Children of the Cull by Cavan Scott Read Free Book Online

guards you can trust. That’s all. Everyone else is confined to barracks as of this moment.”
    “But, the subjects...”
    “I’ll looked after them myself. I can cope with eight children—” I stopped myself. Seven, now.
    “The staff aren’t going to like it.”
    I gave him a look that made it clear the conversation was at an end. “They’re not supposed to.”

 

     
    CHAPTER SIX
    KILL
     
     
    “H ERE, ” SAID B ECK, thrusting a chipped mug at me.
    “What is it?” I asked, eying her with suspicion.
    “What does it smell like?”
    Tentatively I raised the mug to my nose and took a sniff. My eyes widened, the bruise on my forehead twinging.
    “You’re kidding me? Coffee? ”
    “Or as near as dammit,” said Beck, taking a sip from her own blue-and-white-checked mug.
    “Where did you get it? Actually, no. I don’t care. Thank you.”
    I took a sip, the hot liquid burning my lips. The bitter taste washed over my tongue. It had been a long time since I tasted coffee. I could barely remember if this was good or bad—but it was welcome.
    To be honest, while my introduction to Brennan’s gang had been less than welcoming, things had rapidly improved. They’d given me a room among the old offices to change—even providing some reasonably clean clothes and, miracle of miracles, showed me where they had installed a makeshift shower in the corner of the storeroom downstairs. It was cold, of course, using rainwater they’d collected in giant butts on the roof, but alongside a bar of gritty chemical-smelling soap, I wasn’t complaining. It was also far from private, what little remained of my dignity protected by loose plastic sheeting draped around some old clothes horses, but, again, I barely gave a fuck. So, I was washing under the gaze of curious gang members nearby. What did it matter? I was clean, properly clean for the first time in months.
    Who would have thought I’d care?
    Certainly not me.
    “How’s the nose?” I asked Beck, taking another swig of the coffee.
    She shrugged, although it had to hurt. It had been set—to a fashion—beneath a long plaster, but the bruises around her eyes were obvious.
    I almost felt sorry.
    “How’s the head?” she responded.
    “Still as thick as ever.”
    She almost smiled.
    “So, how long have you been with Brennan?”
    “Long enough.”
    “Quite some time, then.”
    “Does it matter?”
    Small talk wasn’t her thing. I got that. Even appreciated it. But she’d been the one to offer the java-infused olive branch.
    “Thanks for the coffee,” I said, finishing the cup.
    “No problem.”
    Why was she even here? I looked at my watch, looking past the cracked face. It still worked, that was all that mattered. Besides, it had been a present from Jasmine. It was the nearest thing I had to a treasure.
    “Brennan’s on her way,” Beck said, assuming I was getting twitchy. “She had things to attend do.”
    “She’s the boss,” I said, putting the mug on top of the papers I’d carefully laid out on the table beside us. “I’m not going anywhere.”
    “What about you?” Beck asked, surprising me with the question.
    “What about me?”
    She took another sip. “How long have you been a merc?”
    I was tempted to say ‘long enough.’
    “Since a little after the Cull. A lifetime.”
    “And before?”
    I grinned, mocking a yank accent. “ That’s classified, ma’am. ”
    This time she did actually smile, showing a row of yellowed teeth. “Special forces?”
    “Something like that. Who trained you?”
    “I was brought up on the streets. Can’t remember much about life before.”
    “Don’t know what you’re missing, eh?”
    “I wouldn’t say that.”
    There were footsteps from the hall outside. Brennan was on her way. Beck’s posture changed. She’d started to relax for bit, there. Now it was back to business. She drained the last dregs from the mug and placed it on the side of the table, standing up straight, her arms behind her