It looked like it would be tight quarters—small and unadorned. A simple storage shed anyone would have on a property.
Perhaps that was the point.
Whatever it was, Kian thought it was very important.
“Yes.” He glanced back at the drones and fired off another shot. “Run in a random pattern, dodging intermittently. The drones won’t be able to lock on as easily.”
Freya took a deep breath.
I can do this. She’d been through worse.
A blast hit just above her shoulder.
She screamed.
Did Kian just roll his eyes at me? Granted, how would she know? His eyes were all white. His expression looked exasperated, though.
He adjusted his weapon, and Freya squeezed the handle of hers.
“Run.”
Freya ran.
Through the main door, back outside away from the drones.
The drones followed.
And fired.
She sheltered behind a wall. Kian was at her side in an instant, his lean body pressed against hers.
He wasn’t nearly as out of breath as she was.
She really needed to speak to Caoimhe. Those exercises they regularly performed had not prepared her for this.
Caoimhe.
She hoped the princess was having an easier time of it than she was.
“We should split up,” she said as she fought to catch her breath. Running usually didn’t affect her like this.
But she did almost drown today.
“You are the target.”
“Are you sure?” It was a feeble idea, a hope more than any logical concept.
“Those drones won’t stop.”
“Why are your drones—”
“They are not my drones.”
“Who else would be after me? Hiring the Charro.”
“That is the right question.” He was correct, of course. The right question was always much harder to consider.
When she truly considered the situation, she already knew. This just reeked of Terran Empire. More than once, Freya had seen the Emperor hire mercenaries to handle a situation he did not want to be traced directly back to him. The man was not a fool. He understood how his image had to look.
