by Natalie Grey
“Boss, we’re going to find her.” Loki did not move from where he was holding her down, keeping her pinned for a long moment as Jester and Jim finished off the last of the guards. Only when they were all down, and the docking port showed that the ship was safely away, did Loki let Nyx up. “We’re going to find her,” he repeated.
“Nyx? There’s … a problem.” Lesedi’s voice, terse.
Nyx sank her face into her hands. “Of course there is. What is it?”
“As far as I can tell, it’s not a criminal organization that abducted this woman. It’s a senator.”
“What?”
“It’s why I couldn’t get past the code to lock the ship in—it has diplomatic clearance.”
“Then—”
“That’s not all. Unless I am very much mistaken, this ship belongs to one Maryam Samuels.”
“Isn’t she the head of that corruption committee?” Tersi chimed in from the ship.
“Yes.” Lesedi sighed. “And she’s been making some very worrisome speeches about how she’ll stop corruption if the senate won’t. So was this lady she abducted a part of anything shady? Because if so….”
Oh, no. Nyx felt a chill go down her spine.
“Get me that trace.” She was running for the Ariane, panic rising in her veins.
This was not going to be Camelot all over again. This was going to be torture … and quite possibly execution.
26
She woke bound and gagged, one shoulder aching where it pressed against the grated floor of….
Oh, God. She was on a ship. Mala thrashed, trying to get upright, and was rewarded with a burst of pain across the back of her head. She screamed into the gag as hands came down on her arms, her legs. She was kicking, struggling, but both she and her captors knew it was useless. There was the prick of another needle, a moment of something cool spreading away from the entry point, and then the darkness came rushing back.
The next time she woke, she did not open her eyes. Even the faint motion of her breath sent pain shooting down her arms, and her mouth felt so dry that she almost considered opening her eyes and asking for water. Even the thought of moving made her stomach heave, however, and she had the dim sense that she should not ask for kindness from them. They might have given her opiates; it would explain the strange way she knew she should panic, but couldn’t quite bring herself to.
A clang and a jolt made her press her lips together to keep from whimpering. She had heard other sounds like this, she remembered. It was what had woken her; the ship was docking. The fear that ran parallel to her was beginning to trickle into her consciousness, and she felt her breath start to come short.
“You.” Something nudged her in the ribs. “We know you’re awake.”
Mala kept her eyes resolutely shut, and was rewarded with hot breath in her face, and a voice close to her ear; she tried not to flinch from it.
“I suggest you cooperate.” The man’s voice was rough. “It will go easier for you if you tell them everything you know.”
Mala opened her eyes at last, and the overwhelming dazzle of skin and light and eyes and breath was enough to make her gag. She doubled over, and then gave a pained cry as he hauled her up by her waist, holding her indifferently for her to vomit onto the grating. She watched it trickle through the floor and some distant part of her hoped it fell on the other guard’s head. Bastards.
She was still crying with pain when they hauled her roughly down the gangplank. Her legs scrabbled weakly on the floor, but her captor was moving too quickly for her to walk alongside. Eventually he hauled her up over his shoulder again and Mala grimaced at the feel of his shoulder pressing into her stomach. There was nothing left in her stomach, which was lucky for him—she would cheerfully have decorated the back of his suit jacket. She wasn’t above petty revenge, and they wouldn’t kill her until they’d asked whatever questions they wanted to ask.
That brought the fear back, pounding in her temples.
The world spun dizzily as she was dropped into an interrogation chair. One of the men hauled her forward as another untied her hands and clamped them roughly onto the arms of the chair with metal cuffs. She was dropped back, a strap tightened around her ribcage as she struggled weakly. There was no hope of getting out; she simply did not want to go into this without at least attempting to escape.
“Is she coherent?” a woman’s voice asked impatiently.
“I’ll check.” One of the men grabbed Mala’s chin and wrenched it sideways. “You. What’s your name?”
The possibilities tumbled over in her head, and Mala considered her answer in the liquid-slow time she now inhabited. It took too long, apparently, and the man shook her, fingers bruising her jaw.
