Owned by Luna Voss

6

Barion

My communicator chirps. It’s Korva. I answer it with a sigh. Today has been long, and I’m tired.

“What’s up, Korva?”

“You hear from Gurt today?”

“No. Why?” Gurt is a Sarizor’s 22-year-old son, and he’s an entitled little piece of shit. No, I haven’t fucking heard from him.

“They’re going after someone. A woman. Asked for my help.”

A growl rumbles in my throat. We’re the Vostra. We don’t go after women.

“Fuck that. Don’t go.”

“Of course I’m not going. Sounds like she insulted him in a bar or something. Can’t you talk to Sarizor about this?”

I sigh. “I can talk to him. I can’t guarantee anything. I kind of have to pick my moments these days. He’s been volatile. If I catch him in a bad mood, I could lose my influence with him entirely. When is this happening?”

“Tonight. Right now. He’s going to her fucking apartment. In one of our neighborhoods, too. This is how we make people hate us.”

I resist the urge to smash my communicator against the wall. Any progress we make in this city, Sarizor and his shit kid find a way to ruin with their lack of discipline, with their lack of fucking brains. The only reason this whole thing works is that people respect the Vostra more than they respect the authorities. Our code of honor isn’t just some outdated bullshit chivalry, it actually protects us. It’s good for business. You can accomplish a lot ruling through fear, but at some point, you’re going to run into problems if everyone hates your guts. I’ve done a lot of work to ensure people feel safe in our new territory. If Gurt goes through with this, it’s going to set us back by a lot.

Not to mention, the thought of him hurting a woman makes my fucking blood boil.

“Shit. I’ll see what I can do. What neighborhood is this?”

“One of the new ones. Kagnoy Street.”

I freeze. That name means something to me. It’s been burned into my memory for the last year, ever since her. Since she slipped away. I’ve avoided Kagnoy Street from the moment I saw her there with my mark gone from her neck. It’s been too painful to go back.

“Did you say Kagnoy Street?”

“Yeah. The Winder apartment complex. I think it’s—”

But I’ve already hung up, a pit growing in my stomach. I don’t know that it’s Melyta. It could be any woman who lives in those apartments. But somehow, I just know. I feel it all the way down to my bones.

Not on my fucking watch.

A moment later I’m in the car, plasma pistol on the seat next to me, driving on manual pilot because I am absolutely intending to break the speed limit.

Usually, I like the feeling of real tires touching the pavement. Korva always gives me shit for it, but there’s just a feeling to it that you don’t get with a hover vehicle. I’ve always favored cars with wheels.

As my tires screech and slide on the wet pavement, however, the skies starting to open up with rain, I make a mental promise to replace this thing with a hover car as soon as I get the chance. Something fast, too. I can almost hear Korva laughing at me.

I speed through South Dalax, the multicolored lights of the city reflecting in puddles forming on the pitted road. I may not be Melyta’s mate, but I can still protect her. Whatever the cost. I owe her that.

Other cars honk in disapproval as I zoom dangerously through a crowded intersection. I pay them no mind, my knuckles white on the steering well. I have to get there in time.

* * *

Melyta

As I step out of the bath, the room still filled with steam, I finally feel myself beginning to relax. What a fucking hell of a day. I can still see that gangster’s eyes as he left the restaurant, and hear his final words to me.

You’re dead.

I shiver, despite the warmth of the bathroom. I think I made an enemy of the wrong person tonight. Henry and his damaged shoulder can attest to that. He’s lucky he wasn’t killed. So am I.

But I don’t know what I was supposed to do differently. Threatening to call the cops was stupid, incredibly stupid, but Henry had already been shot at that point. I wasn’t exactly worried about making the situation worse. I’m just glad the plasma blast didn’t hit his heart.

As I towel myself off, I do my best to push from my mind the violent images of my night at the restaurant. That’s over now. And whatever problems it may create for me in the future, right now I’m home safe. At least for this moment, I can relax.

Or can I?

