Chapter 15 #2
Roone's expression shifted, something fierce and protective flashing across his features. He placed one small paw over my hand.
"I vow it," he said, his voice carrying the weight of an oath. "On my life, on my honor, on everything I am—I will protect her."
The certainty in his voice, the absolute conviction, eased something tight in my chest. Whatever happened in that throne room, whatever fate awaited me, Merrilee would have someone watching over her. Someone who could help her escape.
"Thank you," I said.
Roone nodded once, then stepped back, gesturing toward the access panel. "Go. Before the patrol cycle changes."
I moved to the panel, prying it open with my claws. The supply closet beyond was dark and cramped, filled with the smell of cleaning chemicals and stale air. I squeezed through, my shoulders barely fitting, and found myself among shelves stacked with maintenance supplies and spare parts.
Behind me, I heard the soft scrape of metal as Roone sealed the panel shut.
I moved to the closet door, pressing my ear against it, listening for movement in the corridor beyond. Footsteps. Voices. The electronic chirp of security systems.
Then silence.
I took a breath, steadied myself, and pushed the door open.
I walked up to the guards outside the throne room with my hands visible at my sides, my posture non-threatening, my expression neutral.
"I need to see Persico," I said.
The guards exchanged glances, their body language shifting to alertness. One of them—a Andurian with scarred hide the color of old bruises and cold eyes that had seen too much death—stepped forward, his hand resting on the blaster at his hip.
"Persico's not taking visitors."
"Then I'll see whoever's in charge." I kept my voice level, reasonable. "Tell them Ahrick wants an audience."
The Andurian's eyes narrowed, recognition flickering across his face. "The pit fighter."
"That's right."
Another exchange of glances between the guards, silent communication passing between them. Then the Andurian pulled out a comm unit and spoke into it in a low voice I couldn't quite hear, his words muffled and indistinct.
A moment later, he nodded, apparently receiving instructions through his earpiece.
"You can go in. But you leave your weapons here."
I wasn't carrying any weapons. Hadn't bothered. Didn't need to.
My body was weapon enough. My claws, my teeth, my strength—they were all I needed to kill a human male.
They patted me down anyway—thorough, professional, their hands checking every pocket and fold of my clothing, ensuring I wasn't concealing anything that could be used as a weapon. Then one of them opened the door, the heavy metal panel sliding aside with a hydraulic hiss.
"Straight ahead."
I walked through.
The corridor beyond was dimmer than I'd expected, lit only by strips of emergency lighting mounted near the floor that cast everything in shades of red and shadow, making the metal walls look like they were stained with blood.
The walls were thick, riveted and reinforced with additional plating welded into place, and the air smelled like recycled oxygen and something else.
Fear.
I could taste it on my tongue—sharp and metallic, the scent of sweat and anxiety that had soaked into the very walls.
The corridor opened into a larger chamber, and I stopped at the threshold, taking in the scene before me.
The throne room.
It was exactly as I remembered it from the few times I'd been summoned here—cobbled together from scrap metal and salvaged ship parts, with Persico's throne dominating the center of the space.
A massive chair built to accommodate a Kerzak's bulk, decorated with trophies from defeated enemies: weapons, armor pieces, skulls of various species mounted on spikes.
But Persico wasn't sitting in it.
Hewes was.
He sat sprawled in the throne like he owned it, like he'd been born to sit there, one leg thrown over the armrest in a posture of casual dominance, a glass of something amber in his hand.
Expensive liquor, probably—the kind that had to be smuggled from off-world at ridiculous cost. He looked relaxed.
Comfortable. Completely at ease in his stolen power.
And to the left of the throne, in a cage barely large enough to contain his bulk, was Persico.
The Kerzak crime lord was on his knees, his massive body hunched forward, his head bowed under the weight of heavy chains. His dark eyes burned with humiliation and hatred, but the chains wrapped around his wrists and neck kept him immobilized, bolted to the floor of the cage.
He looked like a beast in a zoo, a once-mighty predator reduced to an exhibition for others' amusement.
My hands clenched into fists at my sides, claws extending slightly before I forced them to retract.