“Remember what I said about cooperating? Answer.”
“Mala,” she said finally.
“Hit her,” the woman’s voice said, and pain cracked along Mala’s cheek. She heard her own cry, and saw stars.
When she moved her head back, painfully, she saw the woman at last. A charcoal-grey suit set off dusky skin, and the black hair was drawn back into a severe bun. Grey-green eyes studied Mala intently.
“Are you….” Mala’s voice was a croak. “Senator Samuels?”
The woman’s lips tightened, and she nodded to the guards. This time, the hit was directed at Mala’s solar plexus, and the breath left her in a whoosh. She gasped for air, struggling against the bonds as her torso shuddered.
“Yes,” the woman said, moving closer as Mala drew in a sobbing breath. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you know me.”
“I saw you on TV,” Mala managed. “In the … debates.”
“Don’t even bother.” The woman’s voice was bored. “No one knows you’re here, no one has realized you’re missing, and no one will find you before I’m done with you.”
“Are you sure about that?” Mala saw Nyx’s face in her head. Nyx would come for her.
Wouldn’t she?
“We still haven’t figure out who followed us on Akintola,” one of the men said, voice low.
“They didn’t stop you, and no one could have traced the ship.” The woman seemed bored. “They don’t matter.”
Mala began to laugh. It was half-sob, terrified, and half vengeful hope. No one could have traced the ship. She wanted to ask if the woman thought no one could get into wherever they were, either, but the pain of a punch stopped her laughter. She tasted blood.
“Tell me what you know of Grose’s plan.” The woman’s face appeared.
“I don’t know—”
“Hit her.”
This time, Mala screamed.
“Listen very carefully.” The woman’s voice was almost bored. “I am in no mood to indulge your petty little lies. You are nothing but a two-bit criminal. Every town in human space has a dozen like you. The only reason you matter, Ms. Orion, is your knowledge of Grose’s plans.”
Ms. Orion. Oh, God.
“Before you waste my time any further—” the voice chilled Mala to her bones “—let me explain that we know Grose is perpetrating some fraud in the trade of Gerren’s Ore, and we know you visited him on Elsevier. Ms. Orion, you know Mr. Grose’s plans, and you will tell us all of what you know.”
You will tell us. Us. The word rang in her ears like some speech from a historical movie, with a queen proclaiming herself to be the nation personified, and even the ridiculousness of that could not stave off Mala’s sudden terror. They knew. And the pieces, which had not fit together before, now did: Senator Maryam Samuels was the new head of the senate’s fight against corruption. She had been called to join the subcommittee overseeing the trade of Gerren’s Ore. She was known for fiery speeches, and her uncompromising stance—that anyone engaging in fraud, anyone at all, was a blight on the Human Alliance and guilty of high treason against its citizens. In the past, Mala had laughed at that, trading jokes with her coworkers: I don’t think she knows what treason is.
It was not so funny now. Not when Mala was tie
d to a chair, her mouth cut, drugged and bruised and at the mercy of this woman whose eyes showed not madness, but cold assessment.
“I’m not….” Mala tried to speak. “I’m not who you think I am. This is a mistake.”
“Ms. Orion, we know exactly who you are.” The woman might have been made of stone; only her lips moved. “I would not recommend lying to me again.”
“But it’s the truth,” Mala whispered. “I’m not … look, I’m not—”
The pain was sudden and blinding, the sensation of a hot knife dragging its way down her spine, pain flooding out to drench her veins. She was made of pain, she could not see, she could hear screams and she knew they were hers and she did not care. All she cared about was that this ended.
“Please! Please, I’ll tell you anything.” The pain released her and she was sobbing, head limp against the headrest. “I’ll tell you anything.” Her voice was a broken whisper.
“Then tell us about Grose’s plans.” The threat was clear. “I will not ask again, Ms. Orion. And you know … I can’t guarantee that your mind can take much more of that pain. Consider that before you defy me again.”
