“Where are you going?”
Toren jerked to a stop. This was the one voice he couldn’t ignore.
He turned.
The young girl was leaning against the wall, watching him with dark eyes that were all-too-perceptive.
“Out,” he answered.
Grace tilted her head. She looked like her mother—hair as black as the night sky, and as straight as a staff. Grace’s hair was shorter than her mother’s. Simone wore hers long, in a sheet of silky black.
Dark, intelligent eyes studied him. “You should stay here. We can play some games, or make some grenades—”
He frowned. “Your mother said no more bomb making.”
Grace’s bottom lip stuck out.
He was well aware that the girl had a genius-level intelligence. She could make explosives out of just about anything.
But she was unfamiliar with things on Carthago. One small mistake… The thought of her hurt made his stomach turn over.
“No grenades,” he said.
She sighed. “O-kay. Can I come with you?”
Drak, no. “Not now. I’ll take you to the market tomorrow.”
Something moved through her eyes. “All right.”
He turned, nodding at the guards who opened the doors for him.
“Toren?” Grace said.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Don’t come back too hurt.”
He sucked in a breath and watched as she disappeared through a doorway.
Gritting his teeth, he stepped out of the House of Rone and into the tunnels under the Kor Magna Arena. All the houses were located here, each with their own small training arenas. He hurried through the tunnel, dodging around workers who were going about their duties.
Soon, he exited the tunnels onto the streets of Kor Magna. The planet’s two suns were setting, filling the stone-lined laneways with shadows.
He didn’t need to go too far. Ahead, the tall, brightly-lit skyscrapers of the District speared into the sky. It was an area filled with casinos, theatres, and all other types of entertainment that the tourists liked to spend their money on.
He turned down a side street. The rest of the city’s buildings were plainer, three-story affairs made from the local, cream-colored stone. Soon, the streets got a little dirtier, the buildings less well-kept.
He reached an unmarked door and knocked his fist against it.
An eye slit opened and the guard studied him for a second. The door creaked on its hinges and the broad-shouldered man waved him in, pointing to a set of stairs.
Without a word, Toren headed down.
Noises grew. Shouts and cheers. Boos and the thud of flesh hitting flesh.
Adrenaline spiked in Toren’s system.
“Thought we’d see you again,” a voice drawled.
He turned to see a large man grinning at him, his soft belly oozing over his belt. His smile displayed a row of gold, shiny teeth.
Toren didn’t respond.
“I know with one look the fighters who’ll never be back, the ones who just need money, and the ones who need to fight like it’s an addiction.”
Toren just stared at the man.
The man grunted and jerked his thumb. “You’re up, cyborg.”
Swiveling, Toren marched toward the fight cage that dominated the center of the space.
The crowd milled around, shouting and drinking. Toren walked through a cloud of taint—a popular, illegal drug. The smoke hung in the air—thick and cloying.
He ducked through the entrance into the cage and saw his opponent—a big alien with a huge set of horns.
The scarred floor was splattered with old and new blood. There were other stains that Toren probably didn’t want to identify.
He unclipped his cloak, shoving it through the mesh.
He was ready not to feel.
Simone Li paced the dark corridor.
It was late, and most of the House of Rone was sleeping.
Gracie had been fidgety at bedtime. Simone sighed. It wasn’t unusual for her smart, gorgeous girl—she had trouble sitting still. But she’d taken longer than usual to settle, and Simone had finally pried the reason out of her.
Grace had confessed that she’d seen Toren go out.
A fluttering filled Simone’s belly.
She’d seen the results of these nocturnal visits he made and she hated it.
He’d been hurt rescuing her and Grace a few weeks before. She felt so damn guilty, even though the Edull were to blame. She twisted her hands together.
Toren’s entire life, his whole sense of self, had been upended all because of her. Simone understood that feeling very well.
She’d had it happen to her twice. Once, when her ex-husband had tossed her and Grace away like used rags, and again, when the Thraxian slavers had attacked their exploration ship, abducted them, and sold them to the Edull.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she turned to look out of the window, pulling in some deep, calming breaths.
The door nearby opened.
She straightened. This wasn’t the front door. He always snuck back in through this side entrance.
He came in, smelling of sweat and blood.
Toren took two steps and she stepped out of the shadows. He jerked to a halt.
She scanned him in the low illumination from the lights embedded in the walls. She saw the damage and hissed out a sharp breath.
“You have to stop this, Toren.” She moved toward him.
One of his eyes was swollen shut and his lip was split. Blood stained his hands and arms.
Like most of the gladiators of the other houses, he left his chest bare, and wore only a leather harness across it. She could see bruises forming on his abdomen.
He stayed silent.
“Why?” she demanded.
His face twisted. “It’s the only way to make all the emotions stop.”
Sympathy hit her. He was struggling, and she desperately wanted to help him.
She held out a hand. “Come on.”
When he didn’t take her hand, she reached for his and tugged him along. She moved down the hall, marching toward her rooms.
As she opened the door, he stirred.
“Grace—”
“Asleep in the adjoining room.” She pulled him in and nodded toward the internal door. “My girl could sleep through a bomb blast. Sit.”
She’d left a lamp on. She loved the quarters she’d been assigned. A spacious, breezy living area, adjoining bedroom and bathroom, and an extra bedroom for Grace. A space that was theirs, and furnished in lush, comfortable furniture.
A far cry from the cells the Edull had kept them in for months and months.
Toren dropped into an armchair and it creaked under his weight. She knew that cyborgs were heavier than they looked because of their enhancements and implants. Toren was leaner than the other cyborgs, but no less enhanced.
She went into her bathroom, wet a cloth in the sink, and found her small med kit. Then she moved back to him, knelt, and started cleaning his wounds.
“You have to stop this,” she said.
He grunted. “I can’t.”
She wiped the blood off his hands. His knuckles were torn and scraped. “You could if you wanted to.”
He stayed frustratingly silent.
She pulled out a tube of med gel and squeezed some of the blue fluid onto the worst of his injuries. She knew that in the morning, most of the scratches and bruises would be healed. There would be no sign that he let someone beat the hell out of him.