Oden hesitated for a second. “No. Stay here. If she comes back you keep her here. Even if you have to tie her up. You understand?”
The bouncer nodded his large head.
“I’ll call in every couple hours,” Oden said by way of parting before taking off at a jog, heading toward the train station on Kent Street.
Oden reached the station, the dark sky just beginning to turn gray. He scanned his transit card and slid past the passenger counter, where a station attendant stood, ready to assist anyone with questions.
“Excuse me,” Oden said, drawing his attention.
“Yes, sir,” the man said with a bright smile despite the unholy hour. “What can I do for you?”
“Have you seen a young lady with long, blonde dreadlocks go through this station?”
“Yes, sir. I believe she boarded a blue line train about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Do you know where she stopped?” Oden asked when the attendant said nothing else.
“No, sir, I do not,” he replied with the same sickeningly sweet smile.
Oden stared at him, considering his options. If he had any money he could have bribed the attendant, but all he had was his card, and he doubted the man took plastic bribes. Oden glanced around, confirming that they were alone before he pulled out his concealed butterfly knife and artfully flicked it open. Within seconds he had it pinned to the man’s inner thigh, the steel of the blade hidden from any prying eyes.
“Are you sure about that?” Oden asked into the wide, frightened eyes of the attendant.
“U-uh, I-I could c-call the t-train’s cond-ductor and a-ask him i-if he saw h-her get off.”
“Good. Do that.”
“B-but if he didn’t, there’s n-nothing I c-can do.”
“Understood.”
The man reached into his little podium of supplies and buttons, flicked a few switches, and drew the hand-held comm. device to his mouth.
“Conductor Leham, this is Kent St-tation. Calling Conductor Leham.”
“This is Conductor Leham. Go ahead.”
“Did you see a girl with blonde dreadlocks get off your train?”
“I did. Got off at station 132, pleasure district,” replied the conductor.
Oden felt his insides constrict with worry, but forced his face to remain neutral.
“Thank you, Conductor,” the attendant said before replacing the comm. device.
“Thank you,” Oden glanced at the man’s name tag, “Jerry. You’ve been very helpful.”
Oden stepped away, flicking his knife back into the folds of his jacket with expert ease. As though he had planned it, a blue line train swished into the station and he boarded, leaving Jerry to panic. Oden absently wondered if the attendant would call the authorities on him. Something about the over-eager station attendant suggested he wouldn’t be calling anyone—he wouldn’t want anyone to witness his shame.
The train trundled down the line for a few minutes before Oden jumped off at station 132—the third stop into the pleasure district. It was completely in the wrong area for the strip club where his old friends worked, and Oden feared Bit would quickly realize it and press on.
During his time in the tunnels of the train tracks, the gray sky had turned pink. Oden disembarked at the station and raced up the steps into the glowing light of the first rays of sunlight just cresting the distant horizon. Oden set his pace to a jog—not too fast to alarm anyone and not too slow to allow Bit a chance to further outstrip him with her broken ribs.
He made it only one block before he skidded to a stop. Across the street, on the curb of the sidewalk, sat Bit, her knees pulled up under her chin and her volumes of ratted hair spilling out of her usual knot to form a sort of curtain around her small body. She looked like a sort of haystack, hunched under her hair—a haystack with bits of red poking through.
Oden’s anger began to boil within him. She was a sitting duck, waiting there on the curb in the middle of the damn street, with her head bent down like that. Anyone could snatch her up, or worse yet, put a bullet through her head. The images filing through his mind increased his anger as he marched across the street.
The sound of his footsteps brought her head up. Her crystalline eyes showed signs of unshed tears.
“About time you caught up,” she said, sounding just as angry as he felt.
Her words left him stung, feeling like a slap in the face. Oden stared at her, his lips pulling down in a dark glare.
“About time what?” he demanded, his face burning with the heat of his growing rage. “About time you get your head out of your ass.”
He reached down, taking her arm and dragging her to her feet, momentarily forgetting about her injuries. She hissed with the pain, and Oden released her arm, mumbling an apology.
“Bit, what were you thinking?” he asked after a second’s pause. “You could have been hurt, or worse.”
“I was thinking our friends could be hurt too, or worse, and we have a chance at finding out who is after them. I was thinking their lives are just as important as mine. I was thinking if there was a chance at helping them, we should take it. I was thinking…”
“Yeah, okay… you’ve made your point.”
“So are we going to go find your friends and get this information?”
Oden glared down at her, torn between the desire to slap her and kiss her soundly. He stepped forward, towering over her slight frame, and grabbed her face between his large hands. She flinched slightly, which he ignored as he drew her close. He had to force himself to stop before he completed the act of affection.
“You listen to me, Bit,” he said once he had her full attention. “If I take you with me any farther into the pleasure district, then you do exactly what I say, when I say it. No arguments. And you never, I repeat never, run away from me again. Have I made myself clear?”
He felt her swallow a lump from her throat under his warm hands.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Oden released her and forced himself to take a step back. “Okay then. Let’s go.”
