Taken By Terror by Lolita Lopez
Chapter Seventeen
Maisie looked back over her shoulder as they waited on the stoop of a metal and stone building that leaned precariously left. The street behind them bustled with activity, but no one seemed to pay her or Terror any mind. They were all too busy trying to escape the frigid rain to notice.
Her mind flashed back to the tense moments back in the street lined with pimps and hookers. She wasn’t vain, but she wasn’t stupid either. She was fully aware that she was pretty. Men staring at her like that was nothing new. Sometimes, she even liked the attention.
Not tonight, though. The risk of the wrong person noticing her was too great. She had to figure out a way to better disguise herself. Her hand drifted toward the end of her rain-soaked braid as she contemplated her options. She didn’t want to make any drastic changes, but survival would require hard choices.
The door finally opened, only wide enough for a pair of dark eyes to peer out, and Terror stepped forward, blocking her view. She maneuvered sideways, sweeping the street with her gaze to make sure they weren’t being followed or weren’t about to be mugged. Terror touched her arm to get her attention, and she followed him through the door into a poorly lit hallway that smelled strongly of mildew.
An old, grizzled Sky Warrior shuffled along in front of them, leading them toward another locked door that he opened with a key held in his shaky hand. Stepping through the door, she immediately noticed the change in the air quality and the lack of humidity. This part of the building was built to a higher standard with proper airflow and insulation. It smelled strongly of a forest, the fake woodsy scent offensive to her nose after being surrounded by the real thing only a few days ago.
Unlike the dumpy entryway, the main living area was brightly lit with custom cabinetry and expensive electronics. She had been in enough safe houses to know this was one of them. She glanced at Terror, expecting to see him relaxed upon finally being in a safe place, but he remained tense and alert. Worried by his demeanor, she mirrored his stance and waited for the inevitable shit to go down.
There were industrial sized shredders running along one wall. They chewed up and spit out metallic confetti. The old man grabbed a stack of hard drives and tossed them into one of the shedders before saying something to Terror that she didn’t catch. From the looks of the place, they were closing shop. Something had them scared, and they were getting ready to run.
Movement caught her eye, and a woman emerged from an open doorway. She moved like a cat, all lithe grace with a predatory gleam. She was easily the tallest woman Maisie had ever seen, tall enough to look Terror right in the eye, and she had the most incredible violet hair piled atop her head in an effortlessly messy bun. She wore slim fitting pants and a tight tank top that highlighted her sculpted arms and lush breasts.
In short, she was everything Maisie aspired to be. Fit, strong, confident, capable. And she was striding toward Terror with a grin that told Maisie everything she needed to know.
“Terror!” The woman threw her arms around his shoulders, hauling him in tight, and passionately kissed him. Watching them lock lips sent a stab of pain right through her heart, and Maisie averted her gaze, dropping her focus to the floor while shoving down the pitiful jealousy that burned through her like a wildfire.
No wonder Terror had practically run away after realizing she had no experience with men. He didn’t want some innocent, awkward young woman who couldn’t please him. He wanted someone who could match him in bed and out of it. Someone exactly like the gorgeous violet-haired woman kissing him right now.
The old man touched her arm, startling her, and he indicated she should follow him. Refusing to glance in Terror’s direction, she trailed the old man through the living area, a kitchen with bare shelves and down a hallway lined with bedrooms and bathrooms.
“You can get cleaned up in there. Get whatever you need from the closets. We’re out of here in two hours so don’t dally.” He indicated an open door and then turned and left her alone.
She entered the room and looked around, taking in the small bed with crisp sheets and a stiff wooly blanket. She opened the wardrobe built into the wall and found a selection of generic clothing that would be perfect for anyone trying to hide in plain sight. There were also hats, wigs, glasses and prosthetics.
Looking down at her dirty coveralls, she decided the first order of business was to get changed. She shifted through the hangers and stacks of clothing until she found what she wanted—old, faded men’s clothing in the smallest size available. The only shoes close to her size were still an entire size too big so she grabbed an extra pair of socks.
Inside the attached bathroom, she stripped out of her soaking wet clothing and wiped down her body with a couple of cleansing wipes she pulled from a wall-mounted dispenser. She let the cleansing solution dry on her bare skin while examining her reflection in the mirror over the sink. The rain had soaked her braid, leaving strands of hair stuck to her face and neck. She ran her hands over the length of her braid before gathering her courage for what had to be done.
She opened the cabinets until she found a first aid kit and a box filled with grooming supplies like razors and scissors. It seemed a drastic thing to do, but she sensed her time under Terror’s protection was coming to an end. After her bumbling attempt to seduce him, she couldn’t even bare to look him in the eye. Now knowing how easily he could have any incredible woman he wanted, she felt a fresh wave of embarrassment at how stupid she had been.
Staying together on the run had never been a long-term plan. Terror would always be able to go back to the Valiant, back to his life as a Shadow Force operative and war hero. He would probably get slapped on the wrists for his behavior, but a man with his storied career and connections would have no problem returning to the fold.
Not me. I’m a dead girl walking.
