I say a silent “Thank you” to Gunny Biggs for all the hours he spent kicking my ass. Who woulda thought I’d need to whack someone with a stick one day?
Something grabs me from behind, and I spin, already swinging, but a massive hand stops the bar.
“Holy fuck,” I pant as I recognize the hand and let go.
Vexar drops the bar, and it clatters to the stone as I glance around us. Two of the guards lay in bloody pools, but the third is missing. Where did the third—Oh, right.He was launched over the edge and is probably somewhere in the stands below.
“What do you mean, ‘there is no ship’?” Vexar asks, grabbing my chin and staring down at me.
“Marius isn’t who you think he is, and he isn’t calling your ship.”
Vexar’s brows drop, and he gives me a hard, uncertain look.
“There’s no time. Please, just trust me. We need to go.” My eyes dart between Vexar and the shadowy passageway that could be hiding more guards. “If we go now, we can still use the crowd as cover.”
The muscles in his jaw tick. Then he sweeps me off my feet, sets my ass in the crook of his left arm, and takes off towards the edge of the box. He jumps from the box onto the nearby staircase and somehow manages to keep me from falling. I toss my cuffed hands around his neck, and I hang on for dear life as he bounds down the stairs. This is not a normal way to be carried, and it’s terrifying. Sure, he’s holding onto my thighs, but I’m literally just sitting on his forearm.
We hit the first level of stadium-style seating, andthrough the sandy haze, a crowd appears. I expect Vexar to slow, but he doesn’t. He barrels onward, propelling us into the densest part of the throng as people dive out of the way. Shouts of terror spill from the trembling faces around us, and I watch in horror as the crowd surges forward like a wave, condensing and colliding in a dangerous, writhing mass.
“Vexar, someone’s going to get killed,” I shout over the noise.
They’re terrified of him, and who can blame them? They just saw him brutally kill a monster, and now he’s charging through them, carrying an axe, covered in blood, and looking absolutely deranged.
“Vexar!” I shout, as someone in front of us is swallowed up by the horde.
“Hold this.” He shoves his axe into my hands. It’s awkward and impossibly heavy. My arms shake as I do everything in my power not to drop it. A second later, Vexar pulls someone up from the ground. It’s the person who fell.
A furry face and yellow eyes lock on Vexar, and instead of terror, I see gratitude. They exchange a few words, and when the badger-like alien is walking on their own, I hand the axe back to Vexar and shout, “Put this away.” He doesn’t need it right now, and it’s just freaking people out.
He listens to me, but his expression stays static. He looks like a statue, and it’s starting to worry me. On top of that, his eyes are still black, and our connection’s empty. I press my forehead into his cheek and whisper, “It’s ok. We’re ok.”
As the visibility gets worse, the crowd seems to calm, and so do I. I might be dressed like a fishing lure, but in this storm, we’re just as invisible as everyone else.
“Do you still have the holoCom?” he asks.
I pull the device from my top and hold it out, staring wide-eyed at the illuminated screen. I guess Marius didn’t end the call.
Vexar takes the device like it weighs more than I do, and slowly raises it to his ear. “Marius,” he says coldly. There’s a long pause, and his expression hardens. “Is it true?” he asks. A moment later, the holoCom turns to dust in his hand.
39
ALL I NEED
AMARA
“THE GATE IS there,” Vexar says, pointing at nothing but a wall of orange haze. The storm is thick and punishing, like being sandblasted in a convection oven.
I pull down the strip of gauze covering my mouth and shout, “Where?”
He shakes his head and reaches for my hand before remembering I’m still cuffed and offering me his arm instead. I grip his elbow and follow.
I’m not sure how he knows where the dockyard is—I can’t see more than a few feet right now—but he’s confident, and I’m learning to trust that. We also haven’t run into any more guards. I want to say it’s because of the storm, but the sinking feeling in my spine suggests something different.
We follow a long fence line, trudging through shin-deep sand drifts that tug at my torn feet and leave me cursing under my breath with every step. Shit burns. Bad. But I don’t complain.
After what feels like an eternity, we stop, and Vexar points to my ear. “Your translator. We need to remove it. Itmay have a tracking device.”
I hadn’t even considered that, but the thought is terrifying. It would also explain how I was found after my first escape attempt.
