Free Web NovelChapter 103: Chapter 103 - Commodities
Malcolm nodded once at her.
Iyisha swallowed and nodded back.
He opened the door.
Cold rushed in immediately, sharp enough to sting, the heat from the cabin gone in a breath. Iyisha stepped out slowly, boots crunching on gravel, her body shuddering as the air cut through her clothes. She wrapped her arms around herself without thinking, jaw clenched hard to keep her teeth from chattering.
Only then did she really see them.
There were more than twenty men spread across the road and the bridge approach, filling the space without crowding it, positioned like they knew exactly how much ground each of them needed. Most were older, faces lined and weather worn, hair threaded with gray or cut short and practical. These were not young raiders running on hunger and impulse.
They looked fed.
Their jackets were thick and intact, patched but clean. Boots solid, laced tight, soles not worn thin. Weapons were maintained, grips wrapped, metal oiled. A few wore watches. One had a scarf tucked neatly at his neck. Another leaned casually against a railing, rifle resting easy against his shoulder like it belonged there.
No one looked desperate.
They moved with the calm of people who slept indoors, who ate regularly, who had systems that worked. Men who did this often enough that it no longer raised their pulse.
Iyisha’s stomach sank.
This wasn’t a gang scraping by.
This was an operation that was doing well.
"Hands up," someone said.
She raised them.
Across the road, Waldo and Lauren were already out of the smaller car, guns trained on them from two sides. Waldo’s face was tight with panic he was barely holding back. Lauren stood rigid, one hand hovering near her stomach. The curve of her baby bump was obvious in the headlights, impossible to miss.
Iyisha closed her eyes for a second.
She had promised them safety.
She’s an idiot.
The men moved in.
One took Malcolm first, quick and efficient, patting him down, pulling weapons free without ceremony. Another stepped to Iyisha, hands firm and impersonal, checking her sides, her back, her boots. Her sidearm was taken. The knife at her belt followed.
She flinched when the cold hands brushed too close but stayed still.
Lauren’s breath caught when they searched her. One of the men paused, glanced at her stomach, then moved on without comment.
The man who had knocked on Iyisha’s door earlier stepped forward.
He was lanky and narrow shouldered, his coat hanging loose on him like it didn’t quite fit. Grease darkened his hair and the collar of his jacket, giving off a sour, unwashed look even in the cold. His movements were loose, almost lazy, like nothing here required effort from him.
He grinned wide, mouth stretching too far, teeth flashing white against skin that looked perpetually slick. The grin stayed as his eyes moved over them, not curious, not cautious, just pleased, like he was enjoying every second of it.
He stopped a few feet away and looked at them, eyes moving slowly from face to face, taking his time.
"See?" he said. "No one had to get hurt."
The circle tightened slightly. Boots shifted. Guns stayed raised.
They made them kneel.
Gravel bit into Iyisha’s knees as she lowered herself, hands forced down, guns still trained on them. No one hurried them. No one needed to.
The grinning man stepped away and went toward the edge of the bridge approach, where another man sat on a low crate, shoulders loose as he struck a match. The flare of light caught sharp eyes and a crooked nose as he leaned in to light his cigarette. Smoke curled slowly into the cold air.
The grinning man waited.
That alone made it clear who mattered.
"Good haul, boss," he muttered.
The leader took a drag, exhaled, then stood. He smiled as he walked toward Iyisha, unbothered, unhurried.
Her body tried to fold in on itself. Instinct screamed to curl, to shrink, to disappear. She forced herself still, spine straightening, jaw setting. She would not give them that.
He stopped in front of her, then motioned with two fingers.
Hands grabbed her arms and pulled her up.
Iyisha stood rigid as he circled her, slow and thorough, eyes taking in her face, her posture, the way her hair lifted in the breeze. She felt exposed in a way that made her skin crawl, like she was being inspected instead of seen.
He nodded once and looked back at the grinning man.
"She’ll fetch a high price," he said.
The words hit her like a shove.
Iyisha’s body went stiff, breath catching as the meaning settled heavy and unmistakable.
Then the leader turned toward Malcolm.
Iyisha’s blood ran cold.
She knew what usually came next. She had heard the stories enough times, seen the aftermath often enough to recognize the pattern. Men who traveled with women taken for the rings were rarely kept. They were liabilities. Witnesses. Problems solved quickly and without ceremony.
Her breath caught as she braced for it.
But the leader didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t signal anyone forward.
He smiled.
It was quick. Assessing.
"This," he said, letting out a low snicker as his eyes traveled over Malcolm’s frame, "is gold."
The reaction was immediate. Heads turned. Grins spread. A few men laughed, greedy and impressed, murmuring among themselves.
"Frankenstein would love him," the leader added.
Iyisha’s confusion cut sharp through her fear.
This wasn’t how it usually went.
They weren’t talking about killing him. They were talking about him the way they had talked about her. Measuring. Pricing. Deciding where he fit.
Her stomach twisted as the realization settled in.
Malcolm wasn’t being spared.
Then the leader turned toward Malcolm.
Iyisha’s blood ran cold at first, instinct snapping sharp and immediate. She knew what usually happened to men who traveled with women taken for the rings. They were dealt with fast. Cleaned up. Removed.
She braced for it.
But it didn’t come.
He didn’t signal anyone forward. No weapon came up. No order was given.
Instead, the leader smiled.
"This," he said, a low snicker slipping out as his eyes moved over Malcolm, "is gold."
The men reacted at once. Quiet laughs. Greedy nods. Someone muttered approval under his breath.
"Frankenstein would love him."
Iyisha’s chest loosened before she could stop it.
Not relief exactly, but something close enough that her breath finally came easier. Malcolm wasn’t being spared, she understood that much, but he wasn’t being killed either. Whatever they planned for him, it meant time. It meant opportunity.
She looked at Malcolm.
He was still kneeling, posture steady, face unreadable. No fear. No anger. Nothing given away. He looked the same as he always did when things went bad, controlled and contained, like his mind was already somewhere ahead of the moment.
That steadiness grounded her.
If he was panicking, she couldn’t see it. And that made her believe, irrational or not, that he had a way through this. That he was already thinking past the bridge, past the guns, past the men smiling at him like he was a prize.
She held onto that belief tightly.
In a night that had taken everything else from her, trusting Malcolm was the only thing that made it feel survivable.
