I take his mouth with mine, and I press my hands to his lower back, pulling him closer. Ripples of sensation flood through me. He sinks both hands into my hair, savoring my kiss, pressing his lips to my eyelids next, then to my temple where the birthmark tattoo swirls down to my cheekbone.
Tentatively, his hands slip under my shirt, and I sigh against his mouth. The cool air flowing through the passage snakes under my clothing along with his fingers, cooling my heated skin. I graze his back with my nails, reveling in the curves of his powerful muscles.
A click of heels on pavement. We peel apart, and I swiftly settle my shirt back into place.
A neatly dressed woman strides past, giving us barely a glance. I snicker, and Rak covers my mouth with his hand. I put out my tongue and lick his palm, flickering my lashes at him.
The instant the woman is out of the passage, Rak replaces his hand with his mouth, kissing me savagely, driving me back against the wall. Yes, yes. This is the Rak I want, unrestrained and unbridled.
And then my com chimes, insistently, repeatedly. Frenzied and furious, I nearly dash it against the ground, but Rak catches it in one hand. "It's probably Ridley," he says thickly. "We have to go."
"Your place." My words are practically a growl.
"No."
"You can't kiss me like that and say 'no.' "
"What does Ridley think we were up to all day? You should be worn out by now, yes?"
"Oh." Ridley and Tram think we've already taken care of our "private matters." Except that we were actually scheming all day and didn't have time for anything else. "Stupid cover story."
"Mm," he agrees, with one more quick kiss. "Another time. Maybe another place as well—I'm not adventurous enough for this, yet." He glances around at the tunnel.
"Me neither." Although I'm not so sure. I was a few seconds away from letting him take me then and there, no matter who might pass by.
When we emerge from the passage, the orange glow of sunset is slanting between the buildings, gilding even the most drab of the tenement houses. Rak's building looks positively aflame with golden light, as if an over-eager painter splashed a wave of peach and amber over its faded exterior.
Waiting by the wall, Tram and Ridley are sunset-bronzed statues, emanating displeasure from every gilded pore.
"I love you," whispers Rak in my ear. "Good luck with them." With a grin, he disappears into his building, leaving me to the wrath of my bodyguards.
19
The lecture lasts all the way home. I try to look penitent and attentive as Ridley explains the real danger I'm in every day, lists the nations and fringe groups that might want to harm me, and details all the ways in which I could have been killed or kidnapped between Safi's home and Rak's.
"Are you done?" I say, when we reach the entrance to my house. "Because even if you're not, you're off duty now, so you can stop lecturing me."
"I know you don't like having us around, Miss Zilara, but it's for your protection." Ridley disembarks from the pod first, and Tram follows me out.
"It's not that I don't like having you around," I say. "I like both of you, a lot. It's just that occasionally I want privacy."
"We gave you privacy today."
"Yes, but I wanted a little more. It's not your fault, though, and I'm sorry I worried you."
At the apology, a smile plays across Ridley's lips. "You've changed since you came back."
"For the better, I hope."
"Yes," says Tram, with feeling.
I chuckle at his enthusiasm. "All right—well, I'll see the two of you tomorrow then. Good night."
"Good night." They touch their skull-ports, summoning their personal pods from the lot to take them home.
The instant the house welcomes me back, my father appears in the hallway.
"You're back," I say. "How was your conference?"
Without answering, he grips me just above the elbow and steers me into the living room. My mother is already there, draped gracefully on a couch, the creamy upholstery contrasting beautifully with her dark skin and purple gown.
"Sit down, Zilara." My father pushes me toward a chair.
I'm too startled to resist, so I sink into the chair, my mind racing. Gareth—did Gareth talk to my father already? No, we scared him soundly—he wouldn't have the guts to give us away, at least not yet. And I wasn't imagining the glint of greed in my ex's eyes when Alik broached the idea of a partnership. Gareth won't spill what he knows until he finds out what profit Alik's venture might bring him.
