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PENN
It takes all of five minutes for Keon to throw my tracker in the sink, wash it down the drain, and pull me out to the back door of the club.
A hovercar is waiting outside, ready to go with the motor already running. The door slides open as we exit, and Keon gestures for me to get inside. I feel that horrible sensation that I’m making an incredibly stupid decision as I climb in, finding a plush interior I recognize—the car that picked me up at the spaceport.
At least I’ve been here before, I guess, and he didn’t kill me the first time we took an unauthorized drive.
Keon gets in behind me and the door slides shut behind us, the driver taking off right away. The car is in such a hurry that I can feel us take off, the usually smooth internal gravity of the hovercraft getting a little wonky. The inertia soon fades, though, and I watch as Keon casually lights a rose-tinted cigarette and takes a drag from it.
“Okay—what in all hellis going on?” I ask.
He acts like he didn’t hear me. “Finally,” he says. “We can talk without anyone overhearing.”
“What was that all about back there?” I ask, playing dumb. Even if he knows about the tracker, I have no idea if he also knows about my allegiance with Corvus—or even if ‘Shayd’ was responsible. “I was being listened to?”
“Don’t play dumb, darlingaraske,” he drawls, his cigarette limp in his fingers. It doesn’t have an unpleasant scent; it’s more like incense, actually, reminding me of church service as a kid. “You’re not very good at it.”
I lick my lips, narrowing my eyes, but Keon doesn’t seem to mean me any harm. If anything, he looks bored.
That scares me a little bit more.
“What do you know?” I ask, my voice lowering.
I want him to know I mean business.
“I know that you’re First Wave,” he says. “I’ve known since your application came through, actually.”
I stiffen. This is bad. What if he tells Atlas? It could jeopardize all of Earth. “And?” I ask.
“I know something you don’t,” he snickers. “That being…the people you work for are not to be trusted.”
I frown. “First Wave?”
“So you admit it,” he laughs. “The show really did get you off-kilter.” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “No, no, dear Penn—the Diavolo Family.”
I glare across the hovercar at him, crossing my arms and straightening my back. The smell of incense is cloying, lulling me into a false sense of comfort. I have to fight it. “I don’t work for the Diavolo Family.”
“You don’t?” he says. “Because I have news for you—allof Earth works for the Diavolos. They offered you protection from the rest of us, didn’t they?”
I frown, chewing on my lip. He’s not entirely wrong; the Diavolos were the ones we met during First Contact, and they’ve set up an interstellar perimeter around our solar system and our planet. They’re the ones who liaise with us when we need to negotiate, and theydid, in fact, hire me.
“Yes,” I say cautiously, “but that doesn’t mean—”
“How did you do in history class, Penn?” Keon asks, cocking his head to the side.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m asking how you feel about human history,” he says. “Because I’m quite fond of it. And I’d like to tell you a story.”
“I don’t know what this has to do with the Diavolos,” I scoff.
He smiles. “Give me a chance. Remember—I’m a performer.”
I roll my eyes, but I nod. I’m stuck here with him; may as well listen to his damn story.
“Fine,” I say. “But afterward, you have to promise you’ll tell me what we’re doing here.”
