnson pause long enough for Cutler to get his knee up and push the other man off him. He hadn't realized that Johnson still had a grip on his jacket, and the two men went rolling.

  Rock and foreign metal objects cut into Cutler’s back, but he ignored the pain long enough to ensure that when they stopped rolling, he ended up on top. Two quick jabs to the other man’s temple, and Johnson was laid out almost as quickly as his friends.

  He felt a pair of arms, presumably Boyle's, wrap around his torso and lift him right off his feet, attempting to squeeze the breath out of him. Meanwhile, Boyle’s last lackey stomped toward him, a glint of metal in his right hand. Despite the searing pain in his back and the burning in his lungs, adrenaline had made his mind sharper. When the man was close enough, Cutler swung his feet up and planted them right in the middle of his opponent’s chest, sending him sprawling and knocking the knife from his hand. Using his momentum on the swing down, Cutler threw Boyle over his shoulder so he’d land right on top of an angular rock. As Boyle yelped in pain, Cutler grabbed hold of the man's arm and twisted it, feeling the sharp pop as the bone dislocated from its socket. He let go and left Boyle the
re, screaming. He grabbed the knife from the ground and turned toward the last man. But with his boss out of commission, the lackey turned tail and ran.

  “You need better henchman, Georgie,” Cutler said. He spat a wad of dirt and blood just to the left of Boyle’s head, then put a knee on the writhing man's chest and pressed the blade to his neck.

  “You broke my arm!” Boyle cried out.

  “It’s not broken, you idiot. It’s dislocated. It’ll be fine. Get it together.”

  “What do you want?” Boyle said, suddenly realizing there was a knife against his jugular.

  “What I told you I wanted at the beginning. The circuit board you stole from my ship.”

  “It’s gone. I sold the piece of crap as soon as I had my fingers on it.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Good market for antique parts these days. Even from your junker.”

  “She’s not a junker,” Cutler said, pressing the knife in just a little deeper. “Who’d you sell them to?”

  “Blair! Blair bought them as soon as he saw them.”

  Cutler let out a deep breath and removed the knife from the man’s throat. For a second, Boyle seemed to relax. He even smiled up at Cutler. It made Cutler sick to see it, and he used the handle of the knife to deliver a blow to the side of Boyle’s head. The other man’s eyes rolled up as he went out cold.

  When Cutler stood up, all the pain from his fight increased tenfold, nearly sending him back to his knees. He threw the knife into the dirt where it embedded itself up to the hilt, then pulled out his Omnis.

  “You look like shit,” Garrett said as soon as he answered, his face filling the screen.

  “Boyle didn’t make it easy,” Cutler said.

  “He never does.”

  “You know where Blair is hanging out these days?”

  “Blair? Selene’s probably. But you can’t go in there looking like that.”

  “Watch me.” Cutler began hobbling back toward town. His lower back throbbed. Sweat and dirt were beginning to sting his eyes, his hands too encrusted with blood and dust to wipe them.

  Garrett shook his head. “That daughter of yours doesn’t need you to bring her any more trouble than she’s already in.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t think you do, son,” Garrett said, getting so close to the camera that all Cutler could see were his dark eyes. “She’s terrified, and you coming back a bloody mess isn’t going to make her feel any safer.”

  “Point taken,” Cutler said without heat in his voice. “I just want to get her away from here, and then things will settle down.”

  “You don’t know that,” Garrett said, “and neither does she. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  Cutler looked at the remorse in his old friend’s eyes. All he could do was nod. Garrett returned the nod and hung up, leaving Cutler to stare into his Omnis like maybe it held all the answers. But life wasn’t that easy. At least he could make one person’s day better. He transferred Garrett his credits despite not having the circuit board back in his hands just yet. It was a gesture of faith; it was all he had.

  He shook the dirt from his coat and did his best to wipe away the blood from his face and hands. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sneak into Selene’s unnoticed. By the time he arrived outside the swanky club, there was already a line stretching around the block made up of women in tight dresses and men in their finest suits. He rounded the building until he got to the side entrance, which was manned by a burly guard, more shoulders than neck.

  “Keaton,” Cutler said by way of greeting. He tried to keep his face from giving him away every time he took a breath, but it didn’t take a doctor to see he’d gotten the once over by someone who didn’t like him very much.

  “Cutler Copeland,” Keaton said, taking Cutler’s hand in a shake that made him wince. “You look like shit.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “No, really. What the hell happened to you, my man?”

  “Boyle thought he could get one over on me.”

  Keaton laughed. “Looks like he got more than one over on you.”

  “That might be true.”

  “How bad did you beat him this time?”

  “Well, it was five to one. Four on the ground and one with his tail between his legs.”

  Keaton whistled. “Even more embarrassing than last time.” He looked Cutler up and down for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest. “So what brings you out this way? I hope you’re not looking to get in. You know I can’t let you in looking like that.”