Suns and starlight—the skull-port! I'm supposed to have had it reinstalled by now—at least I think so. When did I tell my father it would be ready? I have so much going on that I can't keep track of the lies. One argument in favor of truth-telling, I suppose.
"Your mother tells me you're out all day, every day," says my father.
"Same as when I was at Uni. I'm not one to sit at home."
"What do you do, when you go out?" Her voice is cool and distant.
"I visit the campus, meet up with my friends. Shop, eat, walk around. I went to see Uncle Gant and Aunt Chila a little while ago."
"I heard. I also heard that you slipped your guards while you were there. And you dismissed your night guards without my permission."
"Having two guards follow me around all day and night is extreme," I say. "I'm used to having just one, during the day. Usually Vern." His name burns in my throat as I speak it, and I drive my nails into the fabric of the chair as my brain vomits out a memory—a blond head punched through with a sudden, gaping hole. Blood on concrete.
"You have two bodyguards because of the hostage incident. You're more visible and vulnerable right now." My father speaks slowly, bending toward me, as if he's explaining a simple concept to a very small child.
"I understand that," I say, leaning away.
"However it seems that the simple task of reinstalling your implant still seems to elude your capabilities. I called the lab, and they said they don't have your device or a scheduled appointment to reinstall it. Would you care to explain?"
"I—I got rid of the device," I say. "I decided I don't want one."
My father's hand snakes toward me, flicking back my hair to reveal the sealed-over bare spot behind my ear. "You had a refill and seal?" His eyes snap with green fire. "I thought you were eager to get it back, that you missed having it."
I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. "After another week of not having one, I think I'm used to it now. I've detoxed, I guess. Without all the feeds and music and waves to distract me, I'm free to enjoy real life more intensely."
A confused expression crosses his face, as if he genuinely can't imagine someone not wanting a skull-port. For him, the piece of tech installed behind his right ear is indispensable, connecting him to a million different necessary chains of information and communication. He must have scores of layers of security in his device, and who knows what other add-ons that customize it to his needs.
But right on the heels of his confusion comes the suspicion that I've been trying to avoid. I can see it in his eyes. He wants to know if I know about the suppressor.
"You need a skull-port, Zilara. For your own convenience. For the convenience of people like your mother and me, who may need to contact you. For security purposes."
"I could get a standalone com device." I don't tell him that I already have a com device, one that's untraceable. That's illegal tech, and would raise more questions than I want to answer.
"Standalone coms?" My mother laughs, a lilting, sparkly sound. "So old-fashioned. No, darling, you need to have your port reinstalled. Why are you being so stubborn about it?"
"Why are you pushing so hard for it?"
"We want you to be safe," she answers. "Without your skull-port, we have no way of tracking you if someone tries to kidnap you again." She glances up at the Magnate, like a pet wanting assurance that she is performing as requested.
"If I have it reinstalled, anyone who takes me hostage will rip it
out again, like they did in Emsalis," I counter. "I don't want to go through that pain." I rise from the chair. "The refill is done, and so is this conversation." I speak the words proudly, coolly, with much more confidence than I feel. Inside, I'm quaking.
"If that is what you wish," says my father. "As of this moment, you'll receive no more monthly support from us until you agree to a reinstall of your skull-port implant. I have another device prepped and waiting the moment you change your mind."
I freeze. They're taking away my sole source of income. Once my account runs dry, there will be no shopping, no buying meals outside the house, no paying for passage on the lev-train or renting hoverbikes. No money to pay Alik.
Short of kicking me out or drugging me, it's the only way they can force me to accept another implant.
I force myself to breathe, to smile. "That seems fair."
My mother's crisply groomed brows shoot up. "Really? But darling, think of the—"
"No!" My father holds up a hand, and she stops speaking instantly. "Zilara doesn't think she needs our financial support. Let's see how far she can go on her own." His eyes are pinched tight at the corners, his lips a razor line. "If you change your mind about the implant, let me know."
