Broken & Hunted

by Charissa Dufour

  Bit went straight for the bottle and swallowed a pill dry. She turned to find Oden smiling at her.

  “What?”

  “Just waiting for the results.”

  “Don’t take advantage.”

  His grin grew. “Gonna be hard now that I know what those lips can do.”

  Without thinking, she threw the bottle at him. He ducked, leaving the bottle to bang loudly into the far wall. They heard a distant curse from the next room.

  “You promised!” she hissed. “That never happened.”

  “No. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone else. But you already know about it, so in private I can tease you to high heaven.”

  Bit darkened her glare, worried the drugs would soon kick in and she would lose her resolve to be angry at him.

  “It never happened,” she insisted.

  “So you keep saying,” he said with another sickeningly sweet smile.

  Bit took two steps to close the distance between them, her hand raised, when suddenly she felt the first wave of the meds hitting her bloodstream. She blinked, trying to reorient her aim on his arm. The room began to tilt a little and she blinked again. Oden’s smile widened, his eyes glowing with mischief.

  “Is something wrong, Bit? You’re glare has lost some of its fire. Want me to make you angry again?” he asked, making smooching lips.

  “You double-faced… two-timing… thing with the…”

  “I’m sorry… what am I again?”

  “Ugh. You know exactly wha’ you are,” she said, her words beginning to slur as she started to sway.

  Oden caught her and pulled her to his side, a place she was growing rather accustomed to being. She felt his lips go to her hair, but couldn’t remember why that wasn’t right.

  “Yes, I do. Now, I need to go check in with the ship, silly girl. Why don’t you lay down and get some sleep?”

  Bit shook her head. “You wanna find out where Jack is.”

  Oden let out a long-suffering sigh. “I promise I will find out where the others are.”

  She shook her head again and wrapped her weighted arms around his waist, leaning a little more into his solid form. He adjusted his grip on her as the meds took a firm control of her abilities.

  “Pleeezz don’ leave me here alone,” she slurred into his jacket.

  Again she felt something brush the top of her head. “Okay. C’mon.”

  They stumbled their way out of the room and back down the lighted path of the club. Out on the street, Bit wondered what the few other pedestrians thought of them—a tattooed man half carrying a drunken woman down the street at 0800. Who got drunk in the morning just as everyone was going off to work?

  They reached the same comm.-for-rent. booth that they had used the night before and squeezed into it. Bit leaned into a corner and watched in a daze as Oden swiped his card and tracked in the frequency of the ship. After a few minute’s wait, the screen snap-zipped into life and Reese appeared, stumbling into the pilot’s chair.

  The security officer frowned. “What’s wrong with Bit?”

  “Hey!” she called from her corner of the booth.

  “High as a kite,” Oden said over her exclamation.

  “I see.” Reese blinked the sleep from his eyes. “What’s with the extra early call? You’re two hours ahead of schedule. Not that I’m complaining. Cap wants a description of Bit’s stalker, assuming she can remember drugged out of her mind like she is.”

  Oden turned back to look at her, nearly elbowing her in the shoulder in their cramped quarters. Bit felt the relaxed ease of the medication disappear as panic overwhelmed her. She remembered the man who had followed her around Ward Port and again chased her throughout Jack’s neighborhood until she had injured herself. Oden pulled her out of the corner and tucked her back under his arm, back in her safe place.

  She breathed in his scent, a heady mix of sweat, laundry detergent, Cheesy-Chips, and the faintest hint of engine grease. The combination was relaxing and safe. It was Oden.

  Whoever that man was who had chased her, he couldn’t get her here. Not with Oden watching her every move.

  Bit turned back to look at the screen focusing on getting each word out clearly. “The man was about Randal’s height, but not as broad. More the build of Calen. With black hair, or really dark brown, that he wore short, combed forward and gelled. He wore black pants and a gray sweatshirt with a greenish-blue windbreaker.”