  “I need a favor.”

  “I’m always up for helping you out, brother, but I still can’t let you in looking like that. I’ll lose my job.”

  “You still afraid of Selene?”

  “Dammit, son, you haven’t seen her bad side. You’d have to be a fool not to be terrified of that woman.”

  Cutler chuckled and immediately regretted it. His ribs felt like they were caving in on themselves, about to puncture his lungs. “I need to know if Blair is inside.”

  Keaton’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline. “What do you want with Blair?”

  “He’s got something of mine.”

  “You sure you want it back that badly?”

  “Don’t have a choice.”

  Keaton shook his head, walked over to the door, and knocked twice. When it popped open, he whispered something to the man on the other side, who then nodded and retreated back inside.

  Cutler eyed the queue. Ninety percent of the people lined up weren’t going to get in, but they kept coming back every night to try their luck anyway.

  When the door popped open, Keaton and the man on the other side exchanged a nod.

  “I’m getting you a back room. Selene better not see your ass. Mine's on the line.”

  “Understood,” said Cutler, clapping the man on his shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

  “I know you do, which is the only reason why you get away with half the shit you do. You’re a good guy, Cope, but you sure do know how to find trouble.”

  “Trouble finds me, Keaton. I can’t help it.”

  Keaton swung the door wide for Cutler, returning the clap on the back, reminding Cutler he couldn’t afford to get into any more fights today.

  Selene’s was nothing like Jessie’s. Minimalist furniture decorated the nightclub in a way that either forced people together or sent them to the bar for a seat. The dance floor was crowded with writhing bodies, but the man leading Cutler around the outside of the club didn’t give him much time to get a look at the people who’d been lucky enough to be admitted.

  They passed several rooms closed off by violet curtains before they stopped in front of one in particular, seemingly at random. A shy giggle escaped from inside, followed by the low rumblings of a man whispering into a woman’s ear. The man leading Cutler motioned for him to wait while he ducked inside.

  The giggle cut off sharply, and Cutler could hear the sound of bodies shifting on a crackling leather sofa as they righted themselves.

  “What is it?”

  “Someone here to see you,” the bouncer said. “Business.”

  There was a pause, then, “Sorry, honey. We’ll have to pick this up later.”

  Cutler heard the slap of a hand against skin and a quiet squeal before the girl appeared, pushing her way through the curtains, not even bothering to look in Cutler’s direction. It only took a few seconds for someone else to make a beeline for her, and for her to wrap her hands around his neck.

  As the bouncer left the room, Cutler made his way through. Blair was sitting on a red leather sofa, a spread of cheese and wine in front of him. He already looked annoyed, but when he caught sight of the mess that was Cutler’s face, his scowl deepened.

  “What the hell is this?” Blair asked.

  “Business,” Cutler said, falling back onto the sofa with a grunt. “You’ve got something of mine.”

  “And what’s that?�
�� Blair asked, shifting away from Cutler. He was a slight man with dark hair and dark eyes. His cheekbones were high and his bone structure was so delicate it looked like they could be hollow beneath his skin. He was frail-looking compared to Cutler’s hardened form. Blair was certainly used to using money to get what he wanted. He probably hired out when he needed someone to be put in their place. His stark white suit made it clear he wasn’t the type to get his hands dirty, although that didn’t make him any less of an adversary.

  “A circuit board you acquired today from a guy called Boyle.”

  “Ah yes. And how many credits are you willing to give up for this part?”

  “None.”

  Blair cupped his ear. “Uh, excuse me?”

  “None,” he repeated, leaning forward and spearing a cube of cheese with a toothpick. “It was stolen from me and I want it back.”

  “Are you suggesting I’m making black market deals?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” Cutler said, popping the cheese in his mouth and tossing the toothpick to the floor. He leaned even further into the couch and looked over at Blair with lazy eyes. “I’m telling you that part you acquired today was stolen, and that I want it back.”

  “I can’t do that, Mister, uh, what did you say your name was?”

  “Copeland,” Cutler said, standing up. His muscles screamed. “Unlike me, your reputation precedes you, Mr. Blair. I know you regularly do business in this club, and I know that business isn’t always of the legal variety.”

  “You can’t prove that,” Blair said, following him to his feet, buttoning his jacket with one hand, motioning toward the curtain with the other. “I suggest you leave before you get into even more trouble than you already have, Mr. Copeland.”

  “See, that’s the problem, Mr. Blair,” Cutler said, taking a step toward the other man. “It’s been a long day, but I’ve still got some energy left.”

  “To do what?” Blair said. He didn’t look intimidated.

  “Well, I could kick your ass,” Cutler said, “but I have a feeling that wouldn’t get me very far, though messing up that white suit of yours would bring me a surprising amount of pleasure.”