“I don’t know his whole plan.” There were tears on her cheeks, and a terrible fear that what she knew wouldn’t be enough to keep them from using that pain again. “He’s been taking the ore. He’s working for someone called Ghost, and he’s been taking the ore. He wants to force Ghost to bargain with him. But I don’t know any more, I don’t know who Ghost is.” Her voice was rising. “I don’t, I swear I don’t. I swear I didn’t even know who he was, and—”
“That’s all right. You’re doing very well.” The voice was so kind that Mala’s voice broke off.
The woman was smiling. She reminded Mala of the intelligence tester she’d met before getting her job as an analyst, the woman with her calm questions and kind eyes. The senator was smiling in that same reassuring way. You’re doing very well.
This time, the kindness was chilling.
“I….” Mala shook her head. “I don’t know any more.”
“Nothing more?” There wasn’t even the tinge of a threat there; it was as if this was two entirely different women in the same body. She leaned close. “Are you sure?”
“You have to understand,” Mala whispered. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, but he thought I was someone else. He mistook me for … for someone else. I’m not Eve Orion.”
The smile disappeared. “And we were doing so well,” the woman said sadly. She gave a nod, and the pain returned in a wave. Her face wavered in Mala’s vision, unmoving as screams filled the room, and it seemed a thousand days, a thousand years, every moment stretched and redoubled upon itself, until another nod took the pain away.
“I will break you, Ms. Orion.” Her voice was pleasant. “You can see that you cannot resist that pain. You can give me this information freely, or I will break you and take it myself. I’ll give you some time to think about that.”
She jerked her head to the two guards and was gone, and Mala lay with the blood pounding in her veins and the pain still fading. She lifted her head with a whimper, expecting to see her skin blackened and cut, but there was nothing there. Nerve pain, then, administered through the chair.
She was crying as she yanked at her hands. A human could resist many things, but not direct stimulation of the nerves. The senator was right: Mala would break. If she did not pretend to be Eve, if she didn’t guess correctly at what Eve supposedly knew, the senator would break Mala’s mind in an effort to get the facts out.
And what was the chance she could guess correctly?
Reason returned all at once and Mala lifted her head again, looking around the room. No cameras; the senator, it seemed, did not want the chance that anyone would see her methods. Mala wiggled her hands again, staring at the locks. She had seen mechanisms like this before. The chair was a technological marvel in the way it dispensed pain, but the restraints … those were little more than handcuffs and a belt.
Mala began to move, willing her muscles to slowness. She could not afford to rush this, but neither could she afford the woman to come back before she was out. She worked at the restraint over her ribs, rocking back and forth slowly as the leather strap loosened.
The cuffs were a larger issue, but Mala could get them undone if she could only force her hands into the correct space. She bent one fist as far as it would go and ignored the building ache as her fingers scrabbled. The catch had to be here somewhere. She knew this type of cuff. There was no way someone restrained here could get away quickly, with anyone watching. But if they were alone…if they knew the way the mechanism released…
The cuff sprang free and she bit back her cry of triumph. Her fingers scrabbled at the other cuff and then at the chest strap. Her ankles were free a moment later and she lowered herself down shakily. One step. Another. Leftover pain was flooding her muscles, but it was nothing compared to the chair. Mala crept to the door, listening for the sound of a guard in the hallway.
She heard the footsteps far too late. They were soft, deadly, and directly behind her. She was still curling her hand into a fist when the hand clamped down over her mouth.
27
“It’s me,” Nyx breathed in Mala’s ear, and she felt the woman slump against her in relief. For a split second, Nyx savored the feel of Mala against her, warm and still standing. Her eyes traveled over the burns on the back of Mala’s neck, and when the woman turned, Nyx drew in her breath sharply. Bruises were beginning on the other woman’s jaw and cheeks; the hits were precise, and Nyx knew all too well how forceful those blows must have been. Pure rage threatened to overwhelm her. And then Mala’s arms were around her neck, tears seeping, hot, against Nyx’s skin, and Mala’s chest was shaking with silent tears.
