Chapter 3

The shuttle stops. My heart rate rises to a gallop as I hear metal scraping against metal. A dull repetitive thunking follows, and then yet more scraping.

I’m holding onto Derek’s hand like it’s a lifeline, and I don’t even like Derek anymore.

In fact, I’m pretty sure that I fucking hate him. But the naked terror that’s coursing through me needs something to hold onto, and he’s the closest living thing.

The girls who were giggling and drinking champagne not so long ago are now talking in hushed whispers as they lean forward in their seats to point at something outside their window. They don’t look quite as excited anymore. Not that they look frightened, either. Just more… wary.

The view from this side of the carriage reveals nothing except for the forest, set back from the track—no signs of movement. “There’s somebody out there,” I say.

“I’m aware of that,” Derek replies. He squeezes my hand. Not that much registers when I’m holding so tightly my knuckles are white. “I doubt they’ll even look at you.”

I don’t even know what to say to that, nor why his words sting despite the way my mind is frantically racing. I don’t want any of them to look at me. I just want this to be over, for us all to move on again. Except, I realize, the next time the shuttle starts, the four girls on the table beside us will be gone, and so will the others sitting further down in this carriage, along with many more.

“Did you know the government gives them free tickets?” Derek says, idly.

My eyes snap back to his. “They do?” I don’t know anything about their circumstances, nor what brought them to this point, whether they’re thrill seekers looking for adventure, or people desperate to escape unhappy lives.

All four of the girls are peering out the window now. One suddenly shrinks back. “Oh my God,” she says. “Did you see that?”

What the hell have they just seen?

A few people have risen to peer out the opposite side of the carriage. My curiosity isn’t strong enough to outweigh my fear.

“The raiders will have a quota,” Derek continues on, oblivious to my emotions. “A certain number they require. The government always fills empty seats with free lottery tickets. It’s not hard to find the sites where you can apply. It’s a win-win, so to speak. The women get the out they want, the savages get their quota, and the rest of our lives carry on.”

The thunking has started again, only louder, then there’s a terrible, ear-splitting, metallic screech.

Silence. Then a low hiss as all the internal doors between the carriages pop open. I can now hear talking and murmurs from beyond… then raised voices… the tramping of boots.

Fear drives a need to either hide or move far away from the imminent threat. I go to rise. Derek keeps hold of my hand and reaches his other hand over to push me back down into the seat.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t draw attention to yourself. It’ll be over soon enough.”

His words make sense. Running would exacerbate the situation; and where would I even go? Something tells me this is a well-practiced operation, so they would have everything covered, including other exits. I need to stay calm, but it’s difficult when I can’t get enough air into my lungs.

“Hey.” He moves his hand from my shoulder to cup my cheek, drawing my eyes to his. “You’ll be all right, I promise you.”

But his hand shakes, and I think his earlier bravado is waning under the imminent threat. It’s one thing to know they don’t simply just take women—that there are rules involved—and another to witness it, to be part of it.

The voices get louder, coming closer, and my anxiety skyrockets. I feel like I’m going to pee myself all over the damn seat. The four girls are still staring out the window, although two are more subdued, shrinking down a little.

“This isn’t what I expected,” the one nearest to me says to her companion.

What was she expecting? And what can she see that’s in contrast to those expectations?

I start counting in my head. It doesn’t really help, but it gives me something to do as the footsteps and voices draw ever closer, closing in on our carriage from both sides.

Our carriage is in the middle, now I think about it, so that makes sense. It’s efficient, working in from both ends, ensuring no one escapes their eyes.

A sudden scuffle breaks out in the carriage behind me. There’s a loud thud like something heavy connecting. Someone grunts. More scuffles.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot…” The voice is low and laced with threat. The scuffling stops. Silence follows. “Take her out.”

My eyes land on Derek’s, but he’s staring over my shoulder toward the open internal door where the sounds emanate from. His face is tight.

I feel them enter our carriage, the scuff of boots, the way the carriage occupants seem to freeze.

One of the girls across from me goes to turn to look behind her, but her friend shakes her head.

Heavy steps.

“Put your thumb on the plate… All good. Next.”

