CHAPTER 18

“Y ou look like hell.” Sand crunches softly as Tori flops down next to me.

Since lying in bed would only give me time to replay every horrible moment of last night, and I’m avoiding the lounge in case either Mitchell or Vince is still in there, I’ve retreated to the beach. I’m hunkered in the shadow of the ship, leaning against its metal hull with my arms hugging my knees. I’m facing the water, but my eyes are shuttered against the stinging sunlight that reflects off its glittering turquoise surface.

I don’t open them. “Thanks.”

We sit for a long time in silence. Ballga’s words circle in my head. You are a walking disaster. You are not mate material for Mitchell.

She’s right. And I already knew I was terrible for him. But… am I so broken that my jagged edges will always cut anyone who gets close? Will I be running forever? Even after I get away, get rid of my tracking chip? Will I never feel safe again, never again be part of a family?

The thought didn’t hurt all those years I spent making sure I was too high to care, and it didn’t hurt those months in the Underground when I was focused on survival, on the next thing I needed to do to get off Varus. But now, with a future stretching ahead of me…

A breeze flicks a few strands of Tori’s ultra-soft hair my way. They tickle my cheek. “Tor?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you want?”

She stiffens next me. “I was just checking on you. But if you want to be left alone—”

I open my eyes and turn to her. “No, I mean like, what do you want in life? What’re you going to do after this hit? With the money? We’ve always talked about getting off-planet, getting away from our families. But we never talked about what’s next, you know?”

Tori’s shoulders relax. But she stays silent.

“C’mon, Tor, there must be something.”

She sighs. “If I tell you, will you tell me what’s up with you?”

I stretch my legs out on the cool sand in front of me and tug a thread that hangs from the ripped knee of my jumpsuit. “Fine.”

“Revenge,” she says flatly.

“Revenge?” I peek at her rosy face, and it might as well be carved from stone. “Like a villain in a kids’ show?”

“Don’t judge.”

“I’m not. I just… revenge on who? ”

She looks down at her hands, picking at the last few flecks of silver nail polish. Waves sigh as they wash in and out, slow and rhythmic. “On him. ”

“Oh.”

She shoots me a glare. “Don’t judge .”

I shake my head. “No, I get it. If someone did that to me, I’d… I get it.”

“I don’t think you do, Gemma.” Tori sighs. “You and me, we’re different. Your dad killed your grandparents and all you want is to get away from him. If it were me, I’d want to shoot him. Destroy everything he loved. I’d want him to suffer .”

Tori’s magenta irises redden with anger. Her fists curl in the sand. “When I get done with this hit, I’m not getting out of the business. I’m going to gain experience, skill, cash . And when I’m ready, I’ll go back and make that messed up bastard pay. And I don’t care how many others I take down in the process.”

Tori’s eyes glow bright red now. Pinks can get aggressive, even without the emotion mods Tori’s got, and she has every right to hate the asshole who repeatedly abused her. Offing him would be doing the universe a favour, since he probably didn’t stop with Tor.

But to not care about collateral damage? That’s harder for me to swallow. I mean, would she off the guy’s pets? His kids? A wife who might’ve been abused by him herself?

“I’m… I’m not judging. But you’re scary sometimes, To r.”

She doesn’t respond, and I think maybe she’s pissed. After a while, I risk a glance and see that her eyes have cooled to their usual pink. She sighs. “So, you going to tell me what’s up?”

I shrug. “Nothing.”

Tori turns so her whole body’s facing me and leans forward over her knees. “My empathy enhancements are completely shot, and I still know that’s a lie, Gemma. Spill. You promised.”

I look down, trace a finger through white sand. It’s too dry and soft to hold a design. “Just the usual. Can’t keep my legs shut.”

I glance up at Tor in time to see a knowing grin spread across her face. “Let me guess, you finally got with Mitchell and now you’re hiding from him because he actually wants to hang out with you.”