Something outside the window catches my eye. I peer out and see a group of tough-looking men walking purposefully across the street in the direction of my building. They seem to be Vostra guys.

Well, that’s not a big deal. I do live in a Vostra neighborhood now, after all. There are vostrata all over the place. Seeing a group of them isn’t particularly unusual. Even at this time of night.

For some reason, though, every cell in my body is screaming danger. Maybe I’m just paranoid. But I have this weird sense that these men are coming for me.

Jenyta isn’t home. She’s out of town visiting friends. And I know she would probably give me shit for freaking out like this, but I don’t care. Panic rises up inside me, and I rush to cover myself with the first article of clothing I see, a short dress that I usually wear for work. I peer out the window again, and the men are gone.

Shit. Did I just freak out for no reason? Maybe I’m just jumpy.

But that pit in my stomach isn’t going away. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 24 years, it’s that when something feels wrong, something is probably wrong. I don’t ignore hunches.

And so, fingers trembling slightly, I throw a bunch of clothes and toiletries and supplies into a backpack, put on my shoes, and head for the front door. The idea of going outside is a little scary, but in my apartment, I’m trapped. Better outside with options than inside with none. I’ll take a cab, get to a different part of the city. Then I’ll call Jenyta, and see if I can stay with her. Or maybe I can stay with one of my cousins. Or I’ll get a hotel if I have to, even though I can barely afford it. I just can’t be in my apartment tonight. I need to feel safe.

Furtively, I stick my head out of my apartment building and examine the rainy street. I don’t see a soul. And now I’m not even sure if that’s weird, or normal. I’m not usually out at this time of night. Fuck!

I should have called a cab before I stuck my head out. I close the door quickly and use my communicator to make the call. Five minutes, they say. Five minutes.

Five minutes later, I peak my head out again, just in time to see a taxi pulling into a parking spot on the other side of the street. I sigh in relief. Having another person around already makes me feel safer. I exit my apartment building and walk quickly toward the cab.

And then from behind me, I sense something more than I see it. A quick glance out of the corner of my eye confirms that that same group of men is back, and they’re following me. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I double my pace, and they do as well.

I’m almost at the cab. Almost there. I can even see the driver. He smiles. Doesn’t he see the people following me? Isn’t he worried?

Something isn’t right. I can feel it. As I reach the taxi, the driver’s grin increases, and he pats the seat next to him.

And then I recognize him.

Not because I’ve been in his cab before.

Because he was one of the Vostra gangsters at the restaurant earlier tonight.

I feel cold panic trickling down my neck, filling the pit in my stomach in a way that makes me want to vomit. I’m so fucked. I swerve quickly, away from the cab, then take off in a full on sprint down the road to my right. Behind me, I hear my pursuers speed up to give chase.

As I run, my eyes scan for somewhere to hide, an alley to run down, something. Isn’t there a police officer somewhere, or a citizen who sees me and wants to help?

Not in a Vostra neighborhood. Here, they are the authorities. And I guess that kept me safe, until it didn’t.

They’re gaining, and they’re much faster. It won’t be more than a couple of seconds before they catch me. My whole body begins to tense even as I continue to sprint, preparing for that awful moment when I can’t outrun them anymore.

And then out of nowhere, a black car screeches around the corner, guns the acceleration, and plows straight into the group of gangsters who are chasing me.

Tires squealing on wet pavement. A rapid succession of horrible, crunching impacts. Screams and then thuds as bodies hit the ground.

It all happens in a blur. The four men go flying, their bodies bouncing off the pavement in front of me with disgusting fragility. When I glance down, I see someone’s leg bending backward in a way it really, really shouldn’t, and I almost puke. One of their beacons glows red and then goes dark.

“Get in!” barks a gruff voice. The passenger side door of the black car opens.

I don’t need to be told twice. I may have no clue who just showed up to rescue me, but right now it doesn’t matter. I sprint toward the vehicle with everything I have, throw myself into the front seat, and slam the door behind me.