They are talking to the people at the table behind me. No one gets up. They skip right past the elderly couple behind the girls, not even speaking to them, before they appear beside me and turn to the table with the girls.

Two men.

Big, built, wearing tactical gear and guns—like futuristic soldiers.

Why are they armed and dressed like that?

Why does the media always refer to them as savages when they clearly are not?

My mind is reeling: I’m processing everything in a disjointed way that moves fast one moment and slow the next.

The first man has dark blond hair and his back to me. He puts a black box-shaped device on the girls’ table.

His companion has a dark buzz cut and stands in profile, eyes alert on the carriage. There are more men behind him, I realize: dark shapes looming.

Buzz Cut’s eyes flick over me, and then Derek, dismissing us as a threat before his gaze moves on, watchful.

Like any of us is a threat. They are heavily armed, and I’m confident no one on the shuttle is, given the rigorous screening we went through before boarding.

I quickly turn back to look at Derek.

Maybe they won’t even stop at us, given our hands are clinging together.

Maybe they will dismiss us, like the table behind the girls.

“Keep your eyes down, asshole,” Buzz Cut says.

Derek quickly averts his gaze. He’s scared, and his fear amplifies my own.

On the other table, the device is being pushed in front of the final girl.

“Full house,” the blond man says. On the periphery of my vision, I see him turn to Buzz Cut.

He motions to somebody beyond my sight, stands back, and the four girls file out.

“Twitchy,” Buzz Cut says—he’s facing the blond guy now, standing right next to our table. I just want them to move on so I can breathe again. “Worth a punt, though, Seb.” He chuckles. “Just to mess with him, if nothing else.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention—why do I feel like he’s talking about us?

Dark tactical armor enters the space beside our table, belonging to the blond man, Seb.

So, now, I’m staring at his damn crotch. Somehow, in my state of manic confusion, I look up, like that might be a better option.

Blue eyes, dark stubble across his jaw, and a slight bump to his nose like it’s been broken and not reset properly. Heat enters his eyes before he smirks. Seb is handsome, unquestionably so, in a way that makes my belly take a low dip. He is also massive, filling the space in his armor, and leaving no confusion about his powerful body.

And he’s just caught me staring at his crotch.

Beyond stupid, Isla.

His smile drops as his gaze skips from me to Derek and then lingers on our clutched hands.

He puts the device on the table and slides it purposefully over to me. “Put your thumb on the plate.”

I swallow.

“She’s my fiancée,” Derek says. “You don’t need to use your device. Our government doesn’t stand for any bullshit, and?—”

I don’t see the fist move until it slams into Derek’s face. A short, sharp scream escapes my lips as his head smacks into the headrest behind him. The sudden jolt pulls me half across the table as it wrenches his hand from mine, and I have to slam my other hand down on the edge in front of me to avoid smacking my ribs against the table. Blood splatters all over his white dress shirt, across the table, and the back of my hand, now empty and alone.

The world turns into sparkling dots. I’m hyperventilating, once more frozen in place.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” Seb says, all calm and patient like he didn’t just bust my fiancé’s nose. He swipes his thumb over the plate, smearing through the splatter of blood. He wipes it off on his pants and swipes once more. “Should be good. Don’t want to mess with the reading.”

My frantic eyes snap from the device to Seb.

He winks.

“Don’t,” Derek croaks.

“You really are a dickhead,” Seb says, with an edge of anger now, then turns to look at me. “For fuck’s sake, put your thumb on the plate before I have to fuck your boyfriend up again.” He throws an eye roll at Buzz Cut, who waits beside us. “There’s always one.”

Buzz Cut grunts.

I’m distracted by their banter for a moment, but just as I turn back to get it over with, Derek sweeps his arm across the table and sends the device crashing to the floor.

I suck a sharp breath in.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Seb demands.

Every muscle in my body locks up as I wait for the next blow. My vision is coming through a tunnel. I’ve passed through fear and into an alternative reality where I view everything from a distance. What’s wrong with Derek? Is he insane? I don’t want to die here. I don’t want to watch him take another fist to the face.

“What the fuck is holding everything up?” Another man pushes past Buzz Cut.

