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Chapter Two

V ic rose early, unable to find rest for fear that Pa might chain her to a crate.

She needn’t have worried. He snored where he sprawled on his bunk.

She crept through the rooms, snagging items like a digi-pic of her ma, the electronic deed to the farm she’d left to Vic, a handful of hydro-gel sticks, and a few hidden tokens.

She could use the split account to start a new life.

The sun was on the cusp of rising, painting the horizon in a palette of deep browns and yellows.

She drew in the cold air, gazed once more at the butterfly panels she’d so lovingly repaired, then flicked the visor down.

With a small bag of possessions tied to the back of her skid-cycle, she headed for Deadweed, skimming through on her way to New Westlands.

She parked outside Leviathan, planning to cut off Pa’s sweed supply.

All Cleg needed to know was that Pa was penniless.

With a gaze at Jolson’s office, she strode into the bar’s cool interior.

She almost jerked to a stop. The Ring lay in waiting, sipping on purified sweed—the expensive kind.

By Ring, she meant one man: Erv Lawson. He stepped off the seat in graceful silence.

His cybernetics from his eyes, shoulders, arms, and right thigh didn’t hinder him when the additional weight should have.

“My timing is perfect.” His voice rumbled in the unnatural quiet of the bar. No one spoke, as crowded as it was for that time of day.

She scowled, accepting that she was the entertainment and would have to face the man alone.

Preferring to take care of business before leaving, she ignored him. If he wanted her, he’d have to make his intentions clear. “Cleg, Pa’s without tokens.” She held his gaze as best she could with him slicing glances at a looming Lawson. “Cleg,” she barked, snapping his attention to her.

“Gotcha, Vic.” His strangled voice had her sighing. For someone running the only bar in Deadweed, he sure was a coward.

She faced the room, slipping past the great bulk of a gladiator in his prime. Lawson tried to grab her, but she was adept at dodging fists, searching fingers, and robo-servs. She left Leviathan and marched to her skid-cycle, determined to face the next phase in her life with a little courage.

Lawson trailed her, his gait irritated or perhaps his jerky movements were natural for him. After his previous graceful display, she doubted it. “Victoria Harper, you best be coming with me, gal.”

“How much does Pa owe the Ring?” She fiddled with the visor, on the verge of flipping it into place.

The sun warmed one side of Deadweed’s shielding dome.

Farg it, she’d wanted to reach New Westland before the sun baked the dunes.

“I’ll settle his debts one last time, then I’m no longer responsible. ”

“David Harper has paid all ten-thousand tokens owed in exchange for…you.”

“What?” Shaking her head, she tried to rid herself of disbelief. She must have misheard Erv or misunderstood. Her mind whirled at the implication that Pa had bartered her like bottles of poorly-distilled sweed.

“Your father sold you, little gal.” Erv flicked something at her. Whatever it was, it landed on her neck, biting into her skin.

She screamed, clapping a palm over the flat device and half-expecting blood to smear her skin. The full realization settled on her. She couldn’t move. In fact, she stood there like a scarecrow with a hand plastered to her neck.

Grateful her eyes could move despite shadows hiding Erv’s face, she peered at him.

He gripped her jacket and tossed her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing.

Folks trickled out of the buildings to watch the spectacle, and amid them, stood Jolson.

His lips tugged downward. He said and did nothing except curl his fingers in his silly belt.

She landed and bounced once on the back seat of Erv’s sleek skid-car.

Unable to brace herself, her shoulder and jutting elbow stung from the abuse.

A grunt lodged in her throat. She fought to twitch a finger.

“Quit squirming,” Erv snapped, the back of his head in her line of vision.

Farg him. As soon as this device was off her, she’d show him what she could do. Images flooded her mind from her latest instructional vid. One of those moves had to take the ox down.

As the skid-car flew across the sands toward the domed city, the purring engines didn’t drown his words.

“Feisty, but that won’t last long, gal. Glaring at me won’t harm me.

You’ll soon find out, violence is the only answer.

” He raised his hand and clicked a button.

A fresh wave of fiery agony spasmed her limbs, granting her blessed darkness.

G runts, thwacks, and moans drew Vic from sleep.

As she crawled to wakefulness, her body pinged news of stiff, aching muscles when she’d done nothing more than repair sol panels and learn fighting techniques.