Nyx hesitated, but only for a moment. This abduction was proof, of a sort—proof of something Nyx didn’t want to know. Still, her own fear had been real as they chased Mala down. The woman was in over her head, and Nyx intended—whatever else happened—to get her out of here safely.
Mala just had to tell the truth, because Nyx was damned if she could figure it out. She’d done checks on Mala’s tax identification number, her criminal record, her bank statements, and there was nothing at all she could find. In fact, Mala must—like many on Dobrevi—disdain banks entirely, because there were no bank accounts at all. Carefully, gently, Nyx put her fingers under Mala’s chin and tipped the woman’s head up.
“Mala. What’s going—”
The kiss was desperate, urgent. Mala pressed against her, blue eyes drifting shut, her arms tightening, and it was beyond Nyx to resist it. It was one step to press Mala back up against the door, one hand sliding down to rest on the curve of a hip, and the other woman’s little sigh of contentment was about enough to send Nyx over the edge.
One of the other Dragons cleared their throat meaningfully, and Nyx’s eyes flew open. Mala’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide, and she was staring at the other Dragons as if she hadn’t even noticed they were here.
Which, if she felt anything like Nyx did right about now, she probably hadn’t.
The woman hunched her shoulders a bit, face pink with embarrassment, and tried to hide behind Nyx. One finger traced over the chestplate of Nyx’s armor, and then those blue eyes met hers.
“You came for me.” There was a tangle of emotion in her eyes.
“I will always come for you,” Nyx whispered. Hearing Loki draw in his breath to say something, she stepped back and tried to remember why, exactly, they were here. “What happened? How did you get here?”
“I saw those men in the marketplace.” Mala swallowed. “I ran—I tried to run. I tried to call you, but … they must have drugged me.” She shook her head. “How did you find me?”
“We ran a trace on the ship. They tried to—not important. We found you.” Nyx’s tone suggested that this process had been neither easy, nor entirely legal. “Who has you here?”
“It’s a senator.
” The words came tumbling out in horror. “She thinks I’m—she doesn’t understand, she’s the one who’s going after people she thinks are corrupt, and she thinks I’m someone else, she won’t believe me that I’m not, she knows I went to Elsevier and she thinks I’m involved with that. And Nyx—”
“What did you tell her?” She needed to keep this focused on facts.
“That Grose is trying to get one up on Ghost. That he’s involved but I’m not who she thinks.” Mala’s face twisted. “I keep trying to tell her, but she has that chair, and it sends nerve impulses somehow, and she keeps telling me my brain will break, and it will, Melissa. It will if I don’t get out of here. She doesn’t believe me.” She was shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes, and Nyx took the woman in her arms again.
“You’re safe. Mala, you’re safe.”
Loki cleared his throat again.
“We’re going to get you out of here,” Nyx amended. “And then you’ll be all safe, okay? We’ll get you back to Seneca, and we’ll make sure she can’t do this to anyone ever again, okay?”
Mala nodded, her face buried in Nyx’s armor.
“Okay. Come on. We just need to get back to the ship.” Damn, but it felt perfect to have Mala in her arms like this. Nyx took a deep breath. “I’m going to go out there and we’ll clear a path, and some of the team will bring up the rear. You stay between the two groups, okay?”
“Okay.” The voice was miserable. Mala picked her head up and wiped at her eyes. “I didn’t mean to cry.”
“It’s all right.” Nyx managed a smile. “You just need to keep it together for a few minutes, just a few, and then we’ll be on the ship and you can get cleaned up.”
She tried to keep back her frown as she scanned outside the door and then eased it open. Mala’s words had the panicked ring of truth to them, and it didn’t make sense. She thinks I’m someone else…she doesn’t believe me. Mala was either one of the best liars Nyx had ever seen, or she believed that—only, how could it be true? Nyx shook her head slightly to clear it and began down the hallway, rifle at the ready. A quick glance between her and Loki showed the same confusion in his eyes, but they did not risk speaking aloud; the most important thing now was to get out.