“Keenan, report. Give me your location,” Kyon’s voice growls. A pause and then, “Report—do you have Kricket with you?”
I touch the side of the earpiece to press it farther into my ear; a small microphone snakes out, stopping near my mouth. I breathe a shallow breath.
“Kricket,” Kyon says my name like a warning. “Where are you?”
“How’d you know it was me?” I whisper. I forget about searching Keenan and hurriedly tiptoe to the doorway of the Commodus.
“Call it the electricity between us both,” he replies in a softer tone, like the one he’d used with me earlier when he’d called me lovely. “I know the light sound of your breath—it falls heavy on me.”
I peek around the door frame. There are soldiers at the top of the gallery steps, looking in all directions, presumably for me. I’ll have to go soon; they’ll find me in here if I wait.
“Why do you want to hold on to me? Find someone else—just let me go.” I slip out the door and hug the illuminated wall, quietly backing away from where the soldiers are. I glance over my shoulder to make sure I go down the hallway that will take me to the skywalk between the buildings.
“I don’t want another for my consort; I only want you. I’ll be your first lover—”
“No you won’t, because even if you are, I’ll never love you,” I retort.
“There’ll be no martyrs here, Kricket. I’ll tear your heart off your sleeve and bury it deep in my chest. Your savage heart will beat for me. Run if you think you can—I’ll hunt you down.”
My tongue is heavy in my mouth. “I’ll have my finger on the trigger when you get here.”
“You best have more than that—have a bullet with my name on it. It’ll make no difference. I won’t allow you to deny me anything—your mind, your heart, your body—”
My limbs are weighted down by fear. I have to get him out of my head. I pull the earpiece from my ear, throwing it away just as Kyon reaches the top of the staircase. His eyes are on me immediately, like he senses me. He gives me a dirty smile, one that makes me feel as if he’s seeing me naked.
As he pauses to assess the fact that I haven’t drawn my weapon on him, like I’d promised to, I can’t help noticing the same of him. He doesn’t pull out his gun; he doesn’t need it. He’s bigger than all the other soldiers near him—physically perfect—and a hell of a lot stronger than me. I can see the intimidation on the faces of the other Strikers. It’s not his rank that does it either; it’s the fact that he exudes raw power. I’d bet most people in his life do exactly what he tells them to do when he tells them to do it. I’m probably the only one who doesn’t.
Kyon’s cold blue eyes warm the longer he looks at me. He scares me like no one ever has. I know he’s capable of anything. He was very gentle with me when he thought I was sick . . . Would I have loved you if you’d managed to keep me in the beginning? my eyes ask him. He tilts his head to the side, like he hears me.
His look devours me, and I’m fairly certain now that he truly is picturing me naked. My breathing becomes shallow, and I turn and run from him on shaky legs. In my panic, I’m unable to think of a reason why no one is guarding this entrance to the building. The feminine guide-bot hologram materializes once more as I approach the exit leading to the skywalk. “Thank you for visiting the Premiere Palisades—” I blow past her, glancing over my shoulder.
Kyon is not far behind, catching up fast. The door slides open for me. Passing the threshold, I realize now why there are no guards to the skywalk: it’s been destroyed. There’s a huge gap between the buildings now. Unable to turn back, I run down the glass tunnel to its jagged edge, finding shattered pieces of debris where the skywalk has been torn away. I run over it, cutting my feet on sharp pieces.
Nearing the edge, I realize the gap is entirely too wide for me to jump to the other side. I gaze down over the edge. The fall is around two hundred stories—not survivable, even with the reservoir at the bottom of it—even if I could swim.
I glance back over my shoulder. Kyon slows, and then comes to a stop. He holds up his hand to the soldiers following him. They stand down, not coming any nearer to me. “Kricket,” Kyon says gently, like he had before when I was sick, “come here.”
It’s an order, however softly it was spoken. I glance over the edge once more; it nearly gives me vertigo. I press a shaky hand to my forehead, rubbing it. My head feels like it’s going to burst. Kyon takes a cautious step toward me. He murmurs, “Remember the last time you jumped?” he asks me. “This isn’t the same thing. You were only two stories up in your Chicago tenement—you broke your ribs and your clavicle. You wouldn’t survive this fall.”
My eyes widen in shock. He knows about my past—the night I jumped from my foster father’s apartment after he’d nearly killed me. But he’s wrong about one thing. “My ribs were already broken before I jumped,” I murmur.
He growls at this information, his face darkening more. “He hurt you badly,” Kyon says. He takes another step toward me, and I inch to the precipice of the skywalk.
“You’ve hurt me too,” I say honestly.
“I didn’t understand you before,” Kyon admits. “I’m beginning to now.” He pauses again, and then he says in a gentle tone, “Do you know what I’ve thought about since I awoke from medical stasis?”
“Killing everybody?”
He smiles at my accusation and shakes his head. “No, not everybody. I thought about what you said to me—how you think I’m like your foster father, Dan. Do you remember telling me about him?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“I’ve made a point, since our misunderstanding at the palace, to read every file that we’ve collected on you. I had largely ignored your past on Earth until now, thinking it wouldn’t be very important to me because I’m your future. But it is important, Kricket, where you come from, is it not?”
I just stare at him, not understanding where he’s going with this. “I’d rather you know nothing about me. In fact, forgetting about me would be the best thing you could do.”
“I’m going to find him,” Kyon says softly.
My eyebrows rise in surprise. “Find who?” I ask, my mouth going dry.
“Dan O’Callaghan.” As he says my foster father’s name, he takes another step toward me. “He doesn’t get to live after what he’s done to you.”
“You’ve done worse,” I reply.
“Have I?” He advances toward me again, his movements stealthy.