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‘Kai!” I shriek.
Everything happens so fast. Just as fast, the guards dart forward, grab both of them, and pull them away and onto their feet.
Archer shakes the guards’ hands off. So does Kai. Both stand in front of each other panting.
It’s the three of us with a larger circle of guards who watch us indifferently. My eyes dart between the two.
Kai glares at Archer.
Archer wipes his bloodied lip. He smiles again. “I knew it. There is no other way with you, Droga. Wanna do it the men’s way?”
I’ve never seen anyone as composed as Archer. As if nothing gets to him. Not even pain.
Kai gives him a backward nod. “You know such a way, Crone?”
Archer snaps his fingers at one of the guards. “Going to Carnage. Get the girl to her room.”
“No!” I shout and lunge at him, but Kai catches me in his arms and holds me tight against him.
“She is not going anywhere, Crone.”
“Fine,” Archer snaps without looking. “We have a great opportunity to sort this shit out like you want to, Droga. With your fists. Let’s go!”
He nods to a guard, who barks something into the radio, then motions to Kai.
Kai grabs my hand. “She is coming with me.”
Archer doesn’t turn. “Suit yourself. She can watch. She’s never seen you bleed, Droga, has she?”
My stomach twists at the words.
15
KAI
The guards giveme and Callie a Quad to ride. There are ATVs on all sides of ours and a truck full of guards following us, like an escort. Not even a minuscule chance to escape.
We are heading toward Port Mrei, an echelon of us roaring through the dark jungle, the headlights like a frantic search party in the dark.
Callie is pressing tight against my back, her arms wrapped around my waist. I wish I could tell her it will all be over soon.
At some point, we take a turn onto a dirt road into the jungle, toward an air strip for private planes just south of town.
We zoom past another checkpoint with multiple guards—odd—in the middle of nowhere.
But then it all makes sense as we approach a giant clearing, lit up by strobe lights and crowded with motorcycles and scooters and people smoking in groups in what looks like a parking lot.
I swallow hard when I see a giant hangar with muffled music pounding inside.
Crone has some fucked up plan, I’m sure.
I get off the Quad and help Callie off. No one talks to us, but I know I have to go with the flow and follow a group led by Crone toward the doors, guarded by two armed military guys, the wordCarnagespray-painted in black above it.
The door opens, and loud bass from the speakers and a thick smell of sweat and tobacco waft in our faces.
Callie squeezes my hand in hers. She is the only thing that keeps me focused right now.
The deafening hard rock music envelops all around us and vibrates in my chest when we walk in.
