Marius strode behind her. “Soon you’re going to feel a warm tickle, right here.” He ran a fingernail down the base of her skull, then bent to her ear and whispered, “I would know, wouldn’t I? You put me through this so many times.”
As badly as she wanted to slam her head into his face, the throbbing at her shoulder reminded her it wasn’t worth it.
“And then you’ll start telling me things,” he whispered. “Dirty little secrets you wouldn’t share with your closest friends. You’ll hate yourself for it, but you won’t be able to stop.” His lips curved against her ear. “It’s the highest form of personal violation, Cassy. I can’t wait to show you.”
“Cassy,” she repeated as a bubbly sensation flowed over the back of her head. “I told you what would happen if you ever called me that again.”
Marius stood up and circled around to face her, delight glowing behind his eyes. “What would you like to do to me?”
“Shoot you in the chest,” she snapped. “It’s not the death you deserve, but it’s all I have time for.” She wanted to stop there, but her mouth spoke without permission. “Kane needs me. Your mafia partners took him, and I don’t know what they’re doing to him, or if he’s even alive. I have to hurry up and kill you so I can go to him.”
Marius shared a laugh with his guards. “It’s working. Leave me a pistol and wait in the hallway. I’ll call if I need you.” The men obeyed, and he settled in the opposite chair, well out of reach of Cassia’s boots. “Too bad you’re about to lose your head. Maybe you’ll see your boyfriend in hell.”
She tried telling herself that Marius hadn’t asked a direct question, but it didn’t make a difference. All her thoughts became words. “It doesn’t matter if you kill me. Today I signed your death warrant.” Then she told him everything about amending the charter and what the colonists had to do to make it legal. “Every rebel on Eturia knows that if you die, the monarchy dies with you. And trust me, they’re highly motivated.”
His smile flatlined. “My holdings won’t pass to you, even in death. Our marriage is invalid. I never bedded you.”
“Prove it.”
All traces of amusement vanished from his face. “Playtime is over. You had a plan in coming here tonight. Tell me what it is, and don’t leave anything out.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Tell me now!”
Cassia held her breath to trap the secrets inside, anything to buy Jordan a few more moments. But the answer was like a sneeze, too far gone to repress. A groan built at the top of her lungs, then her chest heaved, and everything spilled out in a rush.
“Right now the rebels are in your armory, about to detonate a bomb that will destroy your entire store of weapons. At the same time, my men will infiltrate your military barracks and set off enough gas grenades to make your soldiers sleep for a week. Then General Jordan will steal an armed shuttle and fly to the palace because that’s where he thinks I am. I don’t know what he’ll do when he doesn’t find me. Probably tell his squadron to fan out and search the city for us. Their orders are to shoot you on sight.”
Marius’s eyes wandered over her face while he shook his head in denial. “No. That’s not possible. My armory is impenetrable from every direction. Not even birds can fly over it.”
“I know. So I hollowed out all twenty of your missiles and filled them with my fighters. The shells are so huge I was able to fit everyone inside. You let the rebels right through your gates, and now they’re coming for you.”
The floor trembled and a rumble sounded in the distance.
“There goes your armory,” she said, and couldn’t stop herself from jutting her chin at the door. “You should tell your guards what’s happening so they can mobilize all the soldiers who aren’t asleep in the barracks. It probably won’t make a difference because the rebels are about to steal your armed ships, but it’s worth a try.”
Marius ran into the hall and shut the door behind him.
While he was gone, Cassia wiggled her wrists to loosen the restraints, but all she accomplished was a deeper throb in her left shoulder. She gritted her teeth and lurched forward in her seat. The chair moved an inch, so she did it again. She wasn’t sure of her end goal, but she needed to do something besides dispense tactical advice to her enemy. Maybe if she jumped far enough, she could reach the laser pistol Marius had left on his seat.
He reentered the room and put a stop to her progress by shoving her wounded shoulder hard enough to make her chair tip backward. She screamed as white-hot pain exploded down the length of her arm. She must’ve blacked out again because she didn’t remember hitting the floor. The next thing she knew, she was facing the ceiling with Marius looking down at her, a pistol in his fist.
