Tears glistened in the corner of his eyes, matching mine. There was a quiet moment between us. He squeezed his eyes, hard. But his face morphed back into anger and the moment vanished into smoke. ‘So that’s it, then.’ His voice was dark and knotted, his words forming a wall between us as he smeared the tears away. ‘It’s all just a way for you to feel better. Make up for abandoning me to Dad?’
‘Don’t,’ I forced out through gritted teeth. ‘You have no right.’
‘Stop playing the hypocrite,’ Artyom yelled. ‘I have every right, I—’
‘Shut up and listen to me, you ungrateful little bastard. I tried to protect you. I took beatings for you until I was blind and coughing up blood. Don’t you dare pretend I didn’t try.’
‘It did nothing in the end, didn’t it? You couldn’t stop Dad killing Mum, right in front of us. Couldn’t save Kasia. So now you’re trying to save me from myself.’ He choked back the surge of emotions like a physical thing and scoffed. ‘What, you thought doing what you did to that boy would bring our sister back? Make everything better?’
My hands clenched. It wasn’t right for us to be here, digging into each other’s wounds. ‘Shut up the hell up, Artyom. Just shut up.’
‘I expected you to be sent home in a box. It ate at me, Vakov. Every day for years.’
‘Shut up!’
‘But you didn’t care. Our promise to protect each other didn’t matter. You just wanted out. You chose that war over me. You chose yourself.’ His voice went hoarse, eyes galvanising into cold steel. ‘I’m glad—’
‘Don’t,’ I growled, my hands twitching by my sides. ‘Don’t you dare.’
He went for the heart. ‘I’m glad Kasia’s dead. If she saw you now, she’d probably just kill herself. Better yet, since the war didn’t finish the job, why don’t you kill yourself?’
He disconnected on me as I punched a wall, hard. Concrete sprayed. Fury rose in my throat, so hot and barbed I was choking, spluttering on it. I punched the wall again, again, again, until my armoured knuckles were smashing against rebar.
I let out a furious growl between my clenched teeth as I stood there, panting. Then in my rear-cam I saw a familiar figure shouldering through the crowds with purpose. Even dressed in a heavy hood, I recognised Hairless and his pale features. He must have spotted me coming out of the armoury and followed me down here.
Only one way he could have homed in on me so easily. Artyom had called to see if I’d back off. When I wouldn’t, he’d made the decision to take me out of the game. Had my own brother lured me into a trap?
My muscles tightened, the rage swelling back into my throat. Rage at being used by my pig of a father. Rage at Harmony using me as a lab rat in the Reaper War. Rage at Kindosh using me like a pawn while my friends, my bloodbrothers, were hunted down and murdered on the streets like rabid dogs.
Rage that my brother was helping them do it.
I was done.
Screw them all.
My mouth tightened, saliva swelling in my gums. The stormtech clawing hard and wet against my ribcage. My left hand tightening around the textured grip of my handcannon.
Harmony wanted answers? Fine.
I’d get them.
17
The Lone Wolf
If you can, choose your battleground. And if you can, fight in small, controlled spaces. Never out in the open. Never where your flank’s unguarded. Never give your enemy a clean target. You only get one chance at a first encounter on the battlefield, so pick your terrain wisely. Which is why I waited until I spotted a dark, disused alleyway before setting my trap. I hid in the doorframe of the back entrance to a stormtech simulation lab, where folks who wanted to try the real thing could be discouraged by discovering what having the stuff kicking around in your system was really like.
I shoved the handcannon under Hairless’ chin as he turned the corner, a glow from a lightwell giving him an unhealthy, pallid look. ‘If you wanted something,’ I said, ‘you should have asked.’
Hairless did a good impression of a man choking on his surprise as the stormtech slid up my arm, the urge to shoot coming with it. One squeeze. One squeeze and the antipersonnel shells would punch through blood and bone and turn his head to a dripping smear on the walls. After the hurt Artyom had dealt to me, my body was eager to pass the pain along. I readjusted my grip and fought the sensations back. ‘Now, you’re going to take me to whoever’s been getting you to follow me around.’
His mouth opened with terror. ‘I— I can’t!’
‘You can,’ I said patiently, nudging the muzzle against his throat and adding an edge of venom to my voice. ‘Either I let this handcannon finish our conversation, or you take me on a little trip to your boss.’
Didn’t take him long to decide.
I frisked him and confiscated a thin-gun and a slingshiv – probably the same one he’d used to slice me open last time, as well as an ID card. Avin Simmons turned out to be his name. I nudged the handcannon upwards to strip off his coat, and Simmons reared backwards and spat out a vile yellow liquid. I ducked sideways, the stream missing me by inches, spattering against the wall. The metalwork hissed, melted inwards. He had acid glands. The irony. He drew his head to go for round two, when I slammed the full weight of my armour into him, crushing him against the wall, his claws breaking off as they were scraped across the brickwork. I hauled