He guided her back to the train station, where they scanned in and waited for a train heading in the correct direction.
“How far off was I?” she finally asked, in such a small voice Oden realized he had frightened her.
Oden closed his eyes, his anger turning inward. How could he have frightened her when he knew how broken she was, deep down inside? He wanted to kick himself, or go back and have the station attendant do it for him. He deserved a good beating for scaring Bit.
He turned a forced smile to ward her. “Quite a ways. You went to the high end part of the pleasure district, where housewives do their clothes shopping and take their children to the park. We’re going to the seedier part. You’re going to be a little uncomfortable, by the way.”
“I kinda figured.”
His smile had helped, but not by much.
“Bit,” he sighed, “I was angry with you because I was frightened.”
This statement drew her out of her own fear. He sensed it, and saw it in her upturned stare.
“I was afraid I wouldn’t find you, or if I did, that you would already be hurt. I was afraid I’d failed to take care of you.”
Oden turned his worried eyes on her, letting all his fear show through his gaze. Her bright blue eyes misted and she looked away. Slowly, so that she could pull away if she wanted to, he snaked an arm around her shoulder.
“Please, please don’t do that again,” he said before sneaking a kiss to the top of her head.
She nodded and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes.
Oden felt a smile play on his lips. He shouldn’t enjoy her tears, but he liked the idea of her knowing how dear she was to him. Bit needed to know that there were people in her life who truly cared. She relaxed against him, and he savored the moment.
Chapter Eighteen
Jack sat quietly in the dark, occasionally peeking out the two windows of the hotel room while the other men s
lept. They had each taken their turn watching the parking lot throughout the night. Now it was his turn. He glanced back at the tiny counter where the two-cup coffee maker worked to produce its stimulating offerings. It sputtered to a stop and Jack climbed to his feet. He silently crossed the room, poured himself a large cup—taking more than half the pot of black liquid—and returned to his station by the window.
He took a cautious sip as he tweaked back the curtains. Jack gasped as he jerked, his hot coffee sloshing out of his cup and down across his wrist. A frantic gasp escaped his lips as he tried to set his coffee down and eye the silent mob forming outside without drawing any attention to himself through the slit in the curtain, but the searing pain in his hand made him clumsy. The more he tried to mop up the steaming liquid while keeping his eyes on the parking lot, the more he spilled his coffee, finally splattering it across his chest.
“Ahh,” he cried, tripping into the window and dumping the remaining coffee on the curtains.
“What is going on?” demanded Randal as he sat up.
Jack didn’t reply, but dropped the empty cup and tweaked the curtain back again, eying the protesters forming a group in the center of the parking lot. Two of them had turned their gaze up to Jack’s second story window, eyeing the fluttering curtains.
“Shit,” Jack sputtered.
Randal was already on his feet and at Jack’s side.
“The protesters found us.”
“If they can find us,” said Randal.
“…So can those men,” finished Jack. “Blaine, come with me. Calen, help Randal get our stuff together.”
Blaine nodded as he scrambled out of the bed he had shared with Calen. He pulled a shirt over his head and stuffed his feet into the proper boots, ignoring the laces and the need for a jacket in his hurry to follow Jack out of the room. They raced along the narrow hallway and down the exterior staircase, bumping into a man in a green windbreaker at the bottom of the stairs. Blaine coughed and glared back at the man before racing after Jack.
“I don’t think that guy could have had more cologne on if he bathed in it,” Blaine grumbled under his breath.
Jack glanced back at him before scurrying along the sidewalk, keeping the parked surface-cars and hover-cars between them and the protestors. He turned his face toward the windows of the first floor rooms, hoping the protestors wouldn’t recognize him, but his bad luck continued.
“Captain Jack Macleef!” one of them called out before the entire group took up the call, shouting out obscene epithets.
Blaine and Jack picked up their pace, rushing toward the office. Two protestors broke away from the group and squeezed between two vehicles.
“Captain Macleef, please speak with us,” one of them called, momentarily slowing Jack’s feet. “Just hear us out.”
Jack slid to a stop, his gut twisting. He didn’t want to hear them out, but he didn’t want to be a jerk either. His mother was an activist, much like them, and he had been raised to be courteous to those who chose to take up a political stance.
“What are you doing?” demanded Blaine as he stumbled to a stop.
“Being polite,” Jack grumbled.
“Captain Macleef, you’re carrying animal embryos that have been genetically modified to please the rich, to make money for the Mars Genetics Consortium when that technology should be used for furthering research on the many diseases running rampant across Mars, especially here in the fishing district and in the warehouse district.”
Jack raised his hand to stop the enthusiastic woman. “Ma’am, I’m just a glorified delivery boy.”
“You could be much more than that if you chose to join us in our fight.”
“And what sort of man would I be if I bankrupt my company, putting all my employees out on the street? My moral obligation is to keep my crew employed. Besides, just because MGC is using this technology to please the rich doesn’t actually mean they aren’t also working to heal the poor.”
With that Jack took off for the office, Blaine hot on his heels.