Her image and biometrics were likely circulating every bounty hunter dashboard in the galaxy. It was only a matter of time until someone spotted her. Remembering how the pimps had zeroed in on her, Maisie reluctantly admitted her pretty face had doomed her. If she could pass as a young man, she would be able to buy herself a little time to get as far away as possible.
With a jagged sigh, she grabbed the scissors with one hand and her braid with the other. Before she lost her nerve, she made a cut close to her nape and sawed through the damp strands of hair. The length of her braid came free, and she held it up for a moment, staring at the beautiful hair she had always loved. Blinking back tears, she dropped the hair into the trash chute and returned to the mirror. She snipped and clipped until her hair was short.
The lightness of her head felt strange. She turned her head left and right to make sure it was even and made a few more snips before deciding that was as good as it would get. She set aside the scissors and stared at her reflection. Her eyes seemed suddenly larger, and her cheekbones were more prominent. There wasn’t much she could do about her feminine jawline or plump mouth, but she figured a hat worn low would help.
She tried not to think about how long it would take to grow her hair back as she cleaned up the mess and tossed it in the chute. She used a dry towel to wipe any lingering hair from her skin, the sink and floor and threw it into the chute, too. Hopefully, it would all drop into an incinerator like most trash systems did on planets like these. It would destroy any evidence she had been here.
After bandaging her wounded hand, she opened a package with one-size-fits-all underwear and slipped them up her legs and over her hips. She hated the feel of the stretchy fabric against her skin and planned to get rid of these as soon as possible. The two bras she had taken from the wardrobe were her usual size. She wiggled into the first one, wearing it the usual way, and then tugged the second one on but backwards. She turned sideways to view her profile in the mirror. The double layers of fabric had compressed her breasts mostly flat.
Lifting her arms overhead and bending over, she tested the fit to make sure she would be able to breathe and move. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing she had ever worn, but she would be able to take it off as soon as she was in a safer place. Until then, she hoped she didn’t have to run very far. She might pass out if her lungs were pushed too hard.
She made quick work of pulling on the faded, old pants and the long-sleeved shirt. The two pairs of socks layered atop each other helped with the too-big boots. After throwing the filthy coveralls into the trash chute, she returned to the wardrobe and picked through the box of hats until she found one similar to the type ship’s crewmen wore. It was dirty and stained and the brim was a little bit bent. She put it on and then grabbed an oversized hooded jacket with a mended patch on the elbow and a pair of leather work gloves to stuff into the pockets.
Not wanting to go out and see Terror with that woman, she sat on the edge of the bed and waited. She considered firing up the tablet the general had given her, but she wasn’t sure how secure the networks here were. Instead, she started making mental lists of options. She had heard of a planet in a nearby sector, outside of Alliance control, that welcomed refugees to work in their booming agricultural industry. She didn’t know the first thing about farming, but she figured she could learn to pick fruit or vegetables quickly.
Movement in the doorway interrupted her train of thoughts. She turned to see Terror standing there. He had changed his clothing and wore glasses that projected a perfectly matching eye to his unharmed one. There was a slight blue tint to the lenses, and she wondered if they had some kind of tech function.
Even with the glasses, there was no hiding the shock on his face. His mouth had gone slack with surprise, and then he stormed toward her, his expression dark and angry. Before she could stand up, he snatched the hat off her head and revealed the extent of her hasty haircut.
“What did you do?” he demanded.
She rolled her eyes and yanked the hat from his hands. Not even caring that he couldn’t understand her sign language, she answered, “I cut my hair. Obviously.”
“Lose the sarcasm, Maisie.”
Narrowing her eyes, she wondered if he had actually understood her hand movements or if he had guessed. As if reading her mind, he tapped his glasses. “They’re universal translators. I can see what you’re saying right in front of my eye.”
“Really? Let’s see if it can translate this,” she said before rudely signing in his direction.
“Go fuck myself? That’s real cute, Maisie.” He gritted his teeth and took a step back. “You shouldn’t have cut your hair.”
“You saw the way they looked at me in the street. Cutting my hair and making myself look like a man is our best chance of avoiding detection.”
“You don’t look like a man. You look like a boy. A very pretty boy.” He reached out and touched her face, dragging his thumb along her cheek and jaw. “Your skin is too smooth.”
“Unless you plan to pump me full of hormones and wait for me to grow a beard, this is the best I can do.”
His thumb moved across her lower lip, dragging it down slightly. “Your mouth is too soft and kissable.”
She slapped his hand away from her face and stood up. “Your chance to kiss my mouth is over.” She grabbed the still damp backpack she had been hauling around since leaving the cargo ship and slipped it over her arms. “Why don’t you go kiss your girlfriend and leave me alone?”
Terror clasped her upper arm, not hard but with enough strength to turn her to face him. He started to talk, but the woman with the violet hair appeared in the doorway behind him. He grimaced, and she shook free of his hold before signing another rude remark. From the grim set of his mouth, she could tell he understood it.
The woman strode toward her with a friendly smile and held out her hand. “I’m Pam.”
Maisie shook the woman’s hand before spelling out her name. “Maisie.”