  She paused to think, annoyed that the meds made it difficult to draw out anything more than the emotions of those two horrible experiences. It hadn’t been that long ago—barely three days—but she couldn’t remember the details of his face.

  “It’s okay, Bit. That will help,” Reese said after giving her a moment to think. “Now, Oden, why are you guys calling in two hours early?”

  “Well, we have some news. We were kinda bored, I guess, and we did some digging around here. We think we know who’s after the embryos and what they want. Where are Jack and the others?”

  “That’s great!” exclaimed Reese. “They’re at the cliffs, at the Noctis Bar. They can come to you when they find…”

  “That’s perfect. We’ll get over there as soon as we…”

  “Okay. Sounds like we got a plan. I’ll tell ‘em…”

  “Indeed we…”

  “The Lenore out.”

  “Oden out.”

  Bit blinked in amazement as the two men rambled on, cutting each other off with each new sentence in their excitement to get off the communicator. Oden turned to her, grinning. His smile slipped as she felt herself slide down the wall of the little booth. He reached out, half catching her with his arms and half pinning her to the wall with his body before she could reach the floor.

  “I think it’s time to get you back to the club so that you can sleep a little,” he said, grinning down at her.

  “No, we have to get going,” she mumbled into his chest.

  “We can afford an hour for you to sleep some of this off.”

  “Mmmkay,” she sighed.

  He chuckled as he slipped an arm around her shoulder and dragged her out of the booth. Bit leaned heavily against his body and followed him back to the club. She collapsed on the couch, only opening her eyes to see what was tugging at her feet. It was Oden, forcefully removing the boots Lexi had given her. A moment later, she found herself nestled against his chest.

  The warmth of his body lulled her to sleep, once again safe in his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nathyn woke with a start, quickly glancing around the dingy motel room and wondering where he was. It took him a moment to remember the stressful night full of a woman’s badgering voice. He took a deep breath and flopped back onto his lumpy pillow, relishing the silence. She wasn’t even snoring anymore.

  He frowned, a trickle of worry beginning to form in the back of his mind.

  Turning his head, he found the other side of the bed empty. Forcing the panic down, Nathyn pushed his senses out, listening for any sounds coming from the bathroom. Silence. The panic returned as Nathyn shot out of the bed and glanced around the room as he crossed to the bathroom. He knocked out of curtesy before thrusting the door open. Like the hotel room, the bathroom was empty.

  Nathyn glanced back, finding the smallest of Debby’s bags missing.

  “Shit!” he exclaimed as he grabbed a room keycard and charged for the door, ignoring the fact he wasn’t wearing any shoes or a shirt.

  He burst out onto the balcony of the motel, the gritty surface wet from the previous night’s rain. He glanced up and down the balcony and across the parking lot, finding no sign of her. Nathyn tilted his body over the railing, checking to see if she was hiding under the balcony.

  She was nowhere in sight.

  “Shit,” he repeated, turning back to the room.

  He jammed the card into the electronic lock and yanked the door open. As quickly as he could, Nathyn dressed, stuffing the keycard and his wallet into his back pocket. Dressed and re
ady to face the world, he charged back out of the motel room and ran down the stairs.

  Nathyn spent the next fifteen minutes jogging in carefully planned circles around the neighborhood until he was certain she had a long head start. As he began to run out of time, he turned back and raced for his motel room.

  He arrived fifteen minutes before his allotted “call in” time. Slumping into his chair, he swiped his payment card and tuned in the frequency for the ship.

  “What’s up?” asked Reese, sounding out of breath as he wiped sweat from his forehead.

  “I have a problem. Debby’s split.”

  “What do you mean ‘split’?”

  “She ran off during the night. I woke up and she was gone.”

  “Oh, you are in for it now,” murmured the other man, his eyes going wide.

  “No shit. When Jack calls in I need you to ask him what my orders are. I’ll call in at 0815.”

  “Okay. Will do. The Lenore out.”