“Not exactly… Wait, what do you mean, finally ?”

She snorts and rolls her eyes. “You’ve been drooling over that man from the moment you laid eyes on him. It’s obvious you went for Vince because you were scared Mitchell would reject you. But it was only a matter of time before the captain fell off his high horse and landed in your bunk.” She pats my leg. “Men are mortals. Even the good ones.”

I don’t bother correcting her. The last thing I want is to relive Mitchell’s rejection. Or tell Tori how he found me afterward. I’m sick to my stomach just thinking about how his already low opinion of me must have sunk into the Underground when he saw me come out of the shower with Vince, eyes glowing like two telltale silver moons.

“You’re right about one thing. I am hiding from Mitchell. And Vince. I…” I don’t want to admit this to Tori. But hiding that I relapsed, it would be way bigger than glossing over what happened with Vince. Me and Tori don’t lie to each other about stuff like this. I take a deep breath. “I overdosed last night, Tor. I was glitching, and I had that vial from the rave. It wasn’t pretty. If Mitchell and Vince hadn’t been there, I don’t think I would’ve made it.”

“Oh God, that sucks Gemma.” Tori looks me over like she’s seeing me afresh. My haggard appearance must make a lot more sense now. “I’ve been there.”

My eyebrows jump. “You’ve OD’d?”

“Oh, yeah. Most of us aren’t superhuman like you, you know. The rest of us riffraff aren’t equipped with an arsenal of protective mods. We take too much, that could be it.”

“I—I never thought about that.”

She rolls magenta eyes. “I’m not surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Tori sighs, shifts to her knees and pushes up off the sand. “You know what you need? Coffee and toast. It always helped me after a bad night.”

I lean my head back against the cool metal of the ship. As tempting as the thought of a slice of actual, real bread is, I just can’t go in there. “No thanks. I’d rather go without breakfast than risk facing Mitchell. You know me, always running from my problems.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you covered. I’ll be back.” White sand shifts under Tori’s boots as she disappears around the outer curve of the hull.

I close my aching eyes, allowing the throbbing pulse in my head to carry me away from reality. If I never have to see Mitchell or Vince again, it’ll be too soon.

-X-

I’m curled against the hull of the ship, half-dozing to the sound of waves, when the scent of coffee drifts to me on a breeze.

“I thought you forgot about me.” I yawn and blink as the shadow standing above me comes into focus.

“There’s no way I’m ever going to forget about you, Gemma,” a deep voice that definitely does not belong to Tori responds. “If there’s one thing I can say about you, you’re unforgettable.”

My heart slams against my chest so hard I’m pretty sure it’s going to crack a rib as Captain Perfect lowers himself to a squat by my side, a mug in one hand and a slice of toast in the other.

Tori’s a traitor. A goddamn traitor .

I’m uncurling. Trying to get to my feet, but dizziness forces me back down. I curse my malfunctioning mods. “Leave me alone, Mitchell.”

“We need to talk.” Stupid, beautiful eyes clash with mine and I look away.

“Can we not? Can we just pretend last night never happened?”

Mitchell sighs. “We don’t have to talk about last night if you don’t want to. But I do need to ask you some questions. And you do need to give me answers.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Mitchell settles in the sand next to me. I’m aware of his big shoulders coming to rest against the hull to my right, even though I’m looking pointedly in the opposite direction. “You do. You’re on my ship. You’re under my authority. You’re under my care . And I can’t take proper care of you if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

I glare at the shoreline to my left. Under his authority? Is that like, an actual rule of space travel I’m not familiar with? That the captain has authority even over passengers? Or is that some bullshit way of thinking left over from his military days?

Eventually, I can’t stand the silence and I glance over at him. He’s gorgeous, obviously. And so close I can smell him. The pine soap has diminished, mingling with a sort of manly scent that must be his natural musk. And it looks like he didn’t shave this morning. My disloyal fingers itch to reach out and stroke the layer of light-brown stubble that softens his usually angular jawline.

