by K. F. Breene
“But how did we go from that . . . to this?” Millicent asked.
Mr. McAllister fingered his wrist. “Um . . . well, I mean, it wasn’t any one thing. That’s what I was trying to say about the frog boiling—”
“Not the frog-boiling thing again.” Ryker grinned.
Mr. McAllister’s lips tightened in irritation. “I’m no scholar, but I think letting large companies take control of the chaos, rather than the government, was the start of the power shift. Then, when the conglomerates came into power, they also had control of birthing, right? Among other things. Add a bunch of time and an erosion of staffers’ rights . . . well, here we are.”
“Huh. Fascinating.” Ryker yanked out his hair tie and ran his fingers through his locks. “All that information trapped in your itty bitty head.”
Mr. McAllister’s wrist stopped glowing. He glowered. “Knowledge is power. With all your intelligence, you could stand to learn a little something . . .”
“Is that your expert opinion?”
Mr. McAllister crossed his arms high on his chest, over the head of Marie, who was leaning on him. “You should be nice to the man watching your daughter.”
“I am being nice. Hear that? That’s my nice voice.”
“You don’t fool me. You’d use that voice right before sticking something sharp in my you-know-where.”
Ryker’s brows furrowed. He tilted his head. “No. Where?”
“We’re about to cross over,” Sticks said. “Get ready for a little turbulence . . .”
“Millie, get him his fix.” Ryker twisted and looked out the window. “We need a risk-taker.”
Chapter 20
“Please be advised, this craft is approaching its defined limit,” a soft voice said through the speakers in the dashboard. “Please be advised, this craft is approaching its defined limit . . .”
“Lovely. It tells you in two different nuances,” Ryker said, hovering over Sticks. “How you say it makes all the difference. Apparently.”
“And I thought you didn’t micromanage,” Millicent said as she stood at the console.
“I’m preparing for decision-making, cupcake,” Ryker said, his gaze skimming the dashboard. “The big dog is at the helm.”
“Big douche, more like.” Millicent attempted to find the border maps within the complex spider web of the Los Angeles area. “I miss San Francisco. Things were much simpler when there’s only one conglomerate and intranet to navigate.”
“What’s the situation down here?” Mr. McAllister asked, on the edge of his seat. He was clearly preparing for danger. What he planned to do if he found it was anyone’s guess.
“Three conglomerates, all with extravagant intranets, the government, which has its own ridiculous and outdated intranet, and the public internet. The conglomerates are cheap, so they don’t want to duplicate information, which means there is a section in each intranet the public can access, no matter what their employment. The government duplicates their efforts because it’s a money pit, but their information isn’t always the same, and then there’s the hodgepodge of the public net, populated with random staffer opinions and a whole bunch of irrelevance.”
“Forget I asked,” Mr. McAllister said with a furrowed brow.
“It’s a mess of information.” Millicent shook her head. “A mess. But it’ll make it easier to stay anonymous. I hope. At least with the other conglomerates.”
“Please be advised, this craft is approaching its defined limit . . .”
“Yet another tone. Not as nice this time,” Ryker said, his arms braced on the entrance to the cockpit, leaning over so he could look out the window. “How long does it generally take to respond?”
“They’ll try to take over the craft first,” Sticks said.
“Please be advised, you are at your defined limit. Please turn back.”
“Oh, naughty girl,” Ryker said.
“Please turn back now,” the voice said. “Please turn back now.”
“She gets annoying,” Sticks said. He glanced to the side of the dash. “Here we go.” A red-and-yellow button lit up. Millicent could just see the shine from around Ryker’s torso. The craft’s controls, which were displayed on the bottom right of her screen, mirrored the colors with two pulsing dots. A syntax error flashed across the bottom.
“Do I need to . . . do anything?” Millicent asked, having no idea what she would do if she tried. She couldn’t find a reliable border map in the mess of information, which meant she certainly couldn’t change anything to do with the configuration. “Who is in control of the border anyway?”
