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“Is this how the Syndicate treats its contractors?” I say.
“No. I am no slaver. Respect is given until a debt is owed.” The Duke smiles. “After all, what is a man without a code?”
Cyra looks up at me helplessly through the swollen mess of her face. I never liked her, not that I liked Dano that much more, but it makes me sick what these psychos have done to her.
“Let her go. She’s done nothing to you.”
“On the contrary, she has betrayed a friend of mine.”
“Who?”
His eyes glitter. “You, darling.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Your friends are cheap,” Gorgo says. “I approached the Red man, but this one…she came to me of her own volition. Offering to spy on you, for money. Every smoke. Every drink. She scurried to me and chittered in my ear like a little, greedy pet wanting a snack and a pat on the head. Wants to be a thorn, this one.”
Cyra can’t meet my eyes, and I feel sick knowing it is true.
“You were our friend,” Volga says to her.
No, she wasn’t.
“I assume the Red girl you brought from the ship was your insider?” the Duke asks. “Lyria of Lagalos. The one you fooled into carrying Kobachi’s drone?”
I never wanted the Syndicate to know about Lyria. Cyra did tell them everything.
“Yes.”
“And then you saved her life? Your professionalism is suddenly quite indicted, Ephraim.” There is no smile on his face now. “Why save her?”
“You asked me if I was a thief of order or one of chaos,” I say slowly. “I get the groove. This is your world now. Your rules. She performed a service—a debt was owed. She deserves to get paid.”
“That. Is a good answer,” the Duke says. “But she is not a thief. And she is not your friend. She is a slave in all but name, and will run back to her masters. So, I am afraid she must die.” He waits for me to object, but I know it’s useless. The only thing I can protect now is my life and Volga’s.
“I suggest we kill him too,” Gorgo says.
“Oh my. Are you now the Duke of Hands, Gorgo?” the Duke asks. “No? Then shut your mouth.” Gorgo smiles coldly at him, but says nothing. “You have complicated things, Ephraim. But the Syndicate honors its contracts. You owe nothing. You are free to leave.”
“What about her?” I ask, looking to Cyra.
“She has shown a duplicitous nature. She cannot be trusted. If she spoke so quickly to us, who else might she speak to? But…she wronged you, not me, therefore her fate is in your hands. Acid, axe, fire, fist. Choose the one-way ticket.”
“Ephraim…I’m sorry,” she says pathetically through swollen lips. I can’t hate her. I’m too tired to hate her. “Please…”
“Volga?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Just let her go,” I say to the Duke.
“Thank you,” Cyra whimpers. “Thank you. Volga, I—”
“Don’t talk to her,” I snap.
The Duke raises an eyebrow. “Very well. Gorgo, you heard the man. Let her go.”
Gorgo grabs Cyra by the hair and drags her to the edge of the highrise. She kicks and screams when she sees what he’s about to do. “Ephraim! Ephraim!”
I do nothing.
Gorgo throws her off the edge of the highrise like a sack of trash. We don’t even hear the impact. I imagine her lying in a messy pile of meat fifty stories below. Like Trigg on that mountainside.
