Ash swallowed.

Well, shit.

As expected, the Cirkus Freaks knocked him around the hotel room a little bit. Ash had a hard time following exactly what they were doing. There were simply too many fists and feet swinging in his direction. He stayed standing for the first few blows to his face and gut, and then one of the Freaks kicked his feet out from beneath him, and he dropped to the ground like a stone.

His hands were still tied behind his back, and so he hit the floor face-first. A spray of blood painted the wood before his eyes.

He remembered, clearly, the first crack of a boot in his ribs, how he curled, bracing to absorb the blow. Pain exploded through his chest, driving the breath from his lungs.

The third, fourth, and fifth kicks blurred together, but the sixth kick was memorable, seeing as it was aimed at his face. He heard the crack of his nose breaking a split second before he felt the burn of pain. The room dissolved into white light and blood.

Finally, Mac said, “Enough.”

Ash struggled to stay conscious. He couldn’t see past the blood in his eyes. His breath was uneven, his heartbeat sputtering.

Crouching, Mac pulled a wad of paper napkins from his pocket and began cleaning the blood from Ash’s face.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry I had to do that,” he said conversationally. “But you see where I’m coming from, right? You came into my club, waved a gun around, demanded things. I’m respected around these parts, son. I can’t let you get away with that.”

Ash closed his eyes. Well, he closed one of them. The right one was already swollen shut.

“You should consider yourself lucky.” A grunt, and Mac wiped the blood from Ash’s eye with his thumb. “If you were anyone else, I’d have shot you back at the docks and been done with it.”

“Do you expect me to thank you?” Ash laughed, spitting up blood.

Mac frowned, and Ash got the feeling he didn’t have a lot of experience with sarcasm.

“Why keep me alive at all?” Ash choked out. “You’re already working with the Black Cirkus, and they’re the ones with the time machine. You don’t need me.”

Mac studied him, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips.

“Let me tell you a story,” he said after a moment. “About a month ago, my contact with the Center offered me a boatload of money if I could get them a time machine.” A shrug. “I guess their fancy scientists still haven’t been able to figure it out. Between you and me, I’d never given much thought to time travel. But, well, this amount of money could’ve had me sitting pretty for years. I would’ve been able to expand my little operation, take over Aurora, live like a king.”

Mac grinned, revealing nicotine-stained teeth. “It was enough to start me wondering whether this place was even worth it. Twice in recent memory, an earthquake has come damn close to wiping New Seattle off the map. I had to ask myself: Did I really want to build my empire without some sort of guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again?”