She kicked with all her strength and connected with his wrist. The gun flew out of his hand, but it didn’t take long for him to retrieve it. He returned to her with fury contorting his face, and in that moment she knew it was over for her.
“Remember what I told you?” he spat, leveling the gun barrel at her knee. “Here’s one of the hundred places where a burn won’t kill you.” He sniffed a dry laugh. “Though you’ll wish it had.”
She moved her legs back and forth, forcing him to adjust his aim. Just when he’d grown frustrated enough to point the barrel at her shoulder, a series of pops rang out from the hallway, and he froze, glancing toward the sound. The door flew open so hard it crashed against the wall. Cassia couldn’t see around her chair, but she heard three quick blasts, and then Marius stumbled back, clutching his chest. He still held his pistol in one hand, but he seemed too stunned to use it. He looked blankly from her to the smoke rising from his rib cage, as if she could explain to him how this had happened. Another blast fired, this time burning a tiny hole in his forehead, and then his eyes rolled back as he fell to the floor.
Cassia shifted left, peering around her chair leg, and spotted a familiar pair of boots striding into view. Then a pair of shrewd gray eyes peered down at her from above a twice-broken nose.
“Jordan,” she breathed. “How did you find me?” She jerked her gaze toward the hallway. “Make sure you secure the building. Marius is trying to mobilize all the soldiers who weren’t in the barracks.”
“He was trying,” Jordan corrected with a nod at the dead body. “Most of his men have already surrendered.” He frowned and studied her laser wound. “Are you okay?”
Nodding, she repeated, “How did you find me?”
He lifted her chair upright and began unfastening her wrists. “By finding Marius. I had my men slip a tracking chip under his skin when he was imprisoned.”
“He didn’t know?”
“He had no idea.” Jordan seemed to notice her electrodes for the first time. He frowned and peeled one free from her temple. “He hooked you up to the truth extractor. I didn’t see that coming.”
“Me neither. I hated it.”
Jordan gave a dry laugh. “Well, at least you didn’t profess your undying love to the person who locked you up. There’s no living that down.”
The mere thought of Jordan’s feelings forced her to blurt, “I didn’t love you back, but I was attracted to you.” Her face flamed. She couldn’t stop herself from pointing at his lower abdomen. “You have these amazing V-shaped muscles at the base of your hips. I used to daydream about them.”
His lips curved in a smile. “They’re all yours if you want.”
“I only want Kane,” she said, and it killed her that he might never know it. “He’s more than a friend. I love him. He spent years making sacrifices for me, and now he’s the one who needs help. I won’t turn my back on him—not for you, or this colony, or anything else.”
“I can respect that.” Jordan offered his palm. “Friends, then? And I don’t mean the enemy-of-my-enemy kind.”
As she took his hand to shake it, his words sparked an idea. “Can you ping the Banshee for me? My com-band is gone, and I have to talk to Renny.”
“Of course.”
&
nbsp; “And since we’re friends now, I hope you’ll do me a favor.”
“Anything for my former queen.”
“What’s the fastest ship on this colony?”
He considered for a moment. “I noticed one of the Durango generals has a Hypersonic cruiser.” His eyes flashed with understanding, and he added, “Which technically belongs to you, because we haven’t filed the amendment with the Solar League yet.”
“Perfect.” She stood up slowly, favoring her shoulder. “While I look for a med-kit, I need you to bring me that ship. I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.”
Kane awoke by layers, one slow sense at a time.
At first there was a vague awareness, the confusion of sliding out of dreams. Then came light. The brilliance pierced his closed eyelids, seeming to come from all around. No matter which way he turned his head, he couldn’t escape it. With that motion came pain. His neck burned from the inside out, and as he stirred in bed, he found his muscles stiff and slow to respond. Finally, as he came around, he heard the sounds of angry male voices, slightly muffled by distance.