I stalk up the stairs, teeth clenched so hard my jaw hurts. Once I'm in my room, I tear through my closet, pulling out every last item of clothing I own. Anything I've never worn, or that I'll never wear again, I put in a pile to sell. My frequently worn favorites get to stay.
It's a long process, and by the time it's done, I have a stack of dresses and pants and shirts nearly as tall as me, all ripe for selling. My closet feels bare and empty now, with a single bar and a handful of drawers holding the clothing I plan to keep.
Emsalis taught me I can be happy with far less than I ever knew. And now, my former love of excess is going to pay for our incursion into Amzen.
Incursion.
Who am I to be planning some kind of wild heist, a robbery from a secret suppressor manufacturing facility? Why am I even doing this?
I could stop it all. I could go downstairs and agree to the implant—go back to being barely Evolved. I could keep my money and my clothes. I could forget about aeroball, and keep studying politics next session; forget about Rak and date the next polite, perfect-looking, power-hungry boy who comes my way.
Plunging my hand into the stack of clothes, I twist my fingers through the fabrics—lush and smooth, soft and silky, thick and warm. Rich embroidery, playful prints. Colors that sing and whisper to me.
Giving in to my father would mean safety, of a sort. Comfort. Calm.
But safety is rarely a companion to freedom. And after what I've been through, what I've seen, I value freedom far more than comfort.
Besides, I've found my safety and my freedom in the heart of someone who loves me for exactly who I am.
A week later, Alik saunters into Safi's shop, where we're gathered for a plotting session, and sets a plastic case on the table. "I got the eye and fingerprint scans. The good doctor won't remember a thing. Now, what have the rest of you done?"
We all begin talking at once.
"No, no, no!" Alik holds up his hands. "One at a time. Rak, you first."
Rak's job mostly involves keeping himself in top fighting shape. He's been sparring with Tram every chance he gets, and whenever he isn't working or watching me practice aeroball, he's been tweaking the drone I bought him, readying it for a spy mission.
"I sent in the drone to look around last night," he says. "Barely got over the fence before their patrol drones shot it. I flew it away, but it crashed in some junkyard."
"It was—disappointing," I add. Crushing, actually, because a sizable chunk of the money from my clothing went into that drone. Most of the rest paid for the scan repeater, and the paraguns we'll be taking along.
"So we won't have eyes on everything ahead of time," says Alik. "It's a setback, but not a terrible one. We should still have most of the information we need to do this. And now we know that they have several patrol drones, always on high alert. Rak, how many did your drone detect before it was damaged?"
"Half a dozen, maybe, spread out across the area."
"We'll need some way to camouflage you two from the drones while you're crossing the courtyard."
Safi springs from her chair. "I've been working on something."
Alik spins toward her, smiling. "That's what I like to hear."
"A scrambler," she says. "It sends out a signal that confuses drones and messes with their navigation and detection sensors. Makes them veer off in a different direction. I was working on it for Zil, so she could use it when feedrunner drones are harassing her."
"Really? That's so sweet!" I sidle up to her and squeeze her shoulders. "I can try it out, and if it works, it might be just what we need."
"If it works?" Her eyebrows lift. "My tech always works."
"She's right," says Rak. "Safi's inventions have always come through for us. But a test is a good idea, all the same."
"Now you, Princess," says Alik. "Have you been doing your homework?"
"I've been busy with aeroball practice," I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "But I've done a little ability practice, and I've been doing the upper body workout Rak showed me, almost every day."
"Do it more," he says. "Your life is going to depend on your strength, Zilara. Also, we need money for anti-grav clips. Do you have anything else to give me?"
I've been passing him my clothes and jewelry, little by little as I can smuggle them out of the house. Today I have a few cloud-soft scarves tucked into a bag created by one of Ceanna's best designers. I hand them over, reluctantly. "That's the end of it. I'm keeping the rest."
"I'm amazed you have clothes left, after all you've sold," says Safi.