“I’m so happy to meet you, Maisie. Anyone who saved Terror is my friend for life,” Pam replied. “I wish there was more we could do for you, but we’re closing down and running, too. There’s something happening on Prime, and most of us off-the-books operatives in the field have decided to bolt. Whatever you two need, please feel free to take. Otherwise, it’s going to waste when we light this place up on our way out.”
Maisie wanted to hate Pam, but the woman with a stronger, earlier claim on Terror was too nice and helpful. And, anyway, Maisie supposed it wasn’t Pam’s fault that Terror had played her for a fool. “Thank you,” she signed. “I appreciate your help.”
Terror translated for her, and Pam seemed happy to see the glasses were working. “Hopefully, these will make things easier for you two on your journey.” She looked at her watch and gave her full attention to Terror. “You should get moving if you plan to get on that transport shuttle.”
Terror nodded, and Pam stepped closer to him, her hands moving possessively to his waist. Unable to watch the easy way they interacted, Maisie brushed by them and out the door. She was glad she couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other. If Terror made a promise to return to Pam, Maisie would break. The stress of her captivity, her rescue, her arrest, escape and bungled seduction had pushed her to the edge. She could feel the tension building inside her, squeezing her chest and shoving down on her shoulders. It was only a matter of time before she exploded in a rage or crumpled in a sobbing heap.
On her way to the front room, she noticed a door along the hallway that was ajar. It had been closed before, and she couldn’t help herself. She paused long enough to glance into the room. There were monitors mounted on the walls and a bank of high-powered computers from floor to ceiling. She spotted the quick eject hard drives piled next to a pulse projection destroyer. Pam and the old man were probably waiting until the last minute to load them all into the destroyer. The energy that thing required to work would likely knock out the power for ten blocks in all directions.
Certain this was part of an ongoing intel operation, she decided it wasn’t very smart to nose around in the actual room. She took a step back, ready to continue on her way, but then something caught her eye. A familiar face filled one of the monitors. Devious.
The night vision capture had a grainy green tinge. It looked as if it had been taken in an urban space, maybe The City back on Calyx or maybe one of the colony planets. There wasn’t enough detail to determine the location.
Next to his face on the screen, there was a rundown of his history. Knowing what she did about Devious, it was probably a long and interesting case file. At the top of the screen, there was a black rectangle with three letters in bright white. KIA. Killed In Action.
Her gaze moved to another screen, and her eyes widened with surprise at the image displayed there. It was her stepbrother Kris. And he wasn’t alone. He was with Devious in that same urban space. They both looked serious in the night vision photo, their brows furrowed and their mouths tight. What were they talking about? And when had this photo been taken?
The old man suddenly appeared in the open doorway. She gasped and hastily retreated, holding up a hand in apology, and quickly started walking, not glancing back to see him shut the door. Her mind reeled as she waited for Terror.
What were Devious and Kris doing together? As far as she knew, they had never worked on any projects or missions. She couldn’t even remember a time when the two of them had been in the mess hall together, even just passing side by side. Which was odd wasn’t it? Thinking back, it seemed suddenly strange how those two men seemed to go out of their way to avoid each other.
The urgency of removing the chip hidden in her head had never felt more real. Maisie was certain the answers she needed were on it. She thought back to the way the general and doctor had helped her escape. The highest-ranking officers on the Valiant had worked together to smuggle them off the ship. Why? What did they know? Or, maybe, what didn’t they know? Did they suspect there was some sort of double-crossing happening on their battleship? Did it go deeper than that?
Terror and Pam came into view, and Maisie hid her concern and worries from them, keeping her expression neutral even as her mind screamed with what-ifs. Uncertain whether she could trust Pam, Maisie was happy to leave the safe house, following Terror out into the storming night and back onto the unfriendly streets of The Cur. She looked back at the safe house one last time before trudging closer to Terror.
He glanced at her briefly and then turned his gaze back toward the street. Maisie stared at his profile, his strong jaw and aquiline nose, and came to the painful realization that she didn’t really know him as well as she had believed. He had an entire lifetime of difficult decisions, deadly missions, assassinations and lovers that she would never know. For all she knew, she was just another one of those missions.
What if I’m the long game? What if he’s using me to find Devious? What if I’m bait for my stepbrother? What if Kris betrayed Devious? What if Terror plans to hand me over to the authorities when he’s done with me?
The thoughts struck her cold, and she wondered, briefly, if she should flee his protection. Was she safer on her own? Looking around the rough streets, she decided that wasn’t the best idea. Right now, she was safer with him, but that could change in an instant.
Don’t be stupid, Maisie. You’re the only one who cares if you actually make it out of this alive.
Clenching her jaw, she gripped the straps of her backpack tighter and sloshed through the floodwaters at Terror’s side. She hardened her heart toward him, reminding herself over and over how he looked when kissing Pam. She remembered the way he had coldly ended things with her back on the cargo ship, humiliating her and making her feel small and stupid.
He doesn’t love me.
Acknowledging that fact was hard, but it wasn’t nearly as hard as acknowledging the fact that she still loved him, completely and irrevocably.
