The man studies both of us for a few seconds before giving a curt nod. “Brent’s upstairs. I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”
We don’t speak while we wait. I’ve got nothing to say—nothing polite, anyway. Though I know I can’t really blame this one on Ian. He didn’t want me to come, even tried to talk me out of it. And I can also understand why he’s pushing so hard. In fact, the way he’s putting everything he has into this search for Milla actually makes me feel a little better. Anyone who will search an entire solar system and risk everything that he’s risked can’t be nearly as bad as Ian says he is.
The bartender reappears with a bottle of gerjgin and three glasses. “Brent is on his way,” he tells me, placing them on the table in front of us.
Ian pours us both a glass. I swallow mine in one go, relishing the burn in my throat and the warmth in my stomach, before holding the glass out for more. He gives me a dubious look but refills it.
“I’m not carrying you back,” he tells me. “So don’t drink too much.”
I sit back and sip this one, though I really want to gulp it down, too. But Ian has a point. Getting here was hard enough sober. I can’t imagine what it will be like to fight that wind after a few glasses.
Suddenly, the door in the back of the room swings open and a man appears. He’s middle aged, mid-height, pretty much mid-everything. His skin is gray, but his hair is black and lank, and when he licks his lips, I see a flash of red teeth. So he’s from Ellindan, then. That’s interesting to know.
He looks us over, face wary, before finally shuffling up to our table. Ian pours gerjgin into the third glass and nods to the seat opposite him.
Brent sits. “I don’t know you.”
“Never said you did,” Ian answers.
His eyes narrow. “Sam said you wanted to talk to me. I don’t talk to strangers.”
“Even strangers who will pay for the honor?” Ian slaps a couple planetas on the table in front of him.
Brent takes a sip of his drink. “Maybe I can make an exception.”
“We appreciate it.” Ian flashes him a smile that somehow manages to feel more like a threat. “You’re a crew member on the Reformer?”
“So what if I am?”
Ian answers with another question. “You were on the last trip here? What was the cargo?”
The man shrugs and gives an obnoxious smile. “Just some old junk. Nothing of any value.”
Despite the high gravity, Ian moves so fast I nearly miss it. What I don’t miss is the result—his knife stabbing straight down through Brent’s hand, pinning it to the table.
Chapter 43
Kali
I let out a little yelp of surprise.
Brent, on the other hand （no pun intended）， lets out a piercing scream.
“Fuck! Shit! What the fucking Light?” Brent’s trying to pull his hand free, but Ian just presses down harder. I risk a quick glance at his face, then wish I hadn’t. His eyes are cold, deadly—vicious in a way I’ve never seen from him before, even when he was killing those men in the alley.
Brent’s turning green, sweat rolling down his forehead as he looks frantically between his hand and Ian’s face.
The bartender appeared in the doorway at the first scream. He takes one look and moves right back through the door.
“We need to hurry!” I urge, even as I can’t believe the words are coming out of my mouth. If anyone had told me a month ago that I’d be sitting at a bar on Glacea while the only person I’ve ever kissed casually stabs a stranger, I would have laughed them out of the palace. But here we are. And the chance that the bartender comes back with help gets higher every second we waste.
Ian must realize the same thing, because instead of trying to reason with the now bleeding, sweating Brent, he just twists the knife, opening up the wound so blood glugs onto the table.
Brent screams once more, but Ian ignores him.
“Shall we try again?” he asks in a reasonable tone. “What exactly was the cargo on the Reformer?”
“P-prisoners,” Brent stammers. “Just prisoners from that space station. Nobody important.”
I hear Ian’s indrawn breath, and suddenly his rage makes a lot more sense. “And where were you taking them?”
“Back to Askkandia. Ask the port supervisor. Our flight plan was filed. I’m telling you the truth.”
“No, you’re not.” He twists the knife again, back the other way this time, and I hear a sickening squelch as muscles and ligaments are severed.
Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t fucking puke.
“Okay, okay. Stop. Please stop.” Brent’s full-on crying now, and I’m pretty close myself. I’d get up and leave, but I’m stuck here, chained to Ian for the foreseeable future, whatever that may bring. “We were taking them to the Wilds. We sell them out there. That’s the truth. Honest. Please. You’ve got to believe me.”
“Oh, I do,” Ian says. His face has gone pale. “Are you raiders?”
“No! No. I mean, yes, some of them—but not me, man. I don’t do that shit. I just fix comms. You gotta believe me.”
Ian’s expression doesn’t change. “Which asteroid?”
This time, Brent doesn’t hesitate. “Delta V47.”
“Come on. We’ve got what we need.” Ian pulls the knife free and stands up. “Just one more thing,” he says, then plunges the knife into Brent’s throat.
He makes a gargling noise, his hands scrambling to his neck as though he can hold in the blood that’s spurting everywhere. Ian pulls the knife free, calmly wipes it on Brent’s jacket, and slips it into the sheath at his thigh. Then he turns and walks away, grabbing the bottle and pulling me along.
And I have no choice but to go right along with him.
As we pass the bar, I see a flickering screen that’s got to be a century old embedded into the wall, right below the Violence Not Tolerated Indoors sign. And that flickering screen has a message that’s becoming all too familiar. Crap. It’s one of the dead-or-alive postings, in digital form because getting paper flyers onto treeless Glacea would probably be even more expensive than the reward they’re offering. This one is of Ian, and he’s clearly identifiable, even on the low-quality tech. Things just keep getting better and better.
As I step outside, I welcome the icy cold, because my stomach is churning and I feel hot all over. Why did Ian’s actions surprise me? I’ve seen him kill before—fuck, I just watched him kill four people, and it barely registered on my radar. I know exactly who and what he is. I just hadn’t expected it this time. Not when there was no reason for killing that man when he’d given us everything we asked for.
I need to know.
Ian is ahead of me, almost dragging me along through the gravity and the biting wind that’s slamming us straight in our faces over and over again.
But this time I dig my feet in and refuse to move. Short of carrying me, his only option is to stop. Which he does with a glare. “What?” he growls.
“You didn’t have to kill him.”
“Yes, I fucking did.” His voice is filled with so much rage and pain that I take an instinctive step back.