The handcuffs strain, locking me in place.
Then Ian takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “I don’t have to explain shit to you, but just this once, I will. There was a good chance he would have sent a message, warned his bosses we were coming. I couldn’t risk it.” He shakes his head. “But that’s not the only reason I killed him. He’s a human trafficker, Kali. A raider. Absolute scum. He fucking sold Milla and who knows how many other people into whatever the fuck is out there in the asteroid belt and beyond. That’s a death sentence—not to mention a life of torture. And when the people that man in there sold for a quick payday kill themselves or they die from abuse or neglect or straight-up murder, the assholes out there just buy more from the Corporation whenever they need them. So, no, maybe I didn’t have to kill him—but I fucking wanted to. Any other questions?”
I shake my head, my face the perfect passive royal mask as his words whirl through my mind.
I know there is business along the inner edge of the Wilds, but I’ve never thought much about it before. I certainly never thought about how they got people to work all the way out there.
And suddenly the sickness churning in my belly kicks up several notches, and this time no amount of don’t puke-ing is going to stop me. I turn away, bend over, and throw up on the wet, ice-slicked street.
There’s nothing in there but alcohol. Still, I stay bent over, dry heaving for a solid minute, before my stomach finally calms a little. My thoughts do anything but, whirling as they settle on one clear truth. I’ve been so naive. About everything.
I straighten to find Ian staring at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Rather than say a word, he holds out the bottle like a peace offering, and I grab it because even cheap gerjgin has to taste better than my mouth right now. I take a pull and swallow quickly, hoping it will stay down this time. It does, and I hand the bottle back. Ian takes a swig before jamming the stopper back in.
Then we start walking. Fast. Luckily, the wind drops a little, and we make good time. I’m horrified, devastated, and so far past emotional and physical exhaustion that it takes every ounce of energy I have to keep going.
Snowflakes swirl in the air but don’t settle, and an occasional gust of wind still slams into us, making us slip and slide on the icy road. It’s fully dark now, but for the occasional dull glow from the docked frigates, starships, and shuttles waiting to be loaded or off-loaded when the storm has passed. We’ve reached the edge of the dock where we’re meeting the Starlight when Ian stops.
“What is it?” I ask.
He raises his head, tilting it to one side as if listening to something. “There’s someone coming. Lots of someones.” He grabs my hand. “Run!”
I run, but it’s like moving through glue. But then, I don’t have a lot of choice in the matter—the story of my life. I can hear them now. The sound of boots crashing through the ice. They’re coming fast.
“Stop,” a man shouts from the right of us. “Stop or we’ll shoot.”
We keep going, though I can feel my muscles tensing in anticipation. I know I’m slowing us down. Ian’s taller and fitter, and my breath is already coming in huffs that still can’t get enough oxygen into my lungs. He should leave me, but of course he can’t. I bet he’s cursing these cuffs now.
I hear a bang from behind us, and Ian swears. Then something slams into my left thigh, and I’m hurled to the ground so hard and fast that my momentum pulls Ian down with me. For a second, I’m completely numb; then, a red-hot spike of pain shoots through my leg, and I whimper.
“Are you all right?” Ian shouts, stopping to kneel at my side. “Kali, talk to me. Are you okay? For fuck’s sake—answer.”
No, I’m not all right. I’ve been shot. “I’m alive,” I manage through clenched teeth. That’s as good as I can offer right now.
“Can you walk?” He glances behind us. “Fuck.” He starts to rise as more shots come from behind, then rolls to the side as a bullet hits the ground close to us. Bullets, my addled brain supplies in a mist of pain. That’s weird. Real bullets. He pulls his laser pistol and shoots toward them. There’s a lull in the shots, and he’s up, pulling me along with him. He slings me over his shoulder, wrenching everything from our wrists to our shoulders in the process, thanks to the cuffs.
I barely feel it as pain obliterates everything else, my whole world shrinking to the agony shooting through my leg. My vision dims. I’m pretty sure this is it. Then he’s running, zigzagging to avoid the bullets, but I can almost feel them whizzing by. Then he hurls us both over a low wall made of Glacea’s signature weathering steel. I crash to the ground, and for a moment I black out. When I come to, Ian is crouched near me, peering over the wall. He must sense I’m awake because he turns briefly to look at me.
“Thank fuck. I thought you were dead.”
“No, still here.” Just. “Have they gone?”
“Yeah, they decided to go home for a sing-along.” Then he shakes his head. “Sorry, this is no time for sarcasm. Yep, unfortunately, they’re still there.”
I reach out and touch his arm above the silver cuff. “In the bar. I saw a dead-or-alive posting for you on a screen. I spotted it as we left. I bet it’s part of every digital bulletin cycle in the port.”
He stares at where my fingers make contact with his wrist. “Great. So these could be backup from the first four guys or they could be bounty hunters. Regardless, it looks like they’ve definitely decided on the dead part.”
He shifts his focus down to my leg. “Any chance you can walk?”
I follow his gaze and wince. There’s a hole in the material of my lovely new jumpsuit, and through it, I can see another hole. In my leg. I’m going to hurl again. Blood is oozing out. A wave of nausea washes over me. “Not an iota of a chance,” I say.
On the plus side, I’m still alive, which means the bullet missed an artery. Or maybe that’s a negative, considering what’s about to happen to us. At this point, I can’t actually tell.
“Thought as much. Looks like we’re fucked, Princess.” A barrage of bullets comes flying over our heads as he speaks, as if to underscore his words.
Not that I needed the extra evidence—I pretty much figured that out on my own.
Ian reaches his laser pistol over the wall and lets off a few blasts. Then he tosses me the bottle of gerjgin.
But when I go to take a drink, he says, “It’s for the wound. It will clean it.”
“It will?”
Is there any point if we’re just going to die? I start to ask him, because it’s not like someone is going to be like, wow, she died with such a clean wound. But Ian is looking at me with a “get on with it” expression, so, taking a deep breath, I trickle some of the alcohol over my leg. Then scream as fire streaks through me.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” I squeeze my eyes closed as the agony threatens to overwhelm me.
Just as the pain is slightly ebbing, another round of bullets comes crashing into and over the wall.
Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t fucking puke.