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“Finn, you need to tell me what’s wrong. Where does it hurt?”
He shook his head. “Everywhere. But it doesn’t matter. We need to find someplace to hide until the Athena comes.”
She risked a glance at his pale skin. They weren’t going to get much farther with him in this shape. He was going into shock. She tried calling the ship again, her voice catching at the words. “Athena, this is Renna Carrizal. We need you at our location ASAP. Captain Finn is injured.”
Static.
Renna shifted Finn’s weight so she could help him up to the outcropping. By the time they’d made it, he was gasping and trembling in her arms.
“Need rest,” he whispered haltingly, casting a glance back at the facility. They were still too close for her comfort, but they wouldn’t make it much farther if he didn’t take a break.
She helped him down to the sand, letting him lean back against the rocks. Finn closed his eyes, and his head fell back as if the effort to keep it up was just too great.
Her pulse felt like a living thing inside her, clawing to get out. She needed to keep moving or the panic would take over. “I’m going to see if I can hail the Athena from that pile of rocks over there. I won’t be far.”
He didn’t respond. After another long stare, she turned and jogged away through the sandy soil. When she’d gone far enough that she couldn’t see the facility anymore, she tried again.
“Athena. Do you hear me?”
Static crackled in her ear. And then a voice. “Renna! Where the hell are you?” Keva demanded.
Renna let out a shaky laugh. “Thank gods. Keva, we’re at the outcropping. I know you can’t bring the ship that close, but you have to send the shuttle. Finn’s hurt. Badly.”
“We’ll be there ASAP. Hang on.”
“I’m going back to Finn. I’ll keep an eye out for you. Just get your ass moving.”
“Got it. See you soon, Carrizal.” The woman’s voice held the hint of a smile.
Renna hurried back to Finn and dropped to her knees beside him. He hadn’t moved at all, his head still leaning back at an awkward angle against the rock.
“Dammit.” He was injured badly, and she needed to see what was going on. Her fingers trembled as she pushed aside his jacket and shirt. This time when she sucked in a breath, it wasn’t at the sight of his washboard abs, but at the dark bruise spreading across his ribcage. She wasn’t a doctor, but she’d bet her last credit he was bleeding internally.
“No fair,” Finn said with a weak smile. “It was your turn to show me a scar. Or could you just not keep your hands off me?”
She brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. Dear gods, he was so cold. “Just sizing up the competition. I wanted to make sure my scars were more impressive than yours.”
He chuckled, then winced and clutched his side. “How bad is it? I’m afraid to look.”
Her lips thinned. If she were hurt, she’d want the truth. “I think ‘fist-of-steel’ may have crushed something, and you’re probably bleeding somewhere internally. We need to get you to a hospital.”
“Probably a good idea.” He coughed, and a trickle of blood dribbled from the corner of his lips. “Where’s the Athena?”
“Keva is on her way. We’ll get you somewhere safe and get you taken care of. Promise.”
He nodded. “Go to Lenue. There’s a MYTH outpost there. They can help. Code word: Prometheus.” His eyes drifted shut, and she touched his shoulder.
“Stay with me, Finn.”
He nodded again but didn’t open his eyes. “Tell me about your scar.”
“Only if you stay awake.” She swallowed back the burn of tears when he opened his blue eyes and nodded.
“Deal.” He reached up and touched the scar running from her ear to her jaw, and her skin erupted in goose bumps. His hand fell heavily back to his side. “Tell me.”
She sat back, leaning against the rock beside him. “I grew up on Old-Earth. In New York City. Never knew my dad, though Mom said he was military. After she had me and he left, she…lost herself. Lost her job first, lost our apartment next. When I was five, something changed. She came into some money. Bought a place in the East Village. Started seeing these strange men every night. But we had food on the table again, and I had clothes to wear to school.”
“East Village? Isn’t that…?”
Renna nodded and clenched her fists together in her lap. “Where the prostitute slums are. She’d become an escort. She was making good money, too, until one of her Johns decided he didn’t just want to screw her, he wanted to destroy her. Luckily one of the service owners was in the building and saved her, but he scarred her pretty face. After that, no one wanted to hire her. We got kicked out of our apartment, but she still had friends in the business. They hooked her up with a new pimp.”
She stared down at her hands. She’d never talked about her childhood before. Wasn’t sure she wanted to tell anyone about it, let alone this man. He already knew she was damaged. Now he’d know how badly
“Must have been hard for a kid your age,” he said softly. “How old were you?”
“I was seven when we moved to the tenement. The ladies there became surrogate mothers to me. Took care of me when Mom was…busy. Showed me how to cook and clean and dress myself. They were so kind. Even some of their boyfriends looked out for me. Mom had a few regulars, too. One of them showed me how to pick locks. Another taught me how to shoot. We lived in a dangerous area. Kids had to learn to take care of themselves.”
“Especially girls, I imagine. And pretty girls at that.”
Her lips curved into a wobbly smile, but she shook her head. “You never would have known I was pretty, with greasy, ratty hair and my face covered in dirt. It probably saved my life, though.” She sobered, stared out at the desert, not seeing the sand, only the cramped room where her mother had tried to raise her, the tiny bed tucked into the closet that was her room. She’d hated it there. Had spent as little time in that apartment as she could. She and the other kids in the block had run roughshod over the neighborhood. They’d been her real family.
Finn squeezed her hand and didn’t let go. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.”
“No. It’s just a memory I thought I’d forgotten.” She swallowed before continuing. “My mom, like most of the prostitutes who worked in the East Village, was addicted to clay. All of them used it before a visit. After a visit. Whenever they felt low. Most of the women kept it to a minimum as it could affect their performance, but Mom didn’t care. And when she was on it…she wasn’t herself.”
