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I had my favorite Yakku blade out and my hand on the dagger strapped to my thigh. But when the big body rushed me and slid a hand over my mouth while immobilizing my arms with the other hand, I was caught by such surprise there was nothing I could do.
How had I not smelled him? Not heard him or felt his heartbeat?
“What strain are you?” he asked, his mouth next to my ear, his breath warm.
I swallowed and struggled for a second in his hold. He just held tighter.
“What strain are you?” he asked again, his tone rougher this time, more impatient.
His hand lifted away from my mouth just enough for me to answer. “Kappa.”
His hold on me tightened slightly. “Kappa,” he whispered, though it wasn’t a question. “Are you escaping?”
I nodded and made a “mhmm” sound.
I could practically hear him mulling over whether to kill me or not. He ground his teeth, then finally, his body relaxed around mine. “Come with me.” He let go of me completely, only to take my hand in his and pull me over the pile of dead bodies, including Commander Moord’s, and through the corridor. “Betray me and you’ll live to fucking regret it, got that?”
All I did was nod. If this guy was going to help me get free, then of course I would agree. Once we were free, that was another story, but I didn’t need to tell him that.
He knew I was Kappa, so he knew if he did try to kill me, he’d have a fight on his hands.
The alarm continued to scream, and more and more explosions shook the building, sending us into the walls, but before I knew it, we burst out into the cool night air, the beautiful moon full and glowing overhead and the sky a blanket of incredible twinkling stars.
I glanced over at the man who still held my hand, but he was wearing night-vision goggles and his mouth was covered in black fabric. However, he only wore a black sleeveless shirt and cargo pants. Three automatic rifles were slung across his back, and he had a Filton 390 handgun in his hand.
“Somebody helping you?” he asked.
“Neffers, but Moord got to him,” I said, letting my gaze continue to wander over his enormous frame.
He nodded. “Makes sense. Let’s go.” Then he tugged me down the metal stairs that led to the training yard.
Still holding hands, we ran across the training yard, and every so often he would lift his gun up and shoot. A body would fall in the distance.
More explosions rattled the compound behind us. We came to the only exit in the entire compound. The only way in and the only way out, unless you scaled the thirty-foot concrete wall. Which I had planned to do.
He released my hand, pulled something out of his pocket, and placed it on the gate. “Stand back.”
I did as I was told, but even then, his arm across my chest pushed me back farther. Five seconds later, the gate exploded.
He grabbed my hand in his enormous one again and hauled me over the sizzling and smoking debris that had just seconds ago been an impenetrable gate into my prison.
Gunshots and more explosions echoed behind us as we stepped over the gate, then out onto the dirt.
My toes bunched, and a thrill like nothing I’d ever felt before rocked through me.
“What was your plan after you escaped?” he asked, his head swiveling side to side, checking for threats.
“I … I was supposed to have a survival pack stashed five miles away. Then a boat another twenty miles in a bay.”
He grunted.
Why was I telling him this?
Because he just saved your butt.
Footsteps—two sets of them—at a steady lope drew nearer, and I grabbed the Filton 390 from his hand.
A bird whistle and then another punctured the night, rising beautifully over the wailing siren.