I do not want to feel Captain Goody-Goody’s face.

The lie rings hollow, even in my own head.

Mitchell holds out the mug. It gives me something to do with my hands—something that isn’t stroking his stubble —so I take it, wrapping my palms around the yellow porcelain. The coffee smells good. I sigh in defeat and sip.

Mitchell sits so still, so patient next to me, that it’s hard to believe he was ever as restless inside as I am. His long legs stretch out before him toward the tide, one ankle crossed over the other. He doesn’t so much as tap a foot.

I drum my fingertips on the mug as I continue to sip.

A half-smile flits across Mitchell’s face as he glances at my tapping fingers. “So, you’re DJ Rollercoaster, huh? Don’t know how I didn’t figure that out.”

I spit a mouthful of coffee back into my mug so it doesn’t come burning out my nose, instead. “How did you—?”

“Tori. I asked her why Vince calls you DJ Girl. She told me all about your career in the Underground. Told me a lot of things.”

I tense. I can’t believe he knows.

Mitchell laughs darkly and tilts his head against the rusted metal of the hull. “God, what an ass I was going on and on about your music, just assuming you were a ‘he.’ And you didn’t say a thing.”

He wasn’t an ass. Not even a little bit.

He rolls his head against the hull so he can glance down at me out of the corner of his eye. “You’re my hero, you know.”

I look away. “Yeah, well, you know what they say. Never meet your heroes. They’ll only disappoint you.”

“I don’t know about that. You don’t disappoint.”

His statement shocks me so much that I swing my whole body toward him, despite the way the movement makes my head spin. “ Bullshit , Mitchell. As if seeing me like I was last night wasn’t—” I catch myself, draw in a deep breath, let it out. “Never mind.”

“Last night was my fault, Gemma. I should have—”

“You said we didn’t have to talk about last night.” I chug the last of the coffee, drop the mug into the sand, and force myself to my feet. I immediately have to slap a hand to the hull to stop myself from going back down. My head pounds.

“We don’t have to,” Mitchell says, rising to his feet. He touches my elbow lightly. “But I… I don’t want you to think—”

“Please,” I can’t fully keep the panic out of my voice. The fact that he knows now, knows that it was my music, my soul he was bathing in last night, it’s like the last piece of laughable flimsy armour that I could have pretended would shield me has disintegrated in my hands and it hurts so goddamn bad to be looked at and seen. I can not talk about it. Can’t rehash the humiliation. Can’t cry in front of him. I hide my face against the side of the ship. Breathe. Channel the shame to anger, use the anger to rebuild some scrap of a shield. When I finally look up at him, I’ve managed to blink the sting of impending tears away and forced my expression into a glare, but I know he can still see the wetness sparkling in my eyes right along with the silver stains. “I’ll answer your questions. But I will not discuss last night.”

Mitchell searches my face, expression so soft it almost makes my stupid tears return. Then he sighs. “If that’s the way you want it.” He thrusts his chin at the long, pristine shoreline. “Let’s go for a walk. It’ll help.”

After last night, strolling the beach with Mitchell like honeymooners on a tropical vacation seems more than a little ridiculous. But I can see I’m not getting rid of him. “Fine, as long as we only discuss what we need to. And you’ll have to bear with me. I’m majorly glitchy.”

“I know.” He offers an arm like he’s about to escort me to a red-carpet event. “That’s one of the things we need to talk about.”

Relief washes through me. I’d much rather talk about glitches than about recent events. Since I’m so dizzy I’ll embarrass myself more by trying to walk on my own than I will by accepting help, I thread an arm through his. I try my best to carry most of my own weight though, only leaning on him as much as I have to to stay vertical.

“First,” he says, once we’ve made a few steps of slow, halting progress toward the shoreline, “tell me what a musician is doing travelling off-planet with the kinds of weapons you had stashed in your luggage.”

