by Frankie Rose
“And so the devil returns to sit stop his throne in hell,” he spits. “You’re the worst kind of space trash, Beylar. You put my friends and family in danger. You caused me pain. But I hate you the most for taking away my faith.”
Stryker seems interested in this exchange. He stops pacing and stands with his hands on his hips, waiting for me to reply to Col’s claim.
Sighing impatiently, I flick my hand at Col. “Faith? Your faith in the universe is misplaced, Pakka. You’re better off without it anyway.”
“Not my faith in the universe,” he fires back. “My faith in my mother. I never called her visions into question. Not once. I followed her guidance blindly, because no matter what crazy, half-baked idea came to her, things always turned out exactly the way she saw them. But with you…” Col lets out a ragged, hoarse laugh, shaking his head. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them his eyelashes are wet with tears. “She was wrong about you. You were supposed to be our savior, Jass. You were supposed to be my friend. Instead, you’re going to be the damnation of the entire Commonwealth.”
I wish I could tell him otherwise. I wish I could argue with him and make him understand, as I’ve hopefully done with Reza. There’s too much on the line, though. It would take far more effort to speak into Col’s mind than Reza’s, and if the Construct’s warlord suspects I even care the slightest for Col, he’ll make sure he suffers a miserable and horrific end.
I look around, surveying the gathered soldiers until I find what I am looking for. “You,” I say, pointing at one of the men guarding Reza. “Give me those.”
The guard looks down at his waist where I’m pointing and fumbles to pull out his gloves. He offers them to me with shaking hands. I ignore him and slide my hands inside the black leather, closing my fists one at a time to stretch them out. Next, I remove the helmet from the soldier’s head. Reza’s eyes are wide and filled with tears as I slide the helmet down over my head, obscuring my face in what feels like a very final kind of way. I crouch down in front of Col, and I grab hold of his face, digging my fingers into his cheeks.
“I was never your friend, fool. And yes. Damnation, I will be. I’ll help murder them all, and when Pirius is gone, I will scour the galaxy until every last Commonwealth fighter base is destroyed. But don’t worry. You will be long dead by then.” I stand and give him a stiff salute.
“One life, Col Pakka. One Duty. One Construct.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Frankie Rose is the legal name of
USA Today bestselling author, Callie Hart.
She is an obsessive romantic who loves throwing a dark twist into her stories. Her characters are imperfect, flawed individuals who dictate when she eats, sleeps and breathes. Frankie loves to travel, and often pens her books when she's on the road, drawing inspiration from her unique and wild surroundings.
If she's not writing, you'll undoubtedly find her with her nose buried deep in a book, or rewatching the Battle of the Bastards episode from Game of Thrones and screaming like a lunatic.