CHAPTER 25

I ’m glitching. I have to be glitching. This can’t be real.

Mitchell fills the doorway, blaster in hand. Vince and Carlson approach from the curve of the hall to the left, weapons raised, posture aggressive. Tori—my Tori, my best friend —stands to the right, a trigger-pull away from blowing a hole through Sam’s brain. Everything’s laced with smoke and dimly lit by the emergency lighting that ribbons the base of the curved hallway.

I see it, but I don’t believe it.

“Tori, what are you—”

“I’m sorry, Gee.” There’s a slight tremble in Tori’s voice. A note of regret. Her brows press together, stark pink against her too-pale face. But her gun remains jammed against the back of Sam’s skull. His eyes are wide with fear, but he’s smart. He doesn’t struggle.

“I don’t understand, Tori. What—”

“You’re the job, Gemma.”

“I’m… I’m the what ?” I squint at her through the veil of smoke .

She looks almost sad. Almost. Then her expression hardens, and her voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it. “There was never any job on Oralia. It’s been you the whole time.”

I shake my head, unable to comprehend that my best friend is working with my dad’s men. My best friend is threatening to shoot a child.

“The night of your last show, Vince and Carlson were in our flat when I got home. They offered me a job I couldn’t refuse. I love you, Gemma, but…” Tori swallows. “Like I said, I’ll do anything for revenge.”

“But how—”

“Enough chitchat, girls,” Carlson interrupts. “Let’s get a move on. Plenty of time for your little heart-to-heart later.”

It’s happening again, I can feel it. My entire world is crashing down. Like that day, when the ground under me disappeared. When everything I’d grown up believing to be true was blown away by two gunshots. Two bends of my father’s finger joint that melted the gilded coating off the walls and revealed a house built of lies.

My mind spirals with questions, searching for some glimmer of reality, some shred of truth I can grab hold of to keep me from falling. But the more I reach for answers, the less I understand. I only know one thing. I won’t let Mitchell or Sam get hurt. This time, I’ll stop the disaster before it ends in bloodshed .

I take hold of that one piece of truth, and it keeps me afloat.

“Please, Mitchell.” I place my hand lightly on his upraised arm. “They won’t hurt me, but they will hurt Sam. Drop the blaster and let me go, for Sam’s sake.”

Mitchell hesitates, muscles taut under my touch. Then his bicep slackens in defeat. He uncurls his fingers. His blaster drops to the floor with a clatter.

“Smart choice,” Vince says. “Now, kick it to me.”

Mitchell hesitates again, then toes the weapon. It skids across the metal flooring and hits Vince’s boot.

I catch Tori’s magenta eyes, dusky rose in the gloom and smoke. “He dropped it. Let Sam go.”

Her gaze flicks to Vince. He nods. Tori’s fingers slide off Sam’s shoulder. He runs to the doorway where Mitchell and I stand. Mitchell kneels and wraps his arms around the kid’s narrow shoulders, fingers twisting the cotton of Sam’s printed pyjamas as he hugs him close.

“You did good, buddy,” he says into Sam’s hair. “Go wait where it’s safe.”

Sam nods. Mitchell stands and moves to the side, giving the kid a nudge through the door into the lounge.

And that’s my cue.

I can’t afford to hesitate, but Mitchell’s hand closes over mine as I try to weave past him.

“Gemma— ”

I meet his eyes. Not an ounce of disgust shines in them, even knowing what I am. There’s frustration, worry, that ever-present sadness, but not hatred.

“Don’t worry about me.” I try to sound reassuring. “They won’t hurt me. They’ll only take me home.” I slide my hand out of Mitchell’s light grasp and step into the hall, walk to Vince.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me close. “Is that what you think? That we’re still working for your dad?”

My mouth falls open. “What?” I look from Vince to my dad’s grey-eyed guard. “You’ve been with my father since I was a little girl, Carlson. You were there when he—”

“I’m flattered,” Carlson drawls. “The princess remembers her humble servant.” He tilts his head. “I remember you, too, Giovanna. I remember you being smarter than this.” He studies my silver-stained eyes. “Have the drugs really done that much of a number on you, that you don’t see how valuable you are?”

I choke out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Valuable?”

Vince chuckles. “You’re the most valuable person in the Federation, DJ Girl.” He lifts a hand to my temple and brushes his fingertips through the blue strands. I force myself not to flinch. His other arm is threaded under mine, still pointing a blaster at Mitchell. “No hit job in the galaxy is worth even a quarter of the price we’ll get for you. Your dad was a fool to think we’d nab you from the Underground and skip along home, handing him the key to his empire for a pat on the back and a nice fat Christmas bonus. He needs you. And he needs you now. ”

I stare into Vince’s too-close face, then turn my head to look at Carlson, realization dawning. “His stewardship ends when I turn twenty. He’ll lose control of de la Cruz operations.”

It’s why I thought running was the best way to hurt him.

I guess it does make me valuable.