"Ahrick." Hewes's voice was smooth, pleased, like he was greeting an old friend. "I was wondering when you'd come to see me. Took longer than I expected."
I didn't look at him immediately. Kept my eyes on Persico, studying the Kerzak's condition.
The crime lord met my gaze, and something passed between us. Recognition. Understanding. A shared hatred of the man sitting in the stolen throne.
The enemy of my enemy.
"I heard you'd made some changes," I said finally, turning my attention to Hewes.
"Changes." Hewes smiled, swirling the liquid in his glass, watching the way the light caught in it.
"I prefer to think of it as an upgrade. A necessary evolution.
Persico was getting complacent. Soft. Content to maintain the status quo while opportunities passed him by.
Fange City needed new leadership. Vision. Ambition."
"And you think you're that leadership."
"I know I am." He took a sip from his glass, savoring it.
"Persico was content to sit on his throne and collect scraps from the other syndicates.
I'm building an empire. Real power that extends beyond this trash heap.
Connections with the Draxian syndicates, the smuggling cartels, the weapons dealers who supply half the Outer Rim. "
I took a step forward. Slowly. Carefully. Testing to see if the guards would intervene.
They didn't. Just watched with weapons ready but not aimed.
Hewes didn't seem to notice my movement. Or if he did, he didn't care. Probably thought I was here to grovel, to beg forgiveness for defying his orders. To beg him to spare Merrilee.
"So tell me, Ahrick." He swirled the liquid in his glass, the ice clinking against the sides. "Are you here to apologize? For not throwing the fight like I ordered? For embarrassing me in front of my business partners?"
I held his gaze, letting the silence stretch for a heartbeat. "No."
"No?" His eyebrows rose, genuine surprise crossing his face. "Just... no? No explanation, no excuses?"
"It's not in me to be defeated." I took another step closer, closing the distance between us incrementally. "You should have known that. A Vaktaire warrior doesn't throw fights. We don't surrender. We don't quit. It goes against everything we are."
Hewes's smile faded. He set his glass down on the armrest with a sharp click, the sound echoing in the chamber.
"I see." He leaned back in the throne—Persico's throne—his posture shifting to something harder, more calculating.
"Then you understand that there must be consequences.
I can't have my fighters defying me, ignoring my orders.
It sets a bad precedent. Makes me look weak. And in Fange City, weakness is death."
"I understand."
"Good." His eyes glittered, dark and cold.
"The question is—what punishment would be effective for someone like you?
Pain doesn't work. You're too used to it after years in the fighting pits.
Threats don't work. You don't fear death—if anything, you'd probably welcome it. So what does that leave me?"
He stood, descending the steps of the dais with deliberate slowness, each footfall echoing in the chamber.
"There is one thing that would hurt you, isn't there? One weakness you've developed. One vulnerability that makes you soft."
My jaw clenched, muscles tightening.
"Merrilee." He said her name like a curse, like something dirty.
"Your precious mate. The best way to punish you is to hurt her.
And I intend to do exactly that. Maybe I'll give her to Korroth after all.
Or maybe I'll just let my guards have some fun with her.
Either way, you'll watch. You'll see what happens when you defy me. "
The world narrowed to a single point.
Hewes.
Standing there in his stolen power. Smiling. Talking about Merrilee like she was a problem to be solved, a tool to be used against me.
My predatory instincts sharpened to a razor's edge. I saw the distance between us with perfect clarity. Calculated the angle of attack, the exact trajectory my body would need to take. felt my muscles coiling, preparing to strike.
Just a few more steps.
"What kind of punishment?" I asked, my voice flat, emotionless. Giving nothing away.
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Just know that after tonight, you'll be free to focus on what you do best—fighting and killing—without the distraction of—"
The door behind me slammed open with explosive force.
Guards rushed in—three of them, moving fast, their expressions urgent and alarmed, their weapons drawn.
"Sir," one of them said, breathless and panicked. "The human. She's gone."
Hewes went still, his entire body freezing mid-sentence.
"What?"
"The prize quarters. We went to bring her like you ordered and she's not there. The bed was made to look like she was sleeping, pillows arranged under the blanket, but when we pulled it back—"