Chapter 4
Ahrick
I felt the ship before I saw it—a vibration in the air that made the scrap metal walls of Fange City hum with anticipation. The descent was sloppy, too fast, the kind of landing that said the pilot either didn't care or was being forced down.
After Nansar and Chloe were rescued, there had been more Alliance ships patrolling the sky, their presence a constant reminder that someone, somewhere, still pretended to care about what happened in this hellhole.
The patrols had made everyone nervous. Persico had kept his operations quieter, more contained.
Even the fighting pits had seen fewer spectacles.
But in the past few days, those ships had left.
The sky had emptied, and with it, whatever thin veneer of oversight had existed.
Whether the Alliance wanted to give a false sense of security or had been called away for some other reason, I couldn't say.
Maybe they'd decided Fange City wasn't worth the fuel costs.
Maybe they'd gotten what they came for and moved on.
Either way, it meant trouble.
And trouble in Fange City always drew a crowd.
I was halfway across the salvage district when the buzz started—voices rising, bodies moving with that particular urgency that meant something interesting had arrived. I caught fragments as I pushed through the throng. Alliance ship. Prisoner. Human. Female.
My blood went cold.
I'd thought it was insane—sending a human female into this hellhole, into Persico's territory, with nothing but a cover story and desperation to keep her alive.
Now I knew it was worse than insane.
It was a death sentence.
By the time I fought my way to the outskirts of Persico's compound, she was already inside. The crowd had thinned, disappointed they wouldn't get to see whatever happened next. I stood in the shadow of a half-collapsed transport hull, trying to think past the rage building in my chest.
Nansar had asked me to help her. To keep her alive long enough to get close to Hewes. To make sure she didn't end up as another corpse in Fange City's endless graveyard.
I'd said yes because I wanted Hewes dead, and I didn't care who helped make it happen.
But standing there, staring at the fortress Persico had built from the bones of crashed ships, I felt something shift. This wasn't just about Hewes anymore. This was about a woman who'd walked into hell because she had no other choice.
And I'd let her do it alone.
"You looking for something, or just admiring the view?"
I turned to find Roone watching me from the shadow of a cargo container, his small frame barely visible in the gloom.
Negitas were common in Fange City—small, quick, good at staying alive in places that killed bigger, stronger species.
Roone had been here longer than most, which meant he knew things. Saw things.
"The human," I said, keeping my voice flat. "The one who just arrived."
Roone's whiskers twitched—amusement or disgust, I couldn't tell. "Ugly thing. Don't know why everyone's so excited. Humans always look half-starved to me."
My jaw tightened, but I kept my expression neutral. "I need to see her."
"Why?" His dark eyes were sharp, calculating. "You got business with Persico's new toy?"
"Maybe."
He studied me for a long moment, then shrugged. "Your funeral. Come on."
He led me through a maze of salvaged corridors, moving with the easy confidence of someone who knew every shortcut, every hidden passage. We ended up in a narrow alley between two hull sections, and Roone pointed to a barred window set high in the wall.
"There. You can see into the main hall from here. But if anyone catches you—"
"I know."
He melted back into the shadows, and I was alone.
I pulled myself up to the window, my hands finding purchase on the rough metal as I climbed, and looked inside.
And forgot how to breathe.
She stood in the center of Persico's throne room, surrounded by guards, her dark hair falling past her shoulders in waves that caught the dim light.
Slender, but with curves that even the shapeless prison uniform couldn't hide.
Heart-shaped face. Full lips. Dark eyes that held something I recognized—fear, yes, but also defiance.
The kind of stubborn courage that got people killed in places like this.
I'd thought Nansar's mate Chloe was lovely. Delicate and fierce in equal measure, with that particular grace human females seemed to possess.
But this woman—
This woman was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
And she was standing in the heart of death, surrounded by predators who would tear her apart for sport. I spotted, the bruises already forming on her cheekbone, the line of dried blood in the center of her lower lip.
My chest tightened. My pulse hammered in my ears. I couldn't look away—couldn't stop cataloging every detail. The way she held herself despite the fear. The set of her shoulders. The defiance in her eyes even as her hands trembled.
She was terrified.
And she was magnificent.
"So?" Roone's voice came from below, startling me. "You get your look?"
I dropped down, my boots hitting the ground harder than I'd intended. My heart was hammering, my blood running hot in a way that hadn't to do with the hunt and everything to do with the woman I'd just seen.
"Why did you want to see her?" Roone asked, his tone curious now. "You don't strike me as the type who pays for company."
"I was asked to help her," I said, the words coming out rough with shame. I should have tried harder to keep her out of Persico's clutches. A fool's errand since I hadn't know the time of place of her arrival, but I felt it anyway.
Roone went still, his reflective eyes studying me in the darkness. I saw the moment understanding clicked into place—the way his whiskers twitched, the slight tilt of his head.
"Help her," he repeated slowly. "As in get her out."