“You don’t actually believe that!” called the woman. “I won’t give up!”
“That was interesting,” Blaine mumbled under his breath.
“And informative,” replied Jack. “If they are worked up over the health of the city, they may be willing to do more than just wave signs about. The attacks may be from the protesters after all.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
Jack pulled the door to the office open and stepped in. “No. But it’s worth considering.”
The man behind the desk blinked sleep from his eyes and eyed the mob in the parking lot. “What’s that all about?”
“No idea,” Jack replied with a smile. “We need to check out.”
“Okay. Your room number?”
“213.”
The man typed it into his pad. “I have you down for another night.”
“Yeah, our plans changed.”
“I won’t be able to refund the money.”
“That’s fine.”
“Where’s Bit?” Blaine suddenly asked.
Jack glanced up at the taller man, his stomach dropping into his feet as he noticed the distant, glazed look coming to Blaine’s eyes again. Shit!
“She’s not here right now, Blaine, but she’s safe. Look, sir, we need to expedite the checkout process,” Jack said, turning back to the clerk.
“What do you mean she’s not here?” asked Blaine, glancing around the dingy office as though she might materialize from the very walls.
“Blaine, I need you to focus,” Jack said, his attention torn between the wide-eyed clerk and the frantic man standing behind him.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Please, sir. Can you just check us out?”
The man went to work printing out their receipt, half his attention on Blaine. Jack watched as Blaine’s breathing reached the frantic level, his eyes flitting from Jack’s face to the door and back.
“Blaine. She’s okay. You trust me?”
Blaine nodded.
“Then trust me that I wouldn’t allow her anywhere unsafe.” Jack took a deep breath, fervently hoping he wasn’t lying.
“But where is she?”
Jack bit his lip. He couldn’t remind Blaine that she was with Oden, especially when the Ketamine was safely stashed in his pack back in the hotel room. This was not the place for Blaine to have a complete breakdown.
“She’s with a crew member. Okay?”
Blaine’s eyes pulled together, his eyes darkening. “Who?”
“I just need your signature here, sir,” the clerk whispered, cutting into their little drama.
Jack turned, scrawled his name across the line, and propelled Blaine out of the office. The cool, salt-scented air slapped them in the face as they charged across the parking lot, paying the mob no interest. Jack spotted Randal and Calen at the curb of the street, their shoulders burdened by all the men’s packs. Jack grabbed Blaine’s arm and dragged him through the mob, his gaze absently taking in the man with the green windbreaker still loitering by the staircase.
“All checked out?” asked Randal absently.
Jack nodded. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Where is Bit?” Blaine demanded, bringing light to their new issue on his own.
Randal jerked his focus up to Blaine’s eyes, worry clouding his features. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. It started in the office.”
“What set him off?” asked Calen.
“I have no idea. He was fine and then all of the sudden he had know where she was.”
“And you won’t tell me where she is,” snapped Blaine, clenching his fists.
“We can’t dope him here,” Calen stated.
“No. We have to get out of here,” said Randal, tossing Blaine his pack.
“No one is answering my question,” barked Blaine, his agitation growing as they ignored him.
“Blaine, do you know who I am?”
Bla
ine glared down at him. “Randal, what is going on? Why would you ask such a stupid question? I just want to know where Bit is. She should be with me. I am the best one to keep her safe!”
“No, Blaine. You’re judgement has been compromised. You’ve… you’ve been drugged or something. You are not the best one to keep her safe. Can’t you see that?” asked Randal as he grabbed Blaine’s arm and gave it a shake.
Blaine jerked his arm free in a wide sweep, knocking Randal back. “No! Bit is mine. I keep her. I care for her! Where is she! You’re keeping her from me.”
“We need to move,” ordered Jack as he noticed the growing attention of the mob and the man at the base of the stairs—they had an audience.
Jack and Randal grabbed Blaine’s arms and propelled him down the street, followed closely by Calen who carried their precious cargo.
“Where are you taking me?” demanded Blaine.
“We’re going to get somewhere safe, and then we’ll contact the ship, see if Bit has called in. That way you’ll know that she’s safe,” said Jack.
“That’s not good enough. You take me to her.”
“Well, we can’t do that by standing still,” replied Randal. “Right?”
Blaine jerked his head down in a nod.
Jack held his breath, waiting for Blaine to realize Randal had never promised to take Blaine to Bit, but the moment never came. The four men raced down the street to the chant of the angry mob. Jack glanced over his shoulder to see how many of the protestors had chosen to follow them. At least half of them were following him and his crew.
“We need to lose the protestors,” he said to his crew.
“I have an idea,” Calen said from the back of the group. “Turn left at the next street.”
Jack and Randal didn’t question him, but took the left and saw a train station a block ahead, a train just departing.
“Slow down a bit,” ordered Calen.
“Slow down?” asked Randal, his tone scoffing.
“Trust me.”
The small group slowed slightly, covering half the block and giving their pursuers time to nearly catch up. Just when Jack was beginning to panic, Calen glanced down the tracks.
“And run,” the pilot ordered.
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