“…not worth the risk,” said one man. “He’s already gone off twice.”
“That’s my fault,” argued another voice Kane recognized as his boss. “I gave him too much. He built up a resistance, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” repeated the first man. “There’s nothing stronger to give him! If he’s grown tolerant to the Gold, then we might as well—”
A closer voice said, “Hey, kid,” and Kane opened his eyes to find Cutter sitting on the edge of the bed.
Right away, he noticed they weren’t in the dorm. This bed was tall with no upper bunk, situated in a bright, white-walled room. One of Cutter’s massive arms was pinned to his chest by a sling, and two of the fingers on that same hand were paler than the rest. Judging by the scarlet line below the knuckles, it looked like they’d been reattached recently.
Because they had.
All of Kane’s memories washed over him in a rush. “You’re alive,” he croaked in a dry throat. And so am I.
“Thanks to you,” Cutter said. It sounded like an accusation.
“I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Not wanting to kill me is nothing to be sorry for.” He pointed at Kane’s throat. “By the way, you should’ve waited until the Redshirts were off the stage. Then you might’ve bled out before they treated you.”
Kane tried to touch his neck, but both of his wrists were bound by his sides. “How long’s it been?”
“A few days, maybe? I was out, too, so it’s hard to say.” Cutter glanced through the open window, barred from the outside. “They’re sending me back to the dorm today. I don’t think they’ll make me fight tonight, though.”
Kane didn’t want to talk about the pit, so he changed the subject. “I see you have your fingers back.”
“Yeah,” Cutter said, tipping his head as if to admire them. “It’s a halfway decent patch job. But I’ll probably lose them in the next game, so I’m not getting attached.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Get it? Attached?”
The bad joke prompted Kane to study Cutter’s pupils, which were wide enough to reveal how much Gold the medics had given him. He recalled the conversation he’d overheard about building up a resistance to the drug. What would happen when the inhalers didn’t work on him anymore? How would he compete without the rush?
The door opened, and his boss walked inside. He jerked his head toward the hallway and told Cutter, “Back to the dorm.”
Cutter patted one of Kane’s legs through the blanket. “See you around, kid.”
After he left and shut the door behind him, the boss gripped both hips and watched Kane as if he didn’t know what to do with him.
“How much trouble am I in?” Kane asked.
His boss laughed without humor. “Almost as much as I’m in.” He rubbed the back of his thick, beefy neck. “We really mucked up opening night for the casino.”
“But I forfeited.”
“That’s not how it works. The last man alive is the champion. When you didn’t finish Cutter, you threw a wrench in the system. Then I made it worse by interfering”—he pointed at Kane’s neck—“and telling my men to seal off that wound. Now there’s no clear winner, so the casino had to freeze the payouts while they decide how to break the tie.”
“Cutter should be the winner.”
“That’s what some people think. Everyone else says it should be you, since Cutter was half-dead already. Either way, it makes Zhang look like he can’t handle his business. That’s bad for both of us. He’s not the most forgiving guy.”
A chill gripped Kane’s stomach. If Ari Zhang had sold Renny’s girlfriend into slavery as punishment for a picked pocket, what would he do to someone who’d humiliated him in front of an arena full of spectators? Could the mafia track down Cassia or his mom and make them pay for what he’d done?
His boss gave a sarcastic huff. “The only reason you’re alive is because, for some ass-backward reason, the guests are still crazy about you. That stunt you pulled made you look even nuttier than when you attacked Nicky Malone. No one will shut up about it.”
Based on that, Kane knew how the casino would break the tie. “They want a rematch.”
His boss didn’t say yes, but he didn’t deny it, either. “Listen, I hate to do this to you, but I have to let you dry out. The Gold won’t work until we lower your resistance, so as of today, you’re cut off.” His gaze moved to the floor. “I won’t lie, kid. This is gonna hurt. The medic wants to keep you here so he can monitor your heart and restart it if it stops.”
Kane’s lips drifted apart. Was his addiction that bad?
“Hang in there,” his boss said, then turned and strode toward the door. “I’ll see you when it’s over.”