I didn't answer. Didn't need to.
We'd known each other too long for lies. Roone had been here when I'd first arrived, had watched me navigate Persico's world, had kept his mouth shut about things he'd seen me do. Things that would've gotten me killed if the wrong people knew. And I'd done the same for him.
Trust was a rare commodity in Fange City. But somehow, over the years, we'd built it between us.
"You're insane," Roone said finally, but there was no judgment in his voice. Just statement of fact.
"Probably."
He was quiet for a moment, and I could practically hear him thinking, weighing risks and rewards the way he always did. "You know I can't help you with this. Not directly. Persico finds out I'm involved—"
"I know," I cut him off. "I'm not asking you to."
Roone's whiskers drooped. "Word is Persico's planning to use her as a prize in the pits."
The world tilted.
The pits. Where the worst of the worst fought for scraps and glory and the right to keep breathing. Where violence was currency and mercy was a weakness that got you killed. Where champions won prizes—weapons, credits, slaves.
Women.
My stomach turned, bile rising in my throat. I'd seen what happened to prizes in the pits. Seen the way winners treated their rewards, the casual brutality, the assumption that winning gave them the right to break whatever they'd claimed.
I couldn't let that happen to her.
"Thanks," I managed, my voice tight.
Roone gave me a look that said he knew exactly what I was thinking and thought I was insane. "Your funeral," he said again, and disappeared into the shadows.
I stood there for a moment, my hands clenched into fists, my mind racing. The pits. Six fights to win the prize—that was how Persico ran his games. Six opponents, each one more dangerous than the last, until only the strongest remained.
I could do six fights.
I'd done worse.
The walk to the outskirts of the city felt longer than it should have, my boots crunching on debris and broken dreams. The fighting dome rose ahead of me—a massive cage of metal mesh and salvaged hull plating, big enough to hold a crowd and brutal enough to contain whatever violence happened inside.
The entrance was guarded, but the guards knew me. Knew my reputation. They stepped aside without a word, and I walked into the dim interior, my eyes adjusting to the gloom.
Arsoko was standing near the center of the pit, his massive Kaelaks frame making the space feel smaller. He looked up as I approached, and his expression shifted from boredom to shock in the space of a heartbeat.
"Ahrick." His voice was a low rumble, disbelief coloring every syllable. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"I want to sign up," I said flatly.
He stared at me. "For the fights?"
"Yes."
"I thought—" He paused, his green brow furrowing. "I thought you didn't fight. Not in the pits. Not anymore."
"I don't," I said. The words came out harder than I intended.
When I'd first arrived on Palaydium, the pits had been my refuge.
My escape. I'd thrown myself into the violence with a kind of desperate hunger, trying to bury everything I'd left behind in blood and broken bones.
Every fight had been a chance to stop thinking, stop feeling, stop being anything except fists and fury and the primal satisfaction of survival.
I'd been good at it. Too good.
But the killing had sickened me. Each life I took in that pit had felt like another piece of myself dying, another layer of of my soul stripped away until all that remained was the weapon the Alliance had made me.
That was when I'd left. Walked away from the city, from the crowds, from the credits and the reputation. I'd settled in the wastelands where the only thing I had to kill was time, where I could pretend to be something other than what I was.
"Things change."
Arsoko studied me, his gaze sharp and assessing. "What changed?"
I let some of the rage I'd been holding back bleed into my expression. "The Duke's spoiled brat of a son got off this rock. I didn't. It pissed me off. Figured I might as well make some credits while I'm stuck here."
It was the story I'd been using to cover my presence in Fange City—bitter, resentful, drinking away my anger at being left behind. Arsoko had heard it before, had probably half-believed it. Now I was selling it harder, letting him see the violence simmering beneath my skin.
"Plus," I added, keeping my tone casual, "I heard Persico has a new prize. Thought it might be worth the effort."
Arsoko's expression shifted—understanding dawning, followed by something that might have been respect. "The human female."
"Yeah."
He was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. Six fights. You win all six, the prize is yours for twenty-four hours. You lose even one—"
"I won't lose."
The certainty in my voice made him pause. Then he smiled, showing too many teeth. "No. I don't suppose you will."
He pulled out a datapad, his claws clicking against the screen. "I'll put you on the roster. First fight is tomorrow night. You sure about this?"
I thought about the female I'd seen through the barred window. Thought about her standing in Persico's throne room, surrounded by monsters. Thought about what would happen to her if someone else won those fights.
"I'm sure."
Arsoko nodded and made the entry. "Welcome back to the pits, Ahrick. Try not to die."
I turned and walked back toward the entrance, my mind already calculating. Six fights. Six opponents between me and keeping her safe for a night. Six chances for something to go wrong.
I'd win all six.
I'd win six hundred if that's what it took.
Because the alternative—letting her fall into the hands of whatever monster came out on top—wasn't something I could live with.