CHAPTER 24

I shoot through foot traffic like a heat-seeking dart, weaving between living obstacles. Pain spikes through my injured shoulder with every jarring step, but I don’t let it slow me. I tuck my arm close to my body and keep running.

The blasters strapped to Vince and Carlson’s backs loom in my mind’s eye. Dad’s men won’t spare a thought for collateral damage.

Protecting Tori and the crew is my top priority. If I get to Tori before Vince and Carlson, they can’t use her against me. And if Tori and I get away from Mitchell, Sam, and Ballga, Vince and Carlson will pursue us and leave the crew alone.

The busy street intersects with a road that I can only hope is the main thoroughfare I navigated earlier. Hack Town doesn’t have street signs. We’re docked at Inner Structure Node Twenty. If my mental map is correct, I need to turn right. A tall, beam-like structure rises into the darkness above the traffic to connect with the distant ceiling of the space station. It looks familiar.

I dart to the right, duck a landing hoverboard, thread between a green-skinned shoulder and a poly-clad elbow. If I keep up the pace, if there are no more traffic jams, I’ll make it .

I pass the Vitruvian Man flexing a bionic bicep. I’m definitely going in the right direction. But ahead, the jam of bodies blockading the street near One Hour Sex Change has grown thicker. Guess Gorilla and the blind Varun were only the opening act.

I pause. My previous method of pushing my way through with a blaster to people’s backs would take time, and might not work in a thicker crowd that could easily overwhelm me. I glance around, looking for a way over, under, or through the mass of bodies. A walkable ledge runs along the building above the street fight. It could get me partway over the crowd, but I’d have to jump to grab hold, and I only have one good arm.

I glance back toward the Vitruvian Man and my heart leaps into my throat. One dark head and one blond move into the light shining from the big, bright signage below the statue. Vince and Carlson.

Vince’s gaze locks with mine through a break in traffic. Brown eyes widen as he realizes it’s me. Realizes I’m seeing him with Carlson. That I know.

Shit.

I don’t wait to see what he and Carlson do. There’s no doubt in my mind they’re pushing across the street after me, and they won’t bother just threatening people with their blasters. I’m about three seconds from being thrown over Vince’s shoulder like one of Ballga’s bloody carcasses, carried kicking and screaming back to my dad.

I duck behind a wide, slug-like Grissian sliding in the direction opposite from the way Vince and Carlson just saw me heading, hoping it buys me a couple seconds to think.

A delivery boy is exiting a Fast Noodle just ahead, a hoverboard under one arm and a precarious tower of food boxes balanced in the other.

I feel like shit doing this, but…

I pretend to fall, lunging at the young human just as he throws his hoverboard to the ground, ready to hop on. My good shoulder hits the kid hard, sending him to the ground. Boxed noodles go flying. He fumbles for the gun tucked in his belt, but he’s too slow, obviously not modded for reaction time. The nose of my blaster pokes into his forehead. His eyes go wide.

“Don’t move. I’m borrowing your board.” With my free hand, I yank the board’s fob from the chain dangling around his neck. I hiss a curse as my shoulder protests the move.

“I’ll leave it at Dock 20–54,” I tell the kid, still pointing my blaster at him as I hop on the hoverboard and toe the vertical boost. I shoot into the air atop the board, then ski toward the crowd. From above I see the mass of bodies surrounding the ring, where two new contestants face off .

One wears a lumpy pack on his back. A hose attaches to the lump. He’s knocking his orange-skinned opponent to the ground with a blast from the hose. Weird.

I skim low, just out of reach of pedestrians, heading for the crowd. As I speed over the first rows of onlookers, I scan the street for Vince and Carlson. I don’t see them in the—

Movement catches my eye. I jerk my head to the left, keeping the board speeding forward. Vince runs, catlike, along the building ledge I’d considered earlier. He’s parallel with me. He trains his blaster on me as he moves, but I don’t think he wants to risk a shot. Pretty sure Dad wants me alive, and even if Vince only stuns me, I could fall off the board and break my neck.

I aim my blaster and… hesitate. Just for a blink. Shooting someone I know, someone I’ve spent time with… it’s different than a hit on a child-trafficker. It’s something my dad would do. Asshole though Vince is, I take the half-second to thumb the switch to the stun setting.