I’m so relieved that we’re not talking about last night that I tell the truth before my sluggish brain has time to catch up and stop me. “Gigs didn’t exactly pay the rent. Tori and I did… other jobs.”

Mitchell appraises me out of the corner of his eye. “And I take it you’ve got one of those other jobs lined up on Oralia?”

I stay silent.

“Is that what you meant when you said you have unpleasant memories? The other jobs ?”

More silence.

We’re out of the shade of the ship now, and the sun is behind us, throwing our shadows into our path and warming my back. I squint against the bright light reflecting off the glittering sand.

Mitchell offers the slice of toast he’s still carrying in his other hand. It’s perfectly golden-brown. Since whatever sliver of pride I might have had left has been sucked away by my need to lean on him just to walk, I accept the offering without argument. The toast is no longer warm, but it’s crunchy and drenched in what tastes and smells like real butter.

“Oh my God,” I moan through a mouthful of toast. “I haven’t had fresh bread in ages.” Most of my high society table manners have gone by the wayside in my months in the Underground, but Mitchell doesn’t seem to care. He just chuckles, and I hate how much I like the rumbly sound of it.

“It’s not really fresh. We keep it in the freezer. But it toasts well.” He glances at my likely crumb-covered face and chuckles again.

If I had a free hand, I’d pinch myself. I’m nothing but a responsibility to him.

When I’ve devoured my slice of bread and I’m wiping crumbs on the thigh of my jumpsuit, Mitchell returns to his earlier line of questioning.

“This morning, you called Vince your employer. I’ve been wondering how you got mixed up with a guy like him. Now I’m starting to get the picture.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“A couple of runaways working small-time hit jobs in the Underground. More experienced bounty hunter offers you a big payout off-planet. You take the opportunity to get out of that hellhole, make some decent money, and, in the process, shake the families who must be searching for you. ”

Okay, yeah, that pretty much sums it up. Except for one major detail about me that not even Tori or Vince is aware of.

“Gemma.” Mitchell stops walking and turns to face me. When I sway, he curves a hand under each of my elbows, holding me steady. He snares me with those damn irresistible eyes, and they’re awash with concern. “It’s not my job to tell you how to run your life. And with all the blood on my hands, I can’t judge you for how you choose to make a living. But I have to tell you. I’ve got a bad feeling about Vince.”

I snort. “Yeah, well, he said the same thing about you, so the sentiment’s mutual.”

“I’m serious, Gemma. And I don’t just mean the way he…” Mitchell bites his tongue. “I don’t just mean that he’s a womanizer. There’s something… off about that guy.”

The prickle of unease I felt when I realized Vince’s flask was full ghosts up my spine. Mitchell’s noticed something about Vince that he doesn’t want to tell me.

I go for flippant, hoping to coax out his observations. “Last I heard, bad feelings don’t hold up in court.”

Mitchell shifts his weight and releases one of my elbows to rub the back of his neck. “Most of the time he acts like your typical, egotistical bounty-hunter type, which in itself is not the kind of person I’d recommend as trustworthy company. But every once in a while, the way he moves reminds me of…” Mitchell sh akes his head. “I don’t know. There’s no specific evidence I can point to. Just… just watch yourself around him, okay?”

The way Vince moves has Mitchell on edge? I don’t know what to make of it. Since my head hurts too much to think right now, I file the information away for later.

“Look, Mitchell, I… I appreciate your concern. But I’m not a good person. It follows that I don’t keep good company.”

I turn toward the water. We’re standing in the damp sand near the tideline. Turquoise waves edged with white, lacy froth lap softly, nearing our feet. “You probably think I’m na?ve enough to believe I can trust Vince because we… because we got physical.” I wince as I make the reference and hurry on. “But I know that’s not how it works.” I look out over the sparkling water to the skyline. It’s too bright. I let my lids fall shut as I take in the sound of the tide. “Even before the Underground—at school, at home—anyone and everyone was a potential threat. Family. Friends. Boys. It’s not a new game to me. Tori is the only person I’ve trusted since I realized that.”

