Free A Thirst for Vengeance (The Ashes Saga, Volume 1) by Edward M. Knight Page A

if I did, two grown men could easily outpace an eight-year-old boy.
    I had no chance.
    “Good,” one of them said. He held out his hand. “Now, give me that kettle. Those coins belong to the Delphic, and that’s where they’ll go.”
    I held the kettle closer to my body. My eyes darted behind the men. If I went that way, however, I could find the path back.
    Could I outrun them? I wasn’t sure. But if I didn’t try, regret would gnaw at me for weeks.
    “No,” I said, and sprang forward, ducking between the two men.
    I passed under their legs, and for a brief, ephemeral moment, tasted freedom…
    Then I was yanked off my feet and held up by the scruff of my neck.
    The kettle was wrenched from my hands. I heard the clatter of coins inside as the street tough jerked it away. I heard warm nights and a full belly disappearing. I heard the promise of a slightly better life be whisked away.
    “Smart-assed bastard tried to run,” the one holding me said. “Can you believe that? I knew he was a thief.”
    The second cracked his knuckles. “We’ve got to teach the runt a lesson. He’s gotta learn that we deal with thieves differently in the gambling district.”
    “Here.” The man holding me tossed me to his friend as easily as if I was a coin purse. I collided with the second man’s chest. He threw me over his back and turned away into an abandoned alley.
    As he walked, I saw my kettle lying full and forgotten on the ground behind us.
     
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    He dumped me to the ground. My head bounced off the stone. My vision went wobbly for a few moments.
    When I could see again, I saw the toughs staring down at me. They reminded me of two hungry cats circling a cornered hen.
    The first one kicked at me. I braced myself against the blow before it landed. It caught me just beneath the ribs with enough force to send me flying against the wall.
    “A thief and a smart-ass,” he said. He kicked me again. “Let this be a lesson to you. Don’t—” a kick, “—come—“ another kick, “—to the—“ one more, “—gambling district—again!”
    He punctuated the last word with a heavy kick right into my stomach.
    I curled up into myself, trying to protect my vital organs. The two toughs did not give me the privilege. One of them grabbed my shoulders and picked me up, then pinned me to the wall, exposing my body.
    “You got that?” he snarled. His friend laughed as he landed a punch in the soft flesh of my gut. I doubled over in pain.
    He released me and let me fall. I was treated to another flurry of kicks. My body started to go numb as I felt myself fading. Each kick seemed more distant than the last.
    “…never… see… your face… again!”
    The voices blended into an incoherent cacophony beyond the pain that consumed my world. A kick to the gut. A kick to the spleen. A kick to the back that sent me rolling. I tasted blood on my tongue and felt my entire body softening under the unrelenting blows.
    I didn’t know how long they beat me. I didn’t even know how I was still alive. All I knew was that if I survived, two more people would be added to my revenge list.
     
    ***
     
    Somehow, I found my way back to Magda in the dark. The trip was a blur. She cared for me, again, and when I was finally lucid enough to understand, scolded me for being so careless a second time.
    I vowed that I would never be victim to a beating again.
    After a few weeks, I was getting back to my regular self. I hadn’t seen Thraugh since before my encounter with the toughs, and I felt a vague sort of concern for him.
    It never grew into anything stronger. There was no room for sympathy in the streets.
    Most nights, I slept behind a stack of crates sheltered in an alley corner. They were rotten and forgotten. Getting discovered there, or jumped in the night, was not a concern.
    After I regained my strength, I went back to begging and thieving. I avoided other children, but always kept an eye out for Duke and his friends.