When? When I was broken and bleeding on the floor of a Kerzak crime lord's throne room? When I was beaten so badly I could barely move?
Some distant part of my brain knew this would happen. Had always known. From the moment I'd agreed to the Prime's plan, from the moment I'd stepped onto that transport to Palaydium, I'd been walking toward this exact moment.
This wasn't a chance at redemption. It was just death wrapped in another form.
The only question had been whether it would come quickly or slowly, whether I'd die with a blade between my ribs or beaten to a pulp on cold stone. Whether Hewes would kill me himself or let Persico's people do it for entertainment.
I stopped trying to raise my hands. Let them fall. Let my body go slack in his grip.
The mission required me to be destroyed first.
I just hadn't understood how completely.
"You've ruined everything," he snarled, his face inches from mine.
"Enough."
The word cut through the chamber like a blade, and Hewes froze, his hand still tangled in my hair.
Persico had risen from his throne, and the sheer size of him made even Hewes hesitate. "I understand your frustration, Declan," the Kerzak said, his voice carrying that rumble of barely contained violence. "But human females are a prime commodity. Damaged goods are worth considerably less."
Hewes's grip tightened in my hair, making me gasp with pain. For a moment I thought he'd keep going, that Persico's command meant nothing to him. But then his hand trembled—not from weakness, but from the certain knowledge that if he didn't obey, Persico could end him without effort. Predator recognizing a larger predator. Hewes might act like he owned the planet, but here Persico was the true power.
"She's worthless to me now," he said, releasing me. "Completely worthless. The Alliance knows she was working for me. She can't gather intelligence, can't access their systems, can't do anything except rot."
"Then why waste energy beating her?" Persico moved closer, each step making the floor vibrate. "If she's worthless to you, perhaps she has value to me."
"Keep her," Declan said, issuing a kick against my leg hard enough that I slid, my palms scraping against the rough metal floor. "Use her as you see fit. Sell her. I don't care. She's nothing to me now."
Persico looked down at me, and I saw something in his eyes that made my stomach turn. Interest. The kind of interest that hadn't a thing to do with mercy and everything to do with possession.
"A plaything," he mused, reaching down with one massive hand. His claws—because of course he had claws—brushed against my cheek, and I flinched. "I've been curious about human females. The rumors about their fragility are quite intriguing."
This wasn't the plan. The plan was to get close to Hewes, to find an opportunity, kill him. Not this. Not being handed over to a Kerzak crime lord who was looking at me like I was something eat on toast.
But then Persico's expression shifted, calculation replacing hunger. "However," he said, straightening, "I'm a businessman first. This asset can serve me much better in another capacity."
"What capacity?" The words came out before I could stop them, my voice hoarse, slurring because of my split lip.
Persico smiled, showing all those terrible fangs. "The pits, of course."
I stared at him, not understanding. "The pits?"
"My fighting pits," he said, and there was pride in his voice. "It's how I maintain control of Fange City. The worst of the worst, the most violent, the most dangerous—they all end up in my pits. It gives them an outlet for their rage, gives the population entertainment, makes me credits, and gives me leverage."
He walked back to his throne, settling into it with casual confidence. "And you, little human, will be the prize for the champion. Something to fight for. Something to win."
The horror of it crashed over me. I'd be given to whoever won in the fighting pits. To the most violent, most dangerous beings in this hellhole of a city. To someone who'd earned their victory by being willing to kill for it.
"No," I whispered, but the word had no power here.
Persico laughed. "Take her to the holding cells," he said to the guards. "Send a healer to see to her. Make sure she's presentable for the fights. I want the competitors to see exactly what they're fighting for."
Hands grabbed me—rough, uncaring. Thick fingers digging into my upper arms, claws pricking through my uniform, the heat of alien bodies pressing too close. My heart hammered so hard I felt it in my throat, my temples, behind my eyes. Each beat felt like it might be the one that finally broke through my ribs.
The guards hauled me to my feet, and my legs nearly gave out. Only their grip kept me from collapsing into a heap of terror. I could smell blood—my own blood, copper-sharp and wrong—mixing with the stench of unwashed bodies andchemical smoke and something else, something that might have been my own fear, acrid and animal.
"Goodbye, Merrilee."
