Bounty Hunters (Errand Runners 2) **NEW UPDATE 2018**

Chapter 9

Hey everyone, long time no see! Thanks so much for returning to my story and giving me the chance to tell this untold tale. I'm going to put in everything I've got to make it great, so I hope you enjoy it. As always, thank you for reading!                                                                                                                                                                                                            -Mari

Zane huffed the steam away from the cracked mug in his hands. There was a tiny chip on the brim, one that surely would have cut his lip if he had taken a drink carelessly. The heat emanated from the cheap glass, through his cheaper gloves, and into his palms. Shifting his eyes from the charcoal-black liquid to the man in front of him, he sensed the deflated tension that was present merely an hour ago. He had followed the two men without question for the sole purpose of them recognizing Dalton's file.

They sat at a ragged booth, cotton fluff bursting out of the torn red pleather exterior. The room itself was fairly small. Zane even compared it to his room at the complex. His old room.

A television buzzed on the dark mahogany bar where a balding man dried shot glasses. He seemed to be a friend to the two men, judging but how they greeted one another. Either that, or people actually frequented the run down bar. Colorful tattoos ran up and down the bartender's arms and probably extended beyond the sleeveless vest that barely masked his protruding chest hair. Zane locked eyes with him briefly before returning his gaze to his former attackers.

The man with the stark blue eyes slid the red scarf off of his shoulders. His pudgy, slack-jawed companion squinted at Zane, the patience receding as fast as his hairline. He was the one that broke the silence. "So kid, how do ya know Dalton?"

The name alone made Zane clench his hands around the thin walls of what was supposed to be coffee. He imagined the glass shattering in his grasp, so he contained his fuming anger. He didn't know if the two were friends or foes of Dalton, so he had to cover his bases the only way he knew he could: lie.

"Depends." He took a sip of the disgusting muck that was a little too thick for coffee. His eyes shifted to the tattooed man behind the bar for a millisecond.

"Archie, can you give us a sec?" The blue-eyed man called, catching on to his guest's apprehension.

The bartender stopped wiping the glass in his hand as he stared a hole into the backs of the men's heads. As if feeling the cold stare, Zane's new associate slipped a crisp fifty out of his pocket and held it in the air.

With a huff, Archie contented himself to walk to the back of his run-down bar and retrieve his tip later. In a previous life, Zane wouldn't have hesitated in robbing the men blind of their money, but things had changed and money couldn't solve all his problems.

Resting the bill on the table, the man in front of Zane sighed and spread a wide smile for Zane. "Obviously we got off on the wrong foot, uh..." He pulled the wanted flyer from his coat pocket. "Zane." He hid the page again and focused on the teenager. "Zane, I'm Sam and this is Skid."

"I'm not interested in your names," Zane replied.

Skid's sudden laugh cut the air like a siren. His stubbled double chin shook boisterously. "Right," he added with a chuckle as he wiped a single tear from his eye. "Sam, he's just like the boss."

The phrase caught Zane off guard. He wondered if they meant Dalton, but he didn't want to seem too eager by asking. When he returned his gaze to Sam, he caught the bold eyes analyzing him. The smile lingered on his face, but it didn't appear as genuine as before.

"As I was saying," Sam emptied a pink sugar packet into his own mug of mystery. "You and Dalton, you friends?"

Even in the dark puddle beyond the rim of his cup, Zane could catch a glimpse of his own reflection. His tired grey eyes were altered in color due to the liquid. He thought back to the scared eyes of his thirteen-year-old self. Those days weren't easy, but they weren't particularly awful either. He'd managed to scrounge together some kind of life. He had a life, a group to call his own, and most importantly, he had Ryan. Dalton was the sole perpetrator of his life going awry, and he had every intention of making him pay.

"We're old friends."

The questionable grin on Sam's face didn't move as he took another sip of his drink. Skid on the other hand was an open book. He stared at Zane suspiciously, inspecting his face in a painfully obvious manner. "Really?" he asked.

"He still in the Quads? I can't imagine he'd be idiotic enough to team up with the Ryker and that dope Caswell." Zane was playing his cards, as few as he had.

"You also a former Quad, Zane?" Sam asked, keeping his eyes on his coffee.

It was logical to come to the conclusion that Zane was a Quad as well, but still, the seventeen-year-old was surprised by Sam's sudden boost in intellect and deduction speed. It crossed his mind that he could be the one getting played.

Before he could respond, another chuckle came from Skid. "You're outta the loop kid. Enforcers took down the rest of the Quads months ago. You think Dalton would be dumb enough to team up with those Blues?"

"What Skid's trying to say," Sam interrupted, "is that Dalton isn't much of a... follower."

This piqued Zane's interest, but he thought it wise to bide his time and let the answers come to him. "Not surprised there." Zane gave a fake snort and lifted his drink again.

"Just out of curiosity," Sam added, what would come as a surprise to you?"

The suspicion manifested itself in Sam's question. Skid picked up on his partner's tone rather quickly, squinting his eyes in skepticism. Unabashed, Zane took another mouthful of his drink. "If you have something to say, say it."

He set his mug down with more force and stared coldly into Sam's oceanic eyes. Their blue color reminded him of Ryan's; how they'd been so lit up with life one second, and dulled with death the next.

The smile transformed to a smirk as Sam answered. "You can't blame me for being suspicious, Zane. You are a wanted man after all."

"Yeah, and you've gotta a pretty hefty price," Skid murmured, adopting some of Sam's newfound cynicism. "I mean, not as hefty as that Vale guy, but still a huge number."

"I've been on the radar since I was a kid," he shot back. "I don't know what you're getting at, but if you want to finish what we started outside, I'll gladly kick your..." The next words of his sentence escaped his mind. Zane stared wide-eyed at the men before his vision blurred. His eyes fell on his drink, which was well over half gone. Sam and Skid's on the other hand, were untouched. He'd let his guard down again, and this time no amount of fighting was going to get him out of it.

Zane involuntarily slinked back into the cushioned booth, unable to regain his bearings. He tried to stay awake, but knew keeping his heavy eyelids up was like fighting a losing battle. As a last-ditch effort, he lifted one limp hand to his face and opened his mouth, desperate to force out whatever drug he'd ingested. Before his finger could enter his mouth though, Archie grabbed his wrist. The last thing he saw was the bartender staring smugly at him.

"Looks like you've had too much to drink, kid," he joked, collecting his tip from the table.