She probably doesn't mean it as a judgment, but her words incite a pang of guilt at my past extravagance.
"She's right, love," says Alik. "Are you sure you kept enough clothes? We wouldn't want you strolling about naked. Or perhaps we would." And he ducks Rak's incoming punch.
We keep the rest of the meeting short, because Tram and Ridley are waiting outside again, and because today, like every day lately, I have aeroball practice.
Nearly every afternoon or evening, Ridley and Tram escort me to the campus so I can practice. I signed up with an amateur group that's entering the aeroball tournament—a mixed bag of players calling themselves the Shearers. Not a stellar selection of teammates, but a few of them are good enough to give us a fighting chance of staying in the running long enough for scouts to notice.
I haven't played with a team since upper levels. In a pickup game, I'm unstoppable, sneaking through guard lines and feinting moves and making goals with an accuracy that even surprises me. Working with others, though—following our group leader's strategy—it's harder than I expected. I'm glad of the extra muscles I gained in my legs from those days trekking through the Emsali desert. I can punch the lev platform harder now, and leap higher, and stay airborne longer.
I'm not sure it will be enough. And I want this. I want it almost as much as I wanted to get out of Emsalis.
Rak comes to watch me practice a few times, when he isn't working. One night, I take a second to exchanges smiles with him, and a boot slams into the side of my helmet. Pinpoint stars burst across my vision.
"Pay attention," snaps the volunteer coach. "Stop watching your friends. I can't have you getting knocked out of practice. Focus, Remay."
"Yes, I know." I rub my neck, blinking away the stars. I'm fairly sure the coach hates me. She tolerates me because I'm one of her best players, but she also glares at me frequently. And she doesn't seem to care that I'm the Magnate's daughter; it doesn't soften her treatment of me one bit. In fact, maybe that's why she hates me.
In this case, she's right. I need to focus on the game.
When I come out of the blast room after practice, Rak is waiting for me.
"You all right?" he asks. "That kick
to the head must have hurt."
"I'll live. I've been through much worse, remember. And anyway, it's your fault for being so rutting handsome."
He grins. "Maybe I shouldn't come if I'm such an irresistible distraction."
The instant we're in the pod, he seizes me, pulling me against him. That first kiss is pure magnetic force, gluing us together. That salty, spicy taste of him in my mouth—the sensations flooding every nerve in my body—I can't get enough, and I lose all track of time.
Until Ridley clears her throat. "We're here."
I swear against his mouth, and he laughs. As he's swinging out of the pod to the ground, he calls, "The tournament is in two days, yes?"
"Yes."
"You're ready." He kisses his hand to me as the pod doors close.
20
The day of the aeroball tournament is a security nightmare for Ridley and Tram.
Every one of the aeroball courts at the ActivCourt is open. Crowds of onlookers—families, students, guests, coaches, enthusiasts—flood in and out of the doors and overflow onto the plazas outside. I strictly forbade my bodyguards from mentioning the event to my father, and since my allowance has been cut off, there's no extra money to hire another bodyguard on the sly—so my faithful pair spend the morning shoving aside bodies to create a path for me, scoping out the equipment rooms, and sending tiny drones over the crowd to scan for concealed weapons.
Fortunately my extra security measures don't draw much attention; there are other important Ceannans in the crowd, and plenty of additional campus security personnel and monitor drones. I'm more concerned about being recognized and outed to my father before the day is done. I doubt that he'd intervene directly and stop me from participating; but my nerves can't take the thought of another stressful conversation with him—not on top of the competition pressure.
My helmet covers most of my facial tattoo, and with my lack of makeup today and the speed at which I'll be moving, I doubt anyone will notice who I am, or care. They'll all be watching their own family members or friends. And I've already instructed my crew not to yell my name when they cheer for me. Alik helpfully suggested alternatives like "Princess," "Sexy," "Love Doll," or "Baby," all of which I vetoed.
Princess of Lies and Legends (The Evolved Book 2) Page 20