  The screen snapped black and Nathyn slumped back in his seat, panic gripping heart. No doubt Jack would have his head for this.

  Calen grimaced as the train came to a stop once again, thumping him gently against his seat. The bruise marring his back hurt worse than the one spread across his shoulder, both from the strange bullets used by his attackers. Calen glanced out the window, belatedly realizing this was his stop. He scrambled to his feet with a low curse as his movements reopened the cuts running up his right leg, which had gone through the rusted metal of the step on the catwalk.

  The passengers around him glared as he slipped past the shutting doors, his backpack nearly getting caught in their grasp. Calen jumped forward, landing on the leg covered in cuts and cursed, his swollen lip splitting open again.

  During his two hours of train hopping, he had mostly been able to rest, but the sudden need to disembark had awoken the pains covering his battered body. Calen hobbled forward, trying his best to walk normally, but what few scabs hadn’t been broken open pulled against the movement of his leg. He glanced down, noting the fresh blood seeping into the tan color of his trousers.

  It was amazing he hadn’t drawn the attention of the authorities.

  Calen wanted to beeline it back to the bar, worried the others had gone off to look for him, but he knew he needed to make doubly sure no one was following him from the train platform. He ducked into a dark alleyway, turned away from the bar and doubled back. After a few more seemingly random turns, he felt certain he was alone.

  At last he reached the street running parallel to Valles Marineris Trench. Without stopping, he crossed the street and opened the door. This time, no one shot him.

  Heaving a sigh of relief, Calen began the painful climb down the steps he had so recently fallen down. By the time he reached the first switchback sweat trickled down his face, mixing in with the blood that had dried to his forehead and cheek. He clenched his jaw and forced the pain to the back of his mind as he turned to continue down the stone stairs, using his good arm to grip the railing. He refused to slip and fall again—his body couldn’t take it.

  They’re here. They’re here, he chanted to himself with each step.

  He couldn’t endure the idea that he might have limped down the stone staircase for nothing. At the bottom step he looked up to find the same greeter in place, his jaw hanging open and his eyes round.

  “Sir! Sir!” called the greeter over his shoulder, waving toward someone at the far end of the large restaurant.

  Calen forced himself to scan the empty restaurant, finding the silhouette of a large man lumbering toward him, two men following some feet behind him. The flaming red light of the sunrise reflecting off the distant cliffs glowed behind them, blinding him.

  As they neared, they slowly resolved into familiar features. He recognized Randal just as the larger man grabbed him up in a big bear hug.

  “Aaa!” cried Calen in agony as Randal squeezed him, his muscled forearms tightening across the dinner plate-sized bruise spanning his lower back.

  Randal dropped him to the ground with such speed Calen crumbled, his torn leg collapsing beneath him. Jack raced to his side, trying to catch him before he could collide with the smooth stone floor. Calen felt the impact of the fall mix with the various other pains.

  To his shame, tears welled in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, mixing with the blood and sweat.

  “Calen, are you all right?” Jack asked.

  He wanted to lie. He wanted to climb to his feet and shake it all off, but the truth was he didn’t know if he could get back to his feet without a little help. The relief in finding them brought its own wash of tears, much less the pain coursing through his body. Suddenly Bit’s penchant for crying didn’t seem so ridiculous.

  “Little bunged up,” he admitted as he blinked back the traitorous moisture in his eyes.

  Randal and Jack grabbed his shoulders and helped him to his feet. Once again, Calen cried out as Jack squeezed the bruise on his right arm.

  “Do you have a back room we could use?” Randal asked the greeter.

  He nodded and escorted them to a door that led into the inner workings of the restaurant. Blaine trailed behind having grabbed up their personal belongings. The greeter guided them into a room that was equipped as an employee lounge based on the cheap furniture lining the walls. Two line cooks scrambled to their feet as the greeter flung the door open.

  “You found him,” one of the cooks exclaimed.

