Chapter 15 #3
"Find her." Hewes was on his feet now, his face twisting with rage, the careful mask of control shattering.
"Search every inch of this compound. Every room, every corridor, every fucking closet.
She can't have gone far. A human woman with no weapons, no knowledge of the city layout—she has to be here somewhere. "
"We've already started sweeping the residential sections and—"
"Then sweep harder!" Hewes's voice cracked like a whip, echoing off the metal walls. "I want every guard on this. Pull them from the perimeter if you have to. I want her found. Now."
The guards scattered, rushing back through the door to coordinate the search.
Hewes turned his attention back to me, and the rage in his expression shifted to something colder. More calculating. More dangerous.
His eyes were ice.
"Where is she, Ahrick?"
I didn't answer. Just met his gaze with my own, giving nothing away.
"Where. Is. She."
"I don't know what you're talking about." The lie came easily, my voice steady. "She was asleep when I left the room."
"Don't play games with me." Hewes descended from the throne, crossing the distance between us with measured steps, each one deliberate and threatening.
"You helped her escape. You had to. She couldn't have done it alone.
She doesn't know the compound, doesn't know how to avoid the guards.
Someone helped her. And that someone was you. "
"Maybe she's smarter than you gave her credit for."
His hand lashed out, striking me across the face.
I didn't flinch. Didn't move. I barely felt the slap—Hewes was weak.
Just stared at him, imagining all the ways I could kill him.
"Tell me where she is," Hewes said, his voice dropping to something dangerous, something that promised violence.
"Tell me, and I'll make this quick. Refuse, and when I find her—and I will find her, make no mistake about that—I'll make sure you're alive to see what I do to her.
Every scream. Every tear. Every moment of her suffering. "
The threat hung in the air between us, thick and poisonous.
And I smiled. Couldn't help it. The expression felt savage on my face, all teeth and dark promise.
"I'd rather die than tell you."
Hewes's expression shifted—surprise flickering across his features, then pure, undiluted fury.
"Then die."
He reached for the blaster at his hip, his hand moving fast.
And I moved faster.
I closed the distance in a heartbeat, my body a weapon honed by years of combat and survival. My hand caught his wrist before his fingers could close around the grip, twisting hard with all my strength. I heard bone crack—a sound like dry wood breaking.
Hewes screamed, high and piercing.
I drove my other fist into his throat, cutting off the sound mid-cry, and then I was on him. Driving him backward with the full force of my body. Slamming him into the floor with enough force to crack the metal plating beneath us, the impact reverberating through the chamber.
His eyes went wide with shock and pain and genuine fear—probably the first time in years he'd felt truly afraid.
Good.
I wanted him to be afraid. Wanted him to feel a fraction of the terror Merrilee must have felt.
I pulled back my fist, aiming for his face, ready to end this—to crush his skull and paint the floor with his blood—
Blaster fire.
The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, impossibly loud.
Pain exploded through my side—white-hot and all-consuming, like someone had pressed a burning brand against my ribs.
I looked down and saw the burn mark spreading across my skin, the flesh charred and blackened, the smell of my own burning meat filling my nostrils.
Another shot.
This one caught me in the shoulder, the energy bolt tearing through muscle and tissue, spinning me sideways with its force.
I hit the ground hard, my vision blurring at the edges, darkness creeping in.
Hewes's guards surrounded me now, at least six of them forming a circle, their blasters trained on my body from multiple angles.
I tried to push myself up, tried to force my body to move, but my arms wouldn't cooperate. My body felt heavy. Wrong. Like it belonged to someone else.
Blood pooled beneath me—dark and spreading, soaking into my clothes and hair.
Hewes was on his feet now, cradling his broken wrist against his chest, his face twisted with rage and pain.
"Stupid," he spat, blood flecking his lips. "Stupid, arrogant bastard. Did you really think you could kill me? Here? In my own throne room, surrounded by my guards? What kind of fool—"
I couldn't answer. Could barely breathe. Each attempt to draw air sent fresh agony lancing through my chest.
"Shoot him again," Hewes said, his voice cold.
"Sir, if we kill him—" one of the guards protested. "He's valuable in the pit. The crowds love him. We can still use him—"
"I don't care!" Hewes's voice cracked, high and hysterical. "I don't care about the crowds or the profits or any of it! Shoot him!"
Another blast.
This one caught me in the chest, directly over my heart.
The world went white—pure, blinding brightness that consumed everything.
Then red—the color of blood and fire and dying.
Then nothing.
The darkness closed in like a tide, pulling me down into its depths.
And I let it take me.
My last thought was of Merrilee. Of her face. Of the promise I'd made.
Three days.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.