Chapter Ten
The thud-thud of heavy music pounded through my head. Sitting in a toilet cubicle in one of the nightclubs at the edge of the Yeva Zone, I stared at one of the tiny bottles of glowing purple liquid clutched in my hand.
How had it come to this? I blamed Governor Zuli. If she hadn’t blackmailed Torz, I wouldn’t have needed to protect Marla Hyde. I wouldn’t have been attacked by Purans. I wouldn’t have a knife wound in my shoulder causing me excruciating pain. It was her fault. Her and her bigotry.
“Fuck her.”
Using the syringe Pye had provided along with the vials, I inserted the needle into the bottle and drew the full dose of Q into its holding tube. I raised my sleeve, not needing to tap for the vein; it was already protruding due to the heat and swelling resonating down my arm.
Pushing through a tiny moment of hesitation—one dose, one dose is all I need—I hissed as the needle pierced the skin, the liquid entering my vein like an aggressive acid.
The flesh glowed violet for a few seconds before the drug washed into the bloodstream, burning its path, moulding and merging with my blood until it finally began to soothe my body.
I slumped back against the cistern, a relieved sigh escaping me.
I’m not sure how long I remained in that position, but the pain dulled, then completely vanished, leaving me in a state of serenity.
The numbness stilled my mind, eased my body, levelled my breathing.
All the while tingles fluttered beneath my skin, heightening every sensation from the brush of my fingers over my starchy jeans, to the smell of the floral perfume floating in the air, to the hint of excitement stirring between my legs.
Oh hell, I’d forgotten how aroused Q made me.
Sitting up, I blinked the purple haze away. The deep breath entering my lungs was rejuvenating. Gods, I felt good. Confident. Pacific. And so damn thirsty.
Removing the needle from my arm, I embedded it back into the tiny Q bottle, then wrapped them in toilet paper before disposing the bundle down the trash chute.
After finger-combing my long hair, I left the ladies’ room and strolled through the dark nightclub.
The Q diluted the blaring lights and dulled the music, yet my vision homed in on all the faces crowding the room.
Most of the partygoers were older teenagers or young adults garbed in ripped shirts or skimpy scraps of fabric they called dresses.
It seemed to be the thing these days, along with the violet and pink dyed hair, which was a mockery to any Quoram-born resident.
The expellees from Quoram always seemed to bear the brunt of insults from the younger generation. When I’d been a teenager, some kids slashed their cheeks with purple pen, pretending they’d tried to claw their face off to expose the purple tissue underneath.
That was a myth, anyway. I’d interacted with enough Quoram-born to know their blood and fascia was the same colour as everyone else’s.
But I could always tell who those evicted planet-dwellers were from a mile off.
As well as the natural violet tinge to their hair, they were always the lonely misfits, trying to fit in, especially in places like this.
I could see one now, sitting at the bar, nursing a blue cocktail.
With the Q thrumming through my veins, I was drawn in by the sparks of neon light shining in his dark hair.
He appeared older than most of the other patrons.
His clothes were like mine—domestic and boring in comparison.
The aura of solemnity and loneliness clung to him, and empathy clutched at my chest, eager to see if his smile was as cute as I imagined it to be.
With a confidence I hadn’t felt in years, I jumped up onto the stool next to him. “Hey. Either that drink is disgusting, or you don’t wanna be here.”
His pretty eyes flashed at me, an amethyst glow twinkling with surprise before he huffed a genuine smile. “If I’m honest, I haven’t wanted to be here for over a year.”
A year? Quoram-born were usually expelled from the planet between the ages of fourteen and twenty. With his sharp jaw and broad shoulders, this guy looked at least twenty-four, maybe older.
“How come you ended up on the Argentum?”
“Wanted to be a soldier and heard the Delta Ring commander is a decent guy.”
A zap of lightning sparked within me at the mention of Torz. Pride swelled the organ inside my chest, and my grin widened. “He really is the best.”
“Well…” Shrugging, he looked despondently at his drink. “It seems most residents here think Quoram-born are only good at one thing.”
“Which is?”
“Farming.” He shook his head. “My father was a law enforcer down on the surface. I grew up defending the Q-fields from the little Orbit shits who tried to pluck the harvest whilst their jets hovered precariously low over the crops.”
I’d heard that was a thing. People desperate to make a quick quin by stealing Q-plants from the sky. Desperate enough to risk detriment to their lungs from repellents in the Quoram air, let alone if their ship crashed and they touched the surface.
Desperate or not, they were suicidal idiots.
“So, you have security experience?” I asked.
“Yeah, I guess that’s what it is.”
“And you’re currently working as a…?”
“Biofarm minion,” he groaned.
“Well, then.” I reached across him and grabbed his drink.
“Play your cards right, and I could get you an interview with the Delta Ring security team leader.” I took a long sip, amused at the shock crossing Cute Guy’s face.
Running my eyes over his dark, curly hair and strong shoulders, I licked the sweet alcohol from my lips. He really was rather scrummy.
“Really? You can do that?”
“Yep.” Inwardly, I chuckled, imagining Arlo’s face if I told him where I’d found this guy. I lifted the glass, gesturing to the barman for another two. “So, Mr Quoram-born, how old are you?”
“Twenty-one.” He grinned, sweeping his eyes over my face, then subtly flicking those long, dark lashes down my body. “I’m not too young, am I?”
Without a care in the universe, or a hesitation in my mind, I smiled back. “No. Not at all.”