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“The man I’m going to kill before nightfall.”

The Legion officers lurch, but when the man holds up his hand, they still once more. With an untrustworthy smirk, he paces on the other side of the desk, behind where Wren and Gregor sit. “I built this place. Dreamed it long before the Dredge ever hit, when the world was simple, and I was nothing but the son of a ruthless billionaire. He laughed at me, my father. At my ideas. And now? I’m guessing he’s rolling over in whatever shallow grave the Ragers left him in, because not even the ridiculously wealthy were immune.”

“What do you want?”

He pauses his pacing, and stares back at Rhys, before taking a puff on his cigar. “I want the only thing in this godforsaken cesspool of a world that I don’t have. The cure.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, you must have some idea, seeing as you killed my original delivery boy.”

“I didn’t kill anyone. Karma bit him in the ass. Literally.”

The man sighs and snorts a laugh. “So, you’re the great and powerful Six. Leader of the rebels. Feared killer of the Skulls. The most revered Alpha in all of Calico.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Valdys whispers beside me. “He’s something of a strange phenomenon amongst the Alphas in S-Block.”

“For what?”

“His Alpha gene is supposed to be the most pure of any.”

“I don’t know why, I thought of you as more beastly,” the stranger goes on, his eyes appraising Rhys from where he keeps his distance.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Indeed. I’ll make you a deal. You hand over the cure. I’ll release your woman. You’re free to go.”

“Or how about I just kill everyone in this room, except my woman and the ones I arrived with.”

Pointing his cigar at Rhys, the stranger smiles and shakes his head. “I believe you could. But you’d have to kill an entire Legion army to make it out of this community alive. And then get past the guards at the gate. I have no doubt you’re well versed in combat, but surely you have enough sense to know a stupid plan when it smacks you in the face. You’re outgunned, my friend.”

“There are three syringes. I’ll give you two of them, in exchange for Gregor and Wren.”

“I’m afraid that’s not sufficient. I want all, or nothing. Those are my terms.”

“I’m not giving you all of them.”

Hands behind his back, he sighs a second time, pacing behind Wren and Gregor once again. “You’re a man who needs proof of another man’s intent. I get it.” Lifting a long, slender piece of metal from the desk, one used to open envelopes, he sets his cigar in a nearby ashtray and runs his fingers along the edge of the opener. “Truly powerful men aren’t often swayed by words over actions.” Without warning, Szolen stabs the metal into the top of Gregor’s skull.

Mouth gaping, I stare back at the old man, who turns to face Wren, his eyes holding nothing but confusion. As if it hasn’t registered that he’s been stabbed.

“Homosexuals don’t belong in this world anymore. Neither do traitors.” Szolen attempts to remove the length of metal, but it’s lodged deep into the man’s skull. Instead, he flicks his fingers, and one of the nearby soldiers rests a proper blade in his palm. One harsh jab to the man’s throat, and Gregor’s eyes finally go wide with terror as his head falls to the side where he slumps, while the blood of his wound trickles down his neck.

“Now, as I was saying. The cure. It belongs to me.”

Brows pinched tight, Rhys’s eyes drill into the man, and I’m certain if they were only two left in the room, Szolen’s body would be lying on the floor beside his head. Seconds pass, the air thick with tension and the crackle of power between the two opposing forces, like two bolts of lightning ready to strike.

“Very well.” Szolen jerks his head, and one of the guards presses the barrel of his gun to Wren’s temple.

Rhys lurches forward, and three guards train their guns on him. “I will tear every one of you apart with my bare hands.”

“You’ll die before you get the chance.”

Beside me, Valdys unlinks his fingers from mine, and I know what’s on his mind, as he stares at the men with their guns.

I want to tell him no, not to risk his own life, but it’s futile. This is a man who was designed to risk his life. He was created to dive headfirst into danger, and if he thinks I might be at risk in all of this, nothing I say will stop him.

Rhys’s chest contracts and expands rapidly, the veins in his neck popping out, fists balled at his sides. “Fine. You win. I’ll give you the cure.”