“You are outside your defined limit,” the voice said. “This is your last warning. If you do not turn back now, you will face criminal charges. I repeat, if you do not turn back now, you will face criminal charges.”
“Yeah, yeah. We got it.” Sticks flicked a switch. “Different borders are controlled by different conglomerates. They share the cost. The perimeter is mostly government. Downtown is largely government, too, since it’s mostly public areas and not departments. Conglomerates leave the government to take care of anything they don’t want to, basically. The government only has what little power the conglomerates give them.”
“And what kind of security can we expect downtown?” Ryker asked. “I’ve never been this far into LA.”
“Police, not security, unless you are wanted by one of the conglomerates. Everyone has jurisdiction. Everyone can enforce their own rules, but usually only the police enforce the public laws. Unless one of the important conglomerate staffers is in danger, obviously.”
Millicent shook her head. “Security sounds like a mess, too.”
“It is. There are a lot of unsolved homicides of random folk, but there will be an investigation into some tiny misdeed if the victim is a high-level staffer. If you don’t have your own security, which most of the humdrum don’t, then it’s every man for himself.”
“That’s nice,” Ryker said.
Sticks scoffed.
“He’s not being sarcastic,” Millicent said in a droll voice. “He’s delighted that he can kill people without drawing notice. The Divine Holy help anyone who touches my person.”
“She knows me so well.” Ryker bent toward the left window. “We got some sort of authorized vehicle coming our way.”
“I see it.” Sticks’s voice sounded strained. “It always amazes me the way you upper-level staffers speak. Divine Holy? What the hell is that? Either you believe in something or you don’t. The general term of belief, without actually believing, doesn’t make sense.”
“Can’t a man believe in everything?” Ryker asked, his tone light. He was preparing for danger as well.
“No.” Sticks sighed. “Got another one. They’re moving in position to apprehend us.”
“This looks like Toton’s guys.” Ryker dropped a hand and lightly touched a strap at his belt.
“Yeah, we just moved out of Gregon’s section, and now we’re in Toton’s.”
“They’re the weakest conglomerate in terms of weaponry and defense,” Millicent said, watching their cruisers approach slowly. Each had a bulky gun attached to the outside of its craft. “They put more of their budget into artificial intelligence than anyone else. So far their advancements haven’t been revolutionary. Either they’ll come out with something, or they’ll slip further, and Gregon and Moxidone will fight over the scraps.”
“They are the most severe about outsiders encroaching in their area, though,” Sticks said. “Even their own staffers aren’t allowed to wander into the wrong areas. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had something up their sleeves.”
“Or are great at bluffing,” Ryker said, his gaze tracking one of the vessels. “Their secrecy has kept the other conglomerates from moving in. That won’t last forever. Eventually they need to show their hand, or risk the others picking them apart, like Millie said.”
“What are we doing? I either need to slow down or speed up.” Sticks’s hand hovered over th
e dash.
“That upper kicked in yet?” Ryker asked.
“Yeah. This shit is great. I need to get in touch with your supplier.”
“I just asked for it. The conglomerate used to supply whatever I needed,” Millicent said in confusion. “Is it a higher-lever thing?”
Ryker’s laughter startled her, coming out of the blue. He shook his head. “No. It is not a higher-level thing. What the princess wants, the princess gets, including extremely hard-to-find narcotics. Your stash is worth a bucket of pure water.”
Millicent rolled her eyes. The man was prone to exaggeration.
“What are we doing?” Sticks asked again.
Ryker rose slowly as the craft he was watching neared them. He glanced out the opposite window. “Any at the back?”
“No. Just the two until they give chase. Then other vessels will start popping out of nowhere.”
“Does this thing have any weapons?” Millicent asked, running through the craft’s log for the millionth time. If she had taken inventory in the beginning, like she should’ve, she wouldn’t be wasting time now. The drugs were fraying her brain. It was extremely distracting.
Her clap echoed strangely.
“Why does she keep clapping? Ha-ha-ha!” Sticks gunned it. “Trek it. Let’s get this party started!”
