Lam touched a wet pointer finger to the cut on Conan’s cheek. “You know I kill people.”
“I’ve put a few men down too,” Conan confessed, “not for the same reasons you do, but it’s not a dealbreaker for me. You’re going to have to uncuff me, that a dealbreaker for you?”
It was flattering that this time Lam didn’t even have to think about it. He smiled, all teeth, like a predator.
“It’s not.”
Chapter 3: Slaughter
Lam wasn’t a fool, so after he cut Conan’s cuffs, he stayed on guard with the knife in his hand. Conan only rotated his wrists and then stretched, getting to his feet. He was big, but now Lam looked him over with new eyes.
He could see the rough living on him, the roughshod clothing, the winter boots that had seen better days. The threadbare coat he was wearing was ruined, slashed at the shoulder. Lam would need to do something about that if the man survived the night. He didn’t care to leave a man who had little, with less.
Lam cast a glance around and found his scarf where it had been forgotten. He picked it up and turned to Conan. He was brushing off his clothing with one arm, the other hanging at his side.
“See, I was returning your scarf,” Conan said with a smile.
Lam stepped closer. “Let me wrap your shoulder so you don’t lose any more blood.” The scarf was already ruined, so it was perfect for the job. Lam pocketed his knife as he stepped into Conan’s space, and they both watched each other warily.
Lam made quick work of tying the scarf around the man’s shoulder, knotting it tight as Conan tried to clamp down on a pained hiss. Lam tried not to let that affect him.
“Thanks,” he grunted when Lam was finished.
“You’re welcome. Come on,” Lam said, stepping out of his space and slipping his hand in his pocket, fist closing around the knife handle.
He turned and started in the direction he’d been going before they’d clashed into each other. The duffel of supplies wasback behind the rocks still, and he didn’t care to retrieve it now. He’d have to come back for it tomorrow.
Conan dropped into step at his side, but left a little gap of space between them which Lam appreciated. The trust they had was tentative at best.
On the other side of the bridge were the steps leading back up to the main walkway. They took them by unspoken agreement.
“So…” Conan said as they got up the steps, “Going to yours I assume.”
Lam hummed and pointed in the direction. “About half a mile down. Think you can make it?”
It was half a tease, half a question. Conan hadn’t lost a dangerous amount of blood, but he had taken a wound and an adrenaline crash could still put a grown man on his ass.
“I’ll be okay,” Conan said. He glanced around as they walked through the dark. “Quiet around here.”
“Yeah. New to this area?” Lam asked.
“Just passing through really,” Conan said. “Was going to head more south before the worst of the winter. Winter’s shit to work outside in.”
“We don’t get much snow here, it’s pretty mild in this valley.” Lam offered.
“It’s not even the snow, it’s the temps. A good coat and boots ain’t cheap, and I go through them in jobs.”
“Ah,” Lam said. Right.
“How long’ve you been here?” Conan asked, saving Lam from having to come up with something further.
“About two years. I’ll be leaving soon,” he said, which was true.
Conan chuckled, “Extracurriculars catching up to you?”
Lam had been careful to keep Conan in his peripheral, but now he turned to look at him. Conan kept his gaze forward.
He was awfully handsome, in that rough blue collar way men could be.
