Free Thief by Anitra Lynn McLeod Page B

his napkin in his lap. “You’ve done a fine job, Kraft.”
    Kraft nodded. “Thank you kindly.”
    Heller stood nonplused for a moment, looking around like a little kid trying to find his toys so he could take them and stomp home. No one challenged him, and he didn’t know what to do. In the end, he focused his burning eyes on her and mouthed the words, “Cook-whore”.
    Kraft held his gaze and took a bite of her dinner. She refused to take his bait, but she didn’t back down from his challenge either.
    “She bested us, Heller,” Jace said matter-of-factly. “She isn’t grinding it in your face. Sit down and let it go.”
    Heller sat, but he shot Kraft a foreboding glare.
    Kraft thought that Heller was like Smug, a terrible mean dog she knew once upon a time. Vicious and deadly, Smug had to be shown, clearly and sharply, who not to tangle with. Heller was by far stupider than Smug. Since Jace’s sharp rap across Heller’s snout hadn’t brought him into line, she would have to find another way. And she didn’t have to wait long for the training to begin.

    At lunch the next day, Bailey stood first in line, but Heller shoved him aside and thrust out his plate.
    Kraft waited for Bailey to recover, took his plate and said, “Fair is fair, Heller. Bailey was first.” She fixed Bailey’s plate and he sat at the table.
    She took Heller’s plate and heaped it high. She held it out to him. He took it, looked around and snarled, “How do I know you ain’t poisoned it?”
    “Cheery thought, but don’t you think—oh, wait.” Kraft deliberately turned her back on him. “You don’t.”
    “What?” Heller asked.
    “Think,” Bailey said, taking a bite. He grinned at Kraft like a well-trained puppy.
    “That’s it!” Heller slammed his plate down on the counter, splattering food everywhere. “We’re going.”
    Kraft sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Mano-a-mano?”
    “What?” Heller’s face wadded up like a piece of paper trash.
    “Hand-to-hand, no weapons,” Bailey translated, gripping his plate of food protectively.
    Heller tossed aside his blade. “That’s all I got on me.”
    Kraft shrugged. “I can’t toss aside my weapon so easily.”
    “Cheater.”
    “No.” She shook her head. “But I’ll tell you my weapon first.”
    “Go ahead.” Heller drew up until he loomed almost a foot over her.
    “I have two fingers. Well, one finger, one thumb.”
    “That all?”
    “All I need.”
    Heller spat, then motioned her forward with two flicking fingers. “Come at me, freak-show, and I’ll ram your two fingers up your fucking nose.”
    Kraft smiled. For the most part, Heller only swore when Jace wasn’t around. “You’ll be on your knees before you can even process my threat.”
    “Didn’t Captain Lawless tell everyone to—” Before Bailey could finish, Kraft grabbed Heller’s right hand with her thumb and forefinger, flipped his hand up and back, then forced him to his knees with steady pressure.
    Bailey dropped his fork in open-mouth shock.
    Heller’s eyes went wide. He twisted his hand this way and that, but only managed to make matters worse by giving her a better hold. He flailed his left arm, but his thick muscles prevented him from lifting his arm high enough to disengage her.
    “Let go, bitch!”
    She leaned close and whispered, “Stop challenging me, Heller. You stop right now, or I promise, I’ll wrench your hand so hard I’ll break it along with your arm, your shoulder, your back, and then I’ll get to work on your legs.”
    His face went white, except for the still purple mask across his eyes and nose. If she were inclined to fight dirty, all she had to do was poke his schnozz and he’d scream uncle.
    Jace entered the kitchen, considered their tableau for a moment, and calmly asked, “What’s going on?”
    “An understanding.” Kraft spared Jace half a glance.
    “You freak-show bitch!” Heller gurgled in pain as he knelt in front of her.
    “Not the understanding