“What is trek?” Millicent asked. Her body whipped back. She grabbed a handrail. Her body swung around and bounced off the wall. A hand grabbed her leg—Mr. McAllister trying to keep her stable.
“Trek, fuck, flay, rock, cram—whatever,” Sticks shouted back. The craft nose-dived. “Hold on. We’re about to push this thing to the limits.”
“Have you ever done this before?” Millicent yelled.
“Twice. Made it both times. Had a better craft, though.”
“Remember there is a baby on board,” Mr. McAllister called out.
“Then let’s keep her alive. Ha-ha-ha! Weeeew!” Sticks pulled back.
Millicent’s stomach rolled as the g-force struck her. Then her body rolled as the craft swerved off to the side.
“Criminal, stop!” a harsh voice said through the speaker.
“Can you turn that thing off?” Ryker asked, his braced arms holding him perfectly steady. Millicent pulled herself off the ground.
“I need to hear the warnings.” The craft swerved the other way. Millicent’s eyes widened as the corner of a building passed within meters of the craft. A person glanced up from a work pod. Millicent connected eyes with that person. Then she squeezed her eyes shut as the craft veered hard left.
“Oh shit.” Mr. McAllister slid across the aisle. Marie tumbled after him, her little face showing both fear and joy, in turns. She was definitely her father’s daughter.
“Stop! This is your last warning!” the speaker blared.
“Getting close now.” Sticks leaned again.
“Hold on!” Millicent said through gritted teeth, clutching the handrail with both hands.
Shimmering glass sparkled through the windows before the craft’s reflection took over. Two meters away.
“Holy shit,” Millicent gasped. Her heart had already been beating fast from the drugs, but now it was thumping madly. Her sweaty palms made holding on challenging.
Her body swung the other way as the craft rolled, nearly on its side. She hadn’t known they could do that. And then, when a cough of smoke curled around their feet, she realized they probably couldn’t. The whole thing groaned and started to shake. The force pulled at Millicent’s cheeks. Ryker’s arms flared with muscle, hanging on.
“Nearly there . . . ,” Sticks said.
Something zipped by the craft. A beam of light flared in the window. An explosion sprayed glass out of a building to their side.
“They’re shooting this close to their own departments?” Millicent asked, aghast.
“Only when they are certain they’ll hit the craft in question,” Sticks said. “Someone is going to get recycled over that one. Pray to Rossonoman this craft holds up!”
“Who?” Millicent shouted.
Her stomach rolled again as the craft straightened out and then immediately banked left. A bang reverberated, followed by a shuddering of the craft. Deep black smoke streamed up through the cracks. Mr. McAllister and Marie both started to cough. G-force dragged Millicent to the ground, her fingers sliding off the metal handle before she splatted on the floor. The walls and windows shook. The engine whined.
“C’mon!” Sticks yelled. “Yee-haw! C’mon!”
“You shouldn’t have given him that upper,” Mr. McAllister exclaimed, waving smoke away from Marie’s face.
Another flare of light. Fire filled the air right beside them. Glass crackled against the side of the craft. Cracks popped in the windows, spreading like wild things.
“Missed us!”
The vessel dipped, lifting Millicent off the ground. And then turned her in a dizzying way. Millicent’s face felt like it was melting off. She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, holding back the bile rising in her throat. Hoping her heart didn’t burst her chest open.
She probably shouldn’t have taken that last upper.
The floor trembled. The engine sputtered.
“End of the line!”
“What the hell does that mean?” Mr. McAllister yelled.
“It means prepare to crash-land!” Sticks gave a whoop.
And then Marie was in Millicent’s arms somehow. A moment later, Ryker was on top of her, curling around her and the baby, shielding them with his large body. “Hold on, ladies, this might get bumpy.”
“Ahhh,” Marie cried, squirming.
“Hang on, baby,” Millicent said, bracing.
“Here we go!”