But I don’t get to take the shot.

A force from below slams me upward. Water sprays around me. My feet aren’t on the board anymore.

Vince skids to a stop, staring in wide-eyed shock. I’ve been hit by a stray water cannon blast from the street fight below. Buoyed by the water, I’m sailing upward through the air instead of down, shooting so high that my body’s level with the third-storey shops. A low-flying hover blares its horn as it swerves around me.

My blaster’s gone, but I still have the board’s fob. Thanks only to my mods, I have the presence of mind to hit the summon button.

The station’s artificial gravity starts to suck me back down amidst a shower of water droplets. I’m falling. And from this height the odds of surviving aren’t great.

The hoverboard returns, seeking its fob. I reach out as I fall, hooking my good arm around the board. It digs into my armpit and bobs low under my weight. My toes graze something lumpy.

I look down. My black-booted feet hang over the crowd, touching the heads of a couple of taller onlookers as I dangle from the board. No one’s watching the fight. Instead, a sea of upturned faces stares straight at me.

So much for keeping a low profile.

There’s a scattering of applause. A few catcalls. A cry of “Go Blue Girl!” And another: “Nice panties, human!”

It takes a full two or three seconds to get my head around the situation. Then I hit the fob and shoot forward over the crowd, hoverboard crunched under my armpit, feet dangling. A hand reaches up to grab my ankle. I kick free.

And then I’ve made it. I’m drenched, blaster-less, and in pain, but I’ve made it to the far side of the traffic jam .

I want to hit the ground and get back into foot traffic where I have cover, but if either Vince or Carlson is in firing distance, they’ll stun me the second I hit pavement. I’ve got to stay high enough that they see shooting me as a risk to my safety. I press the fob and my board rises ’til I’m level with the second-storey shops but still below air traffic.

Even if I wasn’t painfully visible with all the neon shining on me, it’s obvious I’m heading for the ship. I’ve got to get there before they do. Luckily, the board flies faster than a human can run—even humans with the military-grade body mods sported by my dad’s men.

It’s awkward with only one fully functional arm, but I manage to maneuver the hoverboard from my armpit to my chest, hug it, and flip so I’m straddling the board and leaning forward on my stomach. I pick up speed with this more aerodynamic position, zooming toward the docking node. It rises in a hollow spiral like a massive, cylindrical parking garage. We’re on the fifth deck above street level, which should buy some time. I can fly directly to the ship on my board, while Vince and Carlson will have to navigate on foot.

I shoot up to the fifth layer and down the row of ships toward dock fifty-four. The battered siding of Mitchell’s ship comes into view. I jump off the board and slam my open hand on the palm-lock. My print’s in the system. Unfortunately, so is Vince’s.

The ten seconds it takes the hatch to open passes like a lifetime. I leap the hatch before it’s fully down and pound the “close” button as soon as I’m in.

I turn from the door and run, wet boots squeaking as I take the curve of the hall at top speed and—

Slam straight into Mitchell moving fast in the opposite direction.

“Gemma, what—?” He steps back, holding me by both my upper arms so he can steady me. His grip isn’t tight, but I wince at the pain shooting through my shoulder. He lets go. “You’re hurt. You’re soaked. What’s—”

“I can’t explain. I’ve gotta get Tori and leave.”

I try to push past him toward the dormitory door, but he keeps hold of my other arm. “Hang on, you can’t just—”

“There’s no time. I’m getting Tori. We’re gone. We’re out of your hair. Don’t look for us. Leave as soon as you can. And don’t let Vince back on the ship. You were right about him, he’s—”

Hydraulics sigh. The hatch. “Shit. Vince.”

Mitchell’s obviously processed enough of what I’m saying to realize there’s danger at the door. He slams a code into a panel on the wall at lightning speed and the hydraulic hiss stops suddenly .

A man swears outside. The door begins to groan closed before it’s fully opened. There’s blaster fire. The smell of smoke. A metallic bang.

Within a span of seconds, Mitchell and I have drawn the only weapons we carry. Mitchell’s blaster clicks out of standby as my burn-blade flares to life with a buzz, illuminating the smoke swirling around the curve of the dark hall.

Mitchell shoves me behind him, blocking me with his body.

