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Baxter smirks at me, the black soldier stripe still obscuring most of his face. “Make some room,” he snaps. “Think you own this place?”
I clench my teeth, but Tess’s wide eyes make me hold back. He’s harmless, I tell myself. “Just get the hell out of my way,” I reply stiffly, turning away.
Behind me I hear Baxter mutter something under his breath. It’s enough to make me stop and face him again. My eyes narrow. “Say that again.”
He grins, shoves his hands into his pockets, and lifts his chin. “I said, jealous that your girl’s whoring around with the Elector?”
I’m almost able to swallow that. Almost. But at that moment, Tess breaks her silence and shoves Baxter with both hands. “Hey,” she says. “Leave him alone, all right? He’s had a rough night.”
Baxter grunts something in irritation. Then he shoves Tess unceremoniously back. “You’re an idiot for believing in this Republic lover, little girl.”
My rage explodes. I’ve never been fond of fistfights—I always tried to steer clear of them on the streets of Lake. But all the anger that’s been building inside me floods my veins when I see Baxter lay hands on Tess.
I lunge forward and punch him in the jaw as hard as I can.
He crashes into one of the tables and onto the ground. Instantly the others nearby burst into whoops and hollers, forming a makeshift circle around the two of us. Before Baxter can get to his feet, I leap on him. My fist connects twice with his face.
He lets out a snarl. Suddenly his weight advantage takes over. He pushes me hard enough to send me flying into the side of a comp desk, then pulls me up, grabs my jacket, and slams me against the wall. He lifts me clear off my feet, then drops me and smashes his fist into my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. “You ain’t one of us. You’re one of them,” he hisses. “Did you detour from our train mission on purpose?” I feel a knee ram into my side. “Well, I’m gonna kill you, you dirty damn trot. I’m gonna skin you alive.”
I’m too furious to feel the pain. I manage to tuck one of my legs up, then kick him in the chest as hard as I can. From the corner of my eye I notice some Patriots quickly exchanging bets. An improvised Skiz duel. For an instant Baxter reminds me of Thomas, and suddenly all I see is my old street in Lake, with Thomas pointing his gun at my mother and soldiers dragging John away into a waiting jeep. Strapping Eden into that lab gurney. Arresting June. Hurting Tess. The edges of my vision turn scarlet. I lunge for him again and swing at his face.
But Baxter’s ready for me. He knocks my arm out of the way and throws his full weight against me. My back slams down hard on the ground. Baxter grins, then grabs my neck and gets ready to shove his fist into the side of my face.
Abruptly he lets go. I suck in a deep breath as his weight leaves my chest, then clutch my head as one of my headaches erupts in full-scale agony. Somewhere above me I can hear Tess, then Pascao shouting at Baxter to back off. Everyone’s talking at once. One . . . Two . . . Three . . . I count off numbers in my head, hoping this little exercise distracts me from the pain. It used to be so much easier to ward off these headaches. Maybe Baxter had hit me in the head and I don’t even know it.
“Are you okay?” Now Tess’s hands are on my arm and pulling me to my feet.
I’m still dizzy with pain from my headache, but the rage has passed. Abruptly I’m aware of the burning soreness in my side. “Fine,” I reply hoarsely, inspecting her face. “Did he hurt you?” Baxter is glaring at me from where Pascao’s trying to talk him down. Already the others around us have returned to their business, probably disappointed that the fight didn’t last longer. I wonder who they’ve decided the winner is.
“I’m okay,” Tess says. She runs a hand hurriedly through her bobbed hair. “Don’t worry.”
“Tess!” Pascao calls out to us. “See if Day needs any patching up. We’re on a schedule here.”
Tess leads me down the hall and away from the common room. We walk into one of the bunker rooms that’s been turned into a makeshift hospital, then shut the door. We’re surrounded by shelves piled high with an assortment of pill bottles and boxes of bandages. A table sits in the middle of the room, leaving only a narrow space to walk around. Now I lean against the table as Tess rolls up her sleeves. “Do you hurt anywhere?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I repeat. But the moment I say that, I wince and clutch at my side. “Okay, maybe a little banged up.”
“Let me see,” Tess says firmly. She bats my hand aside, then unbuttons my shirt. It’s not like Tess has never seen me shirtless (I’ve lost count of how many times she’s had to patch me up), but now there’s an awkwardness that hangs heavily between us. Her cheeks burn bright pink as she runs her hand across my chest, along my stomach, then presses her fingers against my sides.
I inhale sharply when she touches a sensitive spot. “Yeah, that’s where his knee got me.”
Tess studies my face. “Feel nauseous?”
“No.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says as she works. “Say ‘ah.’” I open my mouth for her. She touches a tissue to my nose, inspects both my ears, and then hurries out for a moment. She comes back with an ice pack. “Here. Hold this on the spot.”
I do what she tells me. “You’ve become very professional.”
“I’ve learned a lot from the Patriots,” Tess replies. When she stops inspecting my chest long enough to face me, she holds my gaze with her own. “Baxter just doesn’t like your . . . attraction to a former Republic soldier,” she mutters. “But don’t let him get to you like that, okay? No point in getting yourself killed.”