The newcomer is dark-haired. Not cropped as short as Buzz Cut, but not long either. He looks from Derek to the broken device on the floor and then skims past me before sliding right back to hold my gaze. He is taller, broader than the other two, and has the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen, so dark they’re almost black.

Obsidian.

My grandpa once brought me a polished obsidian stone back from one of his many trips. I think I get my wanderlust from him; and maybe my mom too, given she was the instigator of all our moves. I wonder where that stone is now? In one of the boxes back at my folk’s home, probably. He passed when I was six, and the stone always made me feel warm when I looked at it and thought of him.

Why didn’t I keep it closer, take it with me when I left home?

Why does this stranger’s dark eyes feel so cold, where that lifeless rock did not?

I’m holding my breath. Internally, I’m screaming. Outside, I’m as still as that stone.

Obsidian Eyes turns to Seb and raises both brows. Something passes between them.

I need to fucking breathe, but all I can manage is a shallow pant and I feel like I’m back teetering on the brink of passing out.

Seb shrugs and steps back, making a grand gesture with his arm. “Go for it,” he says.

The newcomer steps forward, places his hand on the back of Derek’s head… and slams his face into the table.

Derek’s scream shoots terror into my veins.

His head is slammed into the table again, making my tablet and Derek’s laptop bounce. Then again, and again, and when he is released, Derek’s eyes are unfocused, and his body twitches as he slumps back against the seat.

The monster pulls another device out of his jacket pocket and slams it on the table in front of me. “Put your thumb on it.”

His tone brooks no argument.

There’s not enough spit in my mouth to swallow, and words are a long step beyond that.

If I look at Derek there’s a high risk I’m going to burst into tears or throw up over the table and device, and I really think that would be a bad idea. Only, he is still twitching. And the image of his face looking like raw meat, coupled with the wet rattling sounds he’s making, has me shaking so badly I can barely get my thumb against the plate.

A broad hand enters my narrow band of focus, closing over my wrist. His thumb slides over mine, pinning it to the plate. “Keep it there.”

His hand is warm. His fingers are calloused, and having them on me makes everything go haywire in my brain.

A little green light pops on the tiny screen. There is writing beside it, but I can’t read it from where I sit.

He releases me, and my hand slides away.

Obsidian Eyes and Seb share a look. Buzz Cut huffs a chuckle.

Against my better judgment, I glance at Derek. His face is swelling, and my eyes fill with tears that spill out onto my cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words sounding wet and trembly.

I shake my head and frown.

Why is he sorry?

What does the green light mean?

“Check him, too,” Seb says, nodding toward Derek.

“To what end?” Obsidian Eyes asks.

“Well, I’m fucking curious, for one. Come on, Ash, humor me.”

“Fine.” Obsidian Eyes, aka Ash, takes hold of Derek’s hand. He weakly tries to fight against the firm hold, but his thumb soon goes onto the plate.

The light turns red. Ash releases Derek’s hand, and his lip curls with distaste.

“Asshole,” Seb says, after leaning forward to read the writing. “Like, really. That’s full asshole status. She’s even got her ring on.”

“Not for long.” Ash’s warm, rough fingers close over mine. I slam myself back into the seat and try to snatch my hand away. His fingers close over the ring, and he pulls.

It’s a little tight, and I panic that he’s going to rip my finger off.

He pauses, twists the ring with a frown, and then drags my hand up, taking my whole finger into his hot, wet mouth—and sucks.

I gape at him, so shocked I don’t even think to try to gouge a hole in his mouth before he pulls it back out. Now that my finger is wet, he twists the ring right off.

He flicks it at Derek, but it bounces off him and skitters against the table. Then he yanks me out of my seat and shoves me into Seb’s arms. His dark eyes drop to regard me for a brief moment. “Take her outside with the others. Stay with her.”

“You want her?”

The world drops out of my stomach.

He shakes his head, and his obsidian eyes shutter. “No,” he says coldly. “The blonde with the big tits has already caught my eye. Something tells me she’s going to be fun, only not in the ways she imagines” —his smile does not reach his eyes— “But this one is a flight risk if ever I saw one. I want you to watch her personally.”