“No!” I try to dodge around him, but he forces me back. “He wants me alive. He’ll shoot you!”

Boots clang on metal flooring and Vince and Carlson stride into view around the curve of the hall, blasters drawn, smoke twisting around their legs.

“Drop the weapons.” Vince’s tone is all business, his entire persona shifted like the careless bounty hunter never existed.

Neither of us obeys.

Vince addresses Mitchell. “Look, I can shoot you and take her, or you can hand her over nicely and no one gets hurt. Either way, the girl’s coming with us.”

Vince must be at least a little worried about Mitchell and his blaster, or he’d have shot first and given ultimatums later. Mitchell doesn’t lower his weapon. With his training, he’s got to be lightning fast. I’m sure he could take down two less-skilled men before they had a chance to fire back. But not these two. At best, he’ll get one… and then he’ll be dead.

I picture the young captain prostrate on the floor, a smoking blaster hole burned through his body. See his kind, sad, sunburst eyes glassy and unblinking. See the lips so quick to smile, the lips I once kissed, that I long to kiss again and never will, go still. I see a man who strived so hard for peace die with a gun in his hand. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let another person lose their life for me. Especially not Mitchell.

I kill my burn-blade. “He’s right,” I say, moving to step around Mitchell.

He drags me back with one hand, eyes still fixed on Vince and Carlson.

“You can’t take them both. They’re my dad’s men.” I twist my arm, trying to free myself.

“They’re House de la Cruz, Gemma. I can tell by—”

“ I’m de la Cruz, Mitchell,” I interrupt. It kills me, but I have to tell him, or he’ll waste his life defending mine. “I’m not worth protecting. Just let me go.”

Mitchell’s too well-trained to take his eyes off his targets, too well-trained to let the nose of his blaster move even a millimetre, but his whole body goes stiff at my words.

Shame clenches my throat and twists my stomach into even tighter knots. It’s a good thing I can’t see Mitchell’s face, because I’m certain his expression would crush me. He must be disgusted, angered, horrified that he’s been conned into harbouring a member of the Highest House.

Carlson chuckles. His gun doesn’t falter. His eyes don’t move. But he chuckles. “You said he’s—”

“Yeah.” Vince smirks. “Only figured it out today. Like a goddamn fairy tale or something.”

I have no idea what they’re talking about, but it doesn’t matter. I sidestep, but Mitchell throws out an arm, blocking me yet again.

“What are you doing, Mitchell?” I hiss. “You need to let me—”

“Why don’t you tell your boyfriend here your full name, sweetie.” It’s Carlson, still grinning, which is weird. This guy’s been hovering in the background wherever my dad goes for years, and I’ve never once seen him crack a smile.

“Yeah, DJ Girl. Tell Mitchell your name.”

I hate how much fun Vince is having with this. “I’m…” The shame constricting my throat makes my voice come out small and frail. I draw in a slow breath and try again. “My name is Giovanna. Giovanna Medici de la Cruz. I’m the heir, Mitchell. You said yourself, I’m unforgivable.”

“I didn’t mean you , Gemma,” Mitchell breathes, so quietly I barely catch it.

“Let me go,” I say, throat closing tighter. “Please. I can’t stand to— please , Mitchell. ”

But the captain only pushes me behind him and angles his body so he’s pinning me to the curved wall. He edges down the hall, blaster trained on Vince and Carlson, pushing me backward with him. Realization hits—he’s herding me toward the lounge.

The door hisses open automatically as I come near. Mitchell backs me in, planting himself in the doorway, and I get what he’s doing, the stupid, stubborn, sacrificial moron. He’s giving me a chance to break for the exit on the opposite side of the lounge, somehow still foolish enough to protect me, despite knowing my name. But I refuse to leave him in danger.

“If you’re waiting for Ballga to join you and even the odds, don’t count on it,” Tori calls from the other end of the hall, to Mitchell’s right.

“Tor! Run! Vince is—”

The words die in my throat as first Sam, then Tori, comes into view. She’s got a pink hand wrapped around Sam’s pyjama-clad shoulder, guiding him forward. Sam’s hands are behind his back. His eyes are wide and Tori… she’s pressing a blaster to the back of Sam’s head.

“Drop the gun, Mitchell. I don’t want to have to shoot the kid.”