During the next week, Kane learned that hell wasn’t a mythical place designed to scare sinners into good behavior. Hell was a state of survival in which suffering never ended. That was the real punishment—constant pain. His nerve endings screamed from one sunrise to the next with no interruption in torture. The only relief came when he died, though it didn’t last long. The medic restarted his heart and apologized. He said he could sedate Kane during the withdrawal, but Ari Zhang had told him not to.
This was a lesson, and Kane learned it well.
He improved the following week, when his symptoms lessened to the same ones he’d felt on Batavion. It struck him as funny, how at the mining camp he’d wished for death to take away his agony. Back then he hadn’t known the meaning of the word.
A few days later a team of workers came to haul his limp body out of bed and drag him to the washroom for a shower. As the men wrinkled their noses and scrubbed him down, he noticed they were Whiteshirts, not medics, which told him his lesson was meant to be shared. Rumor would spread about what he looked like after two weeks with no inhaler—gray-skinned and trembling, his once-bulging biceps now atrophied to half their size—and the workers would think twice before disobeying.
He certainly would.
When his boss came to see him, Kane could’ve hugged the man if his arms were strong enough. His boss’s familiar face and duck-like waddle reminded him of how invincible he’d been in the dorm. He would give anything to feel that way again.
“How’re you holding up, kid?”
Kane locked eyes on the golden tube strung around his boss’s neck. A distant voice of reason whispered that the drug was the reason for all his suffering. If he used the Gold again, he would never be free of it. But that voice was quickly muffled by the screaming of every living cell within his body. He needed a breath of sweet air. He would do anything to have it.
“I’m ready,” he said. “I’ll fight harder this time.”
“That’s the right answer, kid.” His boss pulled a chrome inhaler from his pocket. “We’re gonna start you off slow and work up to the good stuff.” He shook it while glancing at Kane’s chest. “And beef you up again. You
undid all my hard work.”
Kane frowned at the silvery tube. What he really craved was the Gold, but he lifted his head from the pillow and strained forward, eager to take the mouthpiece between his lips. A few pumps later, energy flowed through his veins, charging his muscles and propelling him off the mattress into a long, arching stretch.
God, it felt good to move his body.
The drug didn’t give him a rush, but the simple absence of pain filled him with so much euphoria that his breath hitched and his eyes welled with tears. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it. His boss had delivered him from hell, and Kane would never let him down again.
“Sure, kid,” the man muttered. “Now, come on. I want you back on the circuit in fifteen minutes.”
The night of the rematch, Kane was ready.
More or less.
Three days wasn’t long enough to replace all the bulk he’d lost, but the protein injections and circuit workouts had rounded his muscles and made them solid again. Most important, his boss had started giving him Gold—half strength at first, building gradually until a few hours ago, when he’d been allowed to bump up from the same inhaler as the other guys.
Drying out had given Kane an edge over the competition. He was still flying high from his last hit, punching the dorm bag as an outlet for his energy, while Cutter sat on the weight bench in the corner, grasping his knees and staring at the floor.
Kane looked away from his opponent and sank his fist into the bag. He had to focus on the equipment, to memorize its long, cylindrical shape and its cracked red surface, because that was what he would picture on the battle platform. Not a man. Just a bag.
“Time to suit up,” hollered the boss, tossing white bodysuits at them. Kane caught his easily, but Cutter’s reattached fingers hadn’t fully healed, and he fumbled with the fabric before grasping it in his opposite hand.
Not a man, Kane reminded himself. Just a bag.
He purposefully avoided Cutter while changing into his outfit, and when the time came for the three of them to leave the dorm, Kane kept the pace by his boss’s side, ahead of Cutter so he wouldn’t have to look at him. During the walk to the Vice Den, Kane distracted himself by counting the distant crashes of waves and observing the play of moonlight over the sand dunes. But that reminded him of the morning Cutter saved him from killing a guest, and Kane had to break the silence to end those thoughts.
Starfall Page 27