This pain went bone deep. She frowned then flicked her eyes open when something nudged her boot.

Gasping, she sat up, blinking at the kids brawling or dueling while someone zigzagged within a rolling barrel, dodging pendulums and arrows. Farg. Her stomach lurched, coiling and writhing from what her pa had done.

“Good, you’re awake. Mr. Carne will see you now.”

Scrambling to her feet, she glowered at Erv. “I said I’d settle Da’s debts. Ten thousand tokens is nothing to sneeze at.”

Erv faced her. A smirk contorted his lips but crinkled his eyes with good humor. “Entertaining too. I’m beginning to like you.” He raised his hand and waved a button. “Feel like another jolt?”

She slapped her neck, finding the thing still attached. No amount of scratching gained her enough traction to remove the device. “This is barbaric and…and illegal.”

He blinked at her, threw back his head, and guffawed, his massive shoulders shaking. “Yes, I do like you.” Waving his hand, he gestured for her to follow.

Huffing, she did, striding after him like a cybernetic lapdog.

“You showed remarkable skill.” He paused while two teenage boys grappled on a mat. A snap echoed when a bone broke, but the injured boy made no sound. Despite his arm hanging limp by his side, he tackled the other boy, punching him in the gut.

She gaped.

“We don’t take someone your age, but we’re not starting from scratch with you.” Erv faced her. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Meeting his gaze, she tried not to recall the day she was assaulted.

Just a kid at nine, and without the protection of her drunken pa, she’d had to defend herself, to kick and scratch.

After that, any spare moment she had, she went through old vids she had found on the intra.

Some of those techniques had injured her—pulling muscles, scrapping toes, or bruising shoulders.

She’d persevered when the alternative was worse.

“Here and there.” She shrugged without lowering her gaze. He needed to earn her respect, and despite him being the infamous Ring trainer, so far, she wasn’t impressed.

“Well, we’ll see after your interview. Mr. Carne will decide where you go, gal.”

“The name’s Vic.”

His lack of response was dismissive, as if her name didn’t matter.

She trudged after him when they left the massive room behind, its many red doors intriguing, but a curiosity she could live with not satisfying.

The long passage was wide enough to fit a skid-car, and the metallic flooring was matte, scuffed, and in need of a good clean.

In the high ceiling were skylights fitted with grills.

She could work one loose and escape if she could find a ladder.

The walls were as smooth as the floor with no toe holds.

She would need cybernetic limbs to leap that high.

There had to be an exit somewhere.

Erv wrapping his fingers around her elbow shook her out of her daze. She curled her arm free.

His chuckle grated, as did him holding up his hands as if in surrender. “We’re here. Now show him respect, or you will be knocked out again.”

She nodded. Making an enemy of the most powerful man in New Westlands wasn’t wise. All she wanted was her freedom, so controlling her anger was in her best interest.

Erv preceded her, holding the door open with misplaced gallantry.

The office was extensive, all in dark fabrics, and…

she gasped, real wood. Farg, even the walls were lined with wood paneling and bookshelves holding actual paperbacks.

After the Great Water Shortage most plant life died unless protected by domes. So paper was rare and super expensive.

Downlighters illuminated the room, but they weren’t needed with the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass overlooking the arena.

Heavy leather chairs were in front of his desk that squatted like a beast, dominating the vast space.

Behind it sat a man too gentle-looking to be the purveyor of blood, pain, indentured servitude, and violent death.

White hair cascaded over a wrinkled brow, and hazel eyes warmed when Erv nudged her deeper into evil’s lair.

“Ah, Victoria Harper,” Sebastian Carne boomed, his voice too bombastic for her pinging temple. He gestured to a chair.

She spread her legs and clasped her hands behind her back. “I’d prefer to stand if you don’t mind.”

With a shove on her shoulder, Erv had her sitting. She glared at him but bit her tongue.

“Fire.” Sebastian slapped the desk. “Now that’s what we’ve been missing.

” He rose from his swivel chair and faced the arena.

His white hair was trimmed an inch from his crisp collar.

“Our contesters are boring. The crowd wants someone they can get behind, cheer, or mourn the loss of.” He gestured to Erv.

“Seventeen years old, deceased mother, and a drunken father,” Erv rattled off like she wasn’t sitting there.

“So, no hope of a good future.” Sebastian sliced a glance at her. “Are you still a virgin, gal?”