“And you’re sure you can trust her?”

I meet his eyes. “I can trust her.” As much as I can trust anyone. Not enough to tell her my name, though.

Mitchell searches my face. “She can be a little…”

“Scary?”

“Yeah. ”

I grin. “That’s Tor. She’s so sweet most of the time, and then it’s like a switch flips and she’s a different person. But she gets me in a way that nobody else does.”

At least… in a way that no one else did until Mitchell. Until he said what he said about my music. Until I saw the explosions in his eyes.

This time, I do give myself a good, hard pinch in the arm. A saviour of refugees and orphans does not get a drug-addicted runaway whose evil family is the literal cause of the refugees’ hellacious circumstances and the orphan’s lack of living parents.

“She told me how you two met.”

“Huh?”

“Tori. She told me about the mods they installed at the rehab clinic. The ones that help with addiction.”

My cheeks burn so hot there’s no way Mitchell doesn’t notice. I shouldn’t care. He already knows about my addiction. He’s already seen it firsthand. But having gone to rehab feels like a sign of weakness. An admission that I was out of control and needed help. I look away.

“She told me you were clean for six months before last night, despite the pay for all your gigs coming in the form of drugs, most often Delirium. She told me how you’ve been hiding off-grid since you left the clinic. You haven’t had updates.” He pauses. “So I get it. I get why you used.”

My eyes shoot back to Mitchell. “What do you mean?

“You have mod sickness.”

“Mod sickness?”

“It’s what they call it on the front lines. Higher ranking soldiers, the ones with a lot of modifications, we were only ever stationed in remote locations for six months at a time because that’s about how long a soldier could go before updates became critical.”

Mitchell’s got that intense look on his face again, the same as he had last night when he talked about his time in the military. “I knew a few guys who’d been trapped in the outer systems for longer. Convoys routed before they could be evacuated. Those guys were messed up. Some of them really badly, depending on how long they were stuck out there and how heavily modded they were.”

My eyes widen. That would explain why I’m having more problems than Tori. She only has the standard immune mods that everyone gets at age three and the empathy enhancements that her mother thought would help her follow in her footsteps as a Courtesan someday. Since she’s a hybrid, she doesn’t even have the standard birth-control implants that most girls get at puberty.

Me, I’m at full legal capacity for underage modifications. I can get more when I turn twenty, but it’s risky.

“What happened to the heavily modded soldiers?”

The captain searches my face, and it looks like he’s not sure he wants to tell me, which means it can’t be good .

“I need to know, Mitchell.”

He sighs. “Yeah, you do. It… it wasn’t just that the mods stopped working. They started malfunctioning in unexpected ways, wreaking havoc on the biological systems they were meant to enhance. For the ones whose mods were more physical—strength, balance, endurance, that sort of thing—their bodies suffered. But the soldiers with mental enhancements, like the ones you and I have… it messed with their minds. There were stories of—”

He cuts himself off, searches my face again. “What matters is, I’m not going to just drop you and Tori on Oralia, hand you sacks full of drugs and weapons, and leave you vulnerable to addiction and completely dependent on that… on Vince.” Mitchell’s jaw tenses. “As soon as we get the light drive going again, we’re making a pitstop in Hack Town. It’s close to Oralia, anyway. We’ll get you and Tori fixed up.”

If only it were that easy. I sigh and look at my boots, moving my toe to stamp prints in the wet sand as I speak. “I don’t have that kind of money, Mitchell. You may call me Rich Girl, but you must realize I’d be traced if I accessed my bank account. I can’t—”

“I have a contact in Hack Town,” Mitchell interrupts. “Someone trustworthy who’ll give me a good deal. And I know you don’t have the money. I’m paying for it.”