Rayne spurned the thought even as she suggested it out loud. Other partners couldn’t appreciate Nox in his entirety, the whole package, and he deserved that kind of acceptance. Especially after everything they’d been through…
No.
“On second thought, let’s table this until after we’re done saving the universe,” Rayne said as she hit the next person hard enough to knock them smooth out.
All throughout the battle, she wondered what Sagan or Tameka—even Kyle or Andrew—would say about the lubed-up fighters and their anatomical prowess. Rayne tried her best to maintain eye contact, but it proved difficult. See her earlier comment about missing breasts and not being terribly familiar with the male anatomy.
After her perfect spin kick took out the latest comer, Rayne bounced, eager for the next fight. The pulse she shared with Nox pounded with exhilaration, and now they were together like this—back-to-back—they moved in a rhythm of spins, kicks, and punches.
Rayne loved it, and so did Nox, judging by the huge grin on his face. It was over too soon, leaving them both panting. She took in the battlefield and assessed the situation. What was coating her? Sweat, oil, mud, and… crepe filling?
“Shall we, your majesty?” Nox muttered only loud enough for Rayne to hear.
She smiled and marched across the field of unconscious assailants to the bar.
Dagger ducked behind it when she came his way. He raised his hands in surrender, saying, “Okay, fine. You can go upstairs. Just don’t kill me.”
Razor, he wasn’t.
The shady Luk pressed a button under the counter, calling the elevator. Rayne waited with Nox, who glared at the man cowering behind the bar. As they boarded the lift, Nox warned Dagger, “Find another profession.”
The doors closed as Dagger said, “No shit, man.”
Made of Aegis tech, the lift was glass and fast. It zipped them right up to the space-scraper’s top floor at a speed which would nauseate Rayne if not for her nacre. Within seconds, she and Nox entered an abyssal foyer of glossy black surface—floor, walls, and ceiling—seamless. Their reflections peered at them from every which way. The hall stretched on and branched off into identical corridors.
“Cool,” Rayne conceded.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Nox gave a single chuckle before they both proceeded. Call it instinct, but she went through the painful process of retrieving Night Killer. Following her lead, Nox slipped his daggers from his belt as they went along.
A quarter of the way through this stadium-sized labyrinth, Rayne thought she heard music. She signaled to Nox, who gestured that he’d heard it, too, and they pursued it.
Closer, the music grew louder, until they peered around a corner into a private club with a stage. Men and women surrounded it of all races—except Mon 3—and gazed at the show in the sweet-smelling, smoky room. Only it wasn’t a show.
Twelve children—humans, by the look of them—stood on the stage dressed in matching blue jumpsuits. Tired, they sleepily rubbed their eyes or blinked heavily with exhaustion. Not one was over the age of five.
Why in the hell were they up there?
Nox’s hand settled on Rayne’s shoulder as she puzzled over the cause.
Some Caprent female at the podium called, “Number 10.”
A little girl with short red hair stepped forward.
In the audience, a female Lamia raised a hand. Then a dwarf. Then back to the Lamia.
It was quiet and eerily civilized, familiar. Why did this look like something Rayne should recognize?
“Rayne.”
Even in a whisper against her ear, Nox said her name with so much gravity and… concern.
The Caprent at the podium gave a single clap and pointed at the dwarf, who beamed with victory, but what had he won—
The little girl stepped off the stage and went to him.
No.
No, no, no—
Nox gripped Rayne’s biceps, careful for his daggers, and held her steady while Rayne took a second to have a nervous breakdown.
Children.
They were trafficking children.
Razor’s dossier told Rayne it wasn’t so uncommon, but seeing it…
“I need this one, Nox.” Her voice was uncharacteristically hard, even to her.
He didn’t chide Rayne or give her some lecture on morals. He merely said, “Lead the way.”
Imminent nobility and inheritors of Razor’s vice empire weren’t expecting the streak of lightning in the windows and the thunder which followed. In the flash of light, Rayne stood in the center of the auction. The children were already gone, including the little red-haired girl.
Nox gave Rayne all the room she needed.
Magnesium spilled from her eyes before the first person could gasp and stand from shock.
Oh, how they screamed, and it wasn’t enough. No one would survive this.
Rayne spun Night Killer and knocked the face off the first person to attack her, the dwarf. She planted her staff firmly and used it as a fulcrum to kick through the female Lamia. The next assailant was a human. She ripped his nacre out with her bare hands and swallowed it to process for later.
All the while, Rayne’s rage stormed and accumulated. She kept recalling the childhood Korac had shared in his Verse. All those children in Gait were exposed to so much horror they’d never wash out. Rayne’s tears burned, and her mouth bled from how tight she clenched her jaw. Lightning branched above and rain sprayed down the glass exterior of the space-scraper. Thunder vibrated the floors as Rayne ripped out nacres, stomped through skulls, and cut out hearts.
Korac’s careful mask hid a childhood of beatings, molestation, rape—
The exhausted children on the stage.
Why were they so tired, Rayne?
What had they already endured, which could never be washed away?
Lightning arced, broke through the glass, and struck Rayne.