A blast went off. A roar filled the craft, and a rip opened up along its side, a slice of air and fire gusting through the corner of the craft. Then the whole contraption jumped, shaking so violently Millicent feared it would break into pieces. It ripped one way, and then another. Metal shrieked and twisted, crunched. Glass shattered. Something sliced her face. Ryker grunted over them. A metallic squeal punctuated their slide. The craft finally stopped, and silence rained down and surrounded them like a suffocating blanket.
Sucking in a deep breath, she noticed the unnatural stillness around her. Deadness.
“Marie?” she asked with a shock of terror.
The little girl wiggled beneath her. A whimper had Millicent sighing in relief.
“Ryker?” she asked next.
The heavy body above her didn’t move. Didn’t so much as suck in a steadying breath.
Dread punched her.
“Ryker?” she asked again, the panic sounding in her voice. Trying to rouse him with movement, she shifted. Tried to get her hands up to shake him, but she could not. So she shook her body again.
Nothing happened.
“Mama?” Marie asked with tears in her voice. There was no excitement this time.
“Yes, baby. We’re okay. Ryker!” she yelled, in terror now. “Please, Ryker, please be okay. Oh Holy—Rosso . . . mat. All the gods. Please be okay.” She wiggled harder, a coldness seeping into her at his continued stillness. Tears filled her eyes. Marie started screaming. “Please, no,” Millicent begged, certainty now seeping in. Reality. “No . . .”
“I’m not that easy to kill, princess,” Ryker groaned.
“Oh thank Holy!” Relief such that she’d never known washed through her. “Thank Holy you’re okay.”
Ryker’s chest pushed against them as he took a deep breath, and then he was moving slowly, lifting the pressure away from them. He helped Marie up first, quickly glancing her over as Millicent painfully stretched out her arms. When he finished his inspection, he lifted Millicent to standing, the effort obvious from his strain. His electric-blue gaze ran the length of her. His thumb wiped across her cheek and then ran down a sore spot on her arm.
“Anything hurt?” he asked, his deep rumble cutting through Marie’s whimpering as she clutched his leg.
She reached for him, needing his touch. Needing to make sure he was okay.
His lips met hers, firm yet soft, needy, and insistent. Desire flared to life inside her as he pulled her in tighter, surrounding her with his strength and protection. He sucked in her tongue and tilted his head, the kiss intensifying until a different sort of explosion rocked her body. One she wanted to explore.
“Damn bad timing, princess,” Ryker said against her lips as he backed off. “We still have to hobble out of here.”
“Too bad you can’t claim this victory before I come to my senses, huh?” she asked, running her palms up his body.
“You’re on the hook now. I just have to reel you in.” He gave her one more deep, toe-curling kiss, staving off reality for another moment. Then he backed away, but not before his palm slid down her front and cupped a breast. A thumb ran across her taut nipple, making her shiver in anticipation for things she knew would come.
“Hang on to this little one,” Ryker said, peeling Marie away from his leg and gently directing her into Millicent’s waiting arms. He followed it up with a dirty and bedraggled Bunny.
When he turned toward Mr. McAllister, lying in a clump, Millicent sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Oh, Ryker, we need to fix you up.” Scrapes and gashes marred his back in deep bloody grooves. Shards of glass stuck out here and there, and it looked like many smaller pieces were painfully embedded. She’d need to take to him with tweezers before she could apply Cure-all. And how many stitchers would he need this time?
“The kiss was a better use of our time.” He bent laboriously, the effort testimony to the extreme pain he had to be in.
“He’s alive,” Ryker said, removing his fingers from Mr. McAllister’s pulse before flinging off a canvas bag. Glass went flying, most of it the shatterproof stuff from the vessel, but a couple of shards from when they’d crashed through on the building. Ryker had gotten most of that, but not all. “Got lucky with the canvas. But he took some cuts, and he won’t heal as fast as I will. Nothing we can do about that now.” Ryker shook the other man as Millicent turned toward the front of the craft. A beam from the building had sliced through the cockpit, making a mess of debris and wire. A leg was segregated from the rest of the body that lay in a pool of blood.