“That’s correct, Giovanna.” Carlson nods in patient boredom, like he’s still the bodyguard and I’m just the child. “If House de la Cruz doesn’t see their heir take over when you come of age in one week, there will be civil war in the Highest House. Your father will lose his already precarious hold over House de la Cruz. He’ll lose Cruz Pharmaceuticals and PharmaServe, and all the money and power that goes with them. He’ll lose his clout in the senate, lose his sway over the Martial Houses. He bred you to be the foundation of and the key to his empire. Everything he’s spent his life building will come crashing down without you. Can you fathom how many millions of credits that kind of power is worth?”

“You’re going to ransom me.”

“Close.” Carlson cocks his head to the side, eying me thoughtfully. “We’re going to auction you.”

Behind me, Mitchell curses. Footsteps tell me he’s started forward .

Carlson’s eyes flick back to the captain. A blaster shot rings out a warning. The coppery, chemical smell of freshly sizzled metal stings my nostrils. “That’s close enough, General.” Carlson’s tone is sarcastic, like he’s making fun of Mitchell’s obvious military background. “One more step and it’ll be you smoking and not your ship.”

Vince drags the hand that was playing with my hair along my jaw, brushes a thumb over my lips. I jerk my head away, moving to step back, but he grabs my shoulder. “It’ll probably be Daddy taking you home in the end, but by auctioning you instead of negotiating directly with your father, we’ll instigate a bidding war that will drive your price through the roof. And you never know, could be another powerful House that takes home the prize.” He winks. “We aren’t biased.”

Carlson’s gaze pins Mitchell through the smoke and haze. “Any House would jump at the chance to marry their heir to Giovanna de la Cruz, even without the Medici side on board.”

Vince slides his hand down from my shoulder and snakes it around my waist, pulling my body into his. “Think of it.” He leans in and buries his face in the mess of hair at the side of my neck, breathing deep like he’s taking in a fresh morning breeze. Then he looks up at Mitchell with a smirk. “All that power, control of Cruz Pharmaceuticals, plus a pretty little trophy like her to come home to after a long hard day of ruling the world. It’s enough to make a man want to settle down. And I can vouch for her skills in the bedroom. Or at least… in the shower.”

Mitchell lets out a string of curses I didn’t think Captain Goody-Goody was capable of producing as Vince starts pulling me down the hall.

I wriggle around in his grip, trying to turn toward Mitchell. “Don’t listen to him. I’ll be fine. Just take care of yourself. And Sam.”

Vince squeezes tighter. “C’mon, Princess, make nice and this won’t have to be unpleasant.”

I don’t fight him. I have no intention of making this worse than it already is.

Carlson and Tori hang back as Vince moves me down the hall. As the mangled, half-open hatch comes into view, Mitchell’s voice, rough with emotion, follows us. “That bastard touches her. Any of you hurt one hair on her head, and I’ll bring down the wrath of the entire—”

A blaster shot rings out. Then another.

I stop in my tracks. I think my heart stops, too.

Two shots. That means…

That means…

They’ve shot Mitchell and Sam.

“No,” I breathe .

No no no.

The coal rattling around in my chest, the coal made of swallowed screams and unvoiced truth and rage—so much unsated rage—it doesn’t just smoke, it burns. Hot, raging fire fills the empty cavity inside me like lava. I am a volcano. I am a bomb.

I still have my burn-blade. They didn’t even take it from me. Don’t see me as a threat. Fuck them.

“Come on, DJ Girl.” Vince yanks me toward the hatch.

I don’t budge.

He looks back. Our eyes meet and I think the rage in me must be glowing out my eyes because his widen in surprise.

Then my burn-blade is headed for his eye socket.

“Fuck!”

He releases my arm, jerks back. Blood pours from his face.

I could dodge out the hatch, make a break for it, but I only want to get to Mitchell and Sam.

Carlson and Tori aren’t expecting me to hurtle around the corner. I slam into Tori, knocking her to the ground. I’m on top of her, jamming an elbow in her face. Grabbing her blaster. I roll onto my back, aim for Carlson, pull the trigger.

There’s a burst of white light. A curse.

I got him in the arm.

Tori’s on top of me, slamming me down.

I shoot.

Tori stares .

She opens her mouth.

Liquid gold pours out, spilling onto my chest, onto my stomach. It’s warm and wet and sticky like blood.

I try to push onto my elbows, fighting her weight, ignoring the pain that bolts through my shoulder. A whirlpool of dizziness spins me back to the floor.

I push up again. My hurt arm buckles.

Carlson looms over us. He aims his blaster at me. Vince’s frame appears, fuzzy in the background, face gory red.

I fall back in a pool of liquid gold and lift my gun, aiming for Carlson’s head.

Everything goes black.

Warm liquid lies rise around me. Fill the hallway. I’m floating on a sea of blood. Mitchell’s, Sam’s, Ballga’s, Vince’s, Tori’s. My mother’s blood. My grandparents’ blood. Blood of the Varuns and the Children and millions of Federation soldiers. It’s a tidal wave, carrying me down the hall.

It’s not

Not

Not

Real.