Firstlife. Gena Showalter
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Might Equals Right.
“Thanks for the warning,” I say, my stomach beginning to churn. I’m not ready for another battle. Not one of this magnitude. I’m not strong enough.
Doesn’t matter. I have to find a way.
She scowls at me. “I didn’t do it for you. The more prepared you are, the better your chances of killing two more of Vans’s men.”
Bloodthirsty girl. As always. “Also the better my chances of spending another thirty days in the pit, giving you a chance to strike at Bow without my interference, eh.” The pit is a frigid hole in the basement where the only source of water is a rusty tap, and a bucket is the only piece of furniture.
“Hey. It’s a small price to pay.”
“Of course you’d think so. You’ve never spent any time down there.”
“Not for lack of trying!”
I can’t argue with that. I’ve often wondered why she’s singular to Vans. Is she sleeping with him?
I’ve heard rumors about girls earning special privileges with their bodies. I’ve also heard about girls being threatened with harsher punishments if they refuse. Even the thought fills me with rage.
From time to time, a guard has propositioned me. I said no, flat out, every time. I’ve never had sex and my first time won’t be a freaking business transaction. In my old life, some of my friends had often hit-it-and-quit-it, and it hadn’t taken me long to notice most grumbled with disappointment while only a rare few sighed dreamily.
The loss of my virginity is a memory I’m going to carry into my Secondlife and dang it, I’m going to be one of the ones who sighs dreamily.
“You boning the boss?” I ask her.
Color blooms in her cheeks. Embarrassment? Shame? Both? She jumps up and snarls at me. “Oh, go to Many Ends, dreg!”
“And leave these luxurious accommodations? Nah.”
She flounces off and chooses a new seat.
I remain on a razor’s edge of calm through therapy...my different classes...lunch...and finally dinner. No one strikes at me, but all the guards are a little too nice. They smile every time I pass. They ask if I need help with anything.
That night, after Bow and I are locked in our cell, our lights out, I rush to cover the camera with a sheet—just in case—and gather my stash of shivs made from spoons and toothbrushes, hidden behind a stone in the wall.
No one tells me to remove the sheet, a sign in and of itself. The guards don’t want anyone to record what’s going to happen, and they can blame me for the lack of feed, maybe even claim I hurt myself in an attempt to incriminate them. Not that they’d get into trouble for hurting me.
“What’s going on?” Bow demands.
I explain the situation. She waves a hand through the air, unconcerned.
“You won’t need those,” she says. “I’ve got this. You can sit back and simply enjoy the show.”
As if.
I move to the side of the door, taking a sentry position. With a sigh, Bow does the same.
One hour ticks into another, but I remain in place. I’ve done this kind of vigil before, during the realm riots that occurred in my front yard.
My dad is a senator in the House of Myriad, responsible for ensuring Myriad-friendly laws are passed and Troika-friendly laws aren’t.
Sometimes when a hot-button issue arose—like Myriad’s desire to supersede the human government—Troikan protesters congregated on our lawn, threw rotten food at our doors and windows and screamed vitriol. I just had to wait for it to end.
The stress is the biggest obstacle. My limbs shake. My stomach twists. Sweat drips down my spine. At least I’m not cowering.
I’ll never cower again.
“You sure they’re coming tonight?” Bow asks, as blasé as ever.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Sloan could have lied to me. Her version of payback, I suppose. Although keeping us frazzled tonight so we’re useless tomorrow isn’t exactly her MO. She likes to use shivs of her own.
Finally the doors slide open. I tense, ready to strike. Four men wearing black masks march into the room.
They know where we’re hiding. The two men in front swing their arms to deliver a brutal punch. One to each of us.
I’m slower than usual, so I fail to duck in time. I take a fist to the center of the chest, my heart skipping a beat...then another...before leaping into a too-fast rhythm. Bow manages to duck just fine, grab her guy by the arm and, using her elbow as a hammer, break his radius. As he howls with pain, she kicks out her leg, nailing my guy in the torso, causing him to double over.
I act quickly, slamming my knee into his nose. He goes down as another guy dives on me, knocking me down. Upon impact, agony consumes me. I can barely breathe, my lungs flattened, stars winking behind my eyelids.
Get up! I have to win this.
I try without success. Meanwhile, I hear a rustle of clothing, the crunch of other bones breaking...another howl of pain. Dragging sounds. A feminine grunt.
A shadow falls over me. I hold out my hands to ward off—
“It’s okay,” Bow says. “It’s just me.”
Relieved, I sag against the cold, hard floor.
“The men are out for the count and now in the hall.”
Good, that’s good. Guess she had this, after all.
Maybe I can trust her a little?
No, no. Must resist the urge. Despite what Sloan said—despite Bow’s actions—no good can come from an alliance. We’re too different, and with Bow’s support of Troika, she’ll turn on me soon enough.
“I guess we’re even,” I manage to say. I had her back with Sloan, and she had mine with the guards. I got the better end of the deal, but that’s not a me problem.
“Wow. You are one tough Nutter to crack. And that’s not a compliment.”
“I used to be nice,” I tell her. My version of an apology, I suppose. “I was even shy.”
I don’t miss the girl I used to be; she’s a stranger in so many ways. She was scared and weak.
With a strength that baffles me, Bow picks me up and carries me to my bed. She gently lays me across the mattress, saying, “What you need is—”
“Do not say light.”
“Fine. A distraction from your troubles. Want to make out a little?” There’s a teasing note in her tone. “This would be a pity session, nothing more. You may be female, but you’re still not my type. You’re way too mouthy. Oh! I know! I can teach you better uses for your—”
“Shut. Up,” I say, trying not to laugh. Laughing will only make the hurt worse.
“Is that a soft no?”
“Hard no. I’m currently in a relationship.”
She arches a brow. “You have a boyfriend?”
“No.” Miss you so much, James. “I’m dating myself.”
Bow snorts. “You want my advice? Break up with her. She’s no good for you.”
“Hey!”
“Well, it’s true. Right now her priorities are seriously screwed up.”
* * *
The next six days are surprisingly good. Well, as good as can be expected in a place as vile as Prynne.
The