  “I’m world famous,” Calen mumbled as they guided him into the room.

  The cooks vacated the sofa and gestured for him to take it. Jack helped him slip the pack off before he could collapse on the inviting cushions.

  “Wait,” ordered Randal. “Let’s get your shirt off before you collapse. I take it your arm’s hurt the way you’re not using it.”

  “I can’t move it,” he said, speaking the ugly truth.

  The room went silent. Even the cooks and the greeter didn’t move, though they couldn’t understand why everyone stared at him.

  “Does it hurt?” Randal asked.

  Calen shook his head. “I couldn’t feel anything for a long time. About fifteen minutes ago I started feeling pricks in the tips of my fingers, but I still can’t move it.”

  “Pricks are good. What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you everything, but please can I sit down?” asked Calen.

  “Let’s just get this shirt off.” Randal turned back to the workers. “Do you have some scissors?”

  One of the cooks jumped into action, scrambling to a desk and withdrawing a pair. Randal used the scissors to cut the shirt off. The men gasped as they took in his back and shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Calen saw Randal wave them silent. They carefully lowered him onto the couch.

  More tears pressed against his eyes, not because of any extra pain, but because of the careful neutrality masking their features. He wasn’t entirely sure what they saw on his body, but fresh fears sprouted in his mind. Would he ever regain full use of his arm? Was his career as a pilot finished?

  “Now,” began Randal, “What happened?”

  “I got to the restaurant, not realizing I’d picked up a tail. I got shot in the shoulder, but it was unlike any bullet I’ve ever seen. It deadened the arm.”

  Jack and Randal exchanged glances.

  “The same with your back?” asked Randal.

  Calen nodded, regretting it as a headache began to form behind his eyes.

  “It’s crowd-control ammo—used in riots and such. It’s not lethal but sure makes you feel like you’d rather be dead. Unless something really strange happened, you should regain the use of the arm. Go on.”

  Calen went on to give them a detailed description of everything that had happened. Randal listened carefully, the stress lines on his face deepening the longer he listened. Slowly, the workers slipped out of the room, the greeter returning with the restaurant’s generous first aid kit and a large platter of food.

  Jack pulled him in
to the corner in an attempt to settle the bill. Calen overheard their discussion, amazed to find the greeter insisting on paying for their food and any cost of their medical supplies.

  “Sir, it was my bumbling words that got your brother chased. If I had been more cool and collected they would have followed the trail he left. I feel responsible. Let me do this small thing. Besides, the owner is my cousin. He’ll trust my judgement in this.”

  Jack let out a long sigh and nodded as he put away his payment card.

  Randal went to work cleaning Calen’s cuts and bandaging what he could with the supplies at hand while Jack moved to the comm.-for-rent. tucked in the corner of the employee lounge. Meanwhile, Blaine sat in unusual silence.

  The screen of the comm. snapped to life and Reese appeared with a smile.

  “Cap! You’ll never guess what happened. Bit and Oden found a lead! They think they know who’s after you and why they want the embryos. They’re in the pleasure district and waiting for you!”

  Jack stared at the screen, amazed at the luck that had just presented itself after a long morning of disaster upon disaster.

  “What?” he asked numbly.

  “They have a strong lead to figure this all out. You need to go to them. They haven’t been attacked once so I think it’s safe to say this isn’t Bit’s old boss. Go to them and figure it all out!”

  “Um… good… good.”

  Reese’s face suddenly crumpled from ecstatic to panic. “Now for the bad news.”

  “What?” Jack asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose, the tension between his shoulder blades returning.

  “Nathyn called. Debby’s missing.”

  “What do you mean missing?” snapped Jack, half rising from his seat.’

  “He says she just took off. He woke up and she was just gone, along with one of her bags.”

  Jack froze, thinking through the strain that had been building between them since they had first landed at the beginning of the weekend. Whatever her issues were, she had chosen to leave his protection. He let out a long sigh.