Pawn

VII, marked in black ink that stood out against my pale skin. I looked away. It wasn’t worth Tabs’s life.

Daxton sighed. “It is a tragedy, what happened to your friend, and because it hurt you, I am so very sorry that it was necessary. But she knew the dangers that came with her profession, and she chose to do it anyway. You cannot blame me for upholding the law.”

I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. As much as I hated to admit it, Daxton was right. Tabs knew the risks. We all knew stepping one toe out of line could mean a bullet to the brain, yet instead of accepting her perfectly normal IV, Tabs had turned to prostitution. I’d tried to steal that orange. Benjy had offered to run away with me.

We all dodged bullets from the moment we turned seventeen. Sometimes they caught up with us, and there was nothing I could do about it. Feeling sorry for myself and for Tabs wouldn’t bring her back, and if she’d known what was happening, that I was getting a VII—

She would’ve smacked me upside the head for risking it all because of her, especially when nothing I did would change what had happened.

People died and were sent Elsewhere all the time. It hurt like hell when it happened close to home, but what made Tabs any different from the others who were punished for breaking the law? I hadn’t cried for them. I never thought twice about the articles Benjy read to me about executions. People were there one day and gone the next, and they were the ones who’d risked it.

It was different when it was my friend, but at the same time it wasn’t. Life still went on. Daxton still ruled the country, and I was nobody. At least now I was a nobody with a VII.

Tabs shouldn’t have opened that door. And I shouldn’t have talked to her.

A lock of my hair on the screen caught my eye. Instead of dirty blond, it was the color of wheat and blended in with the pillow.

“What did you do to my hair?” I said. The small mole on my neck was gone, as well.

“You wanted to be a VII,” said Daxton as he switched the camera off. “Did you think I would just hand it to you because you were pretty?”

No, of course not. A snarl rose from the back of my throat, but when I let it out, it sounded more like a whimper than the roar I needed it to be. “What did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you. You agreed to our arrangement, and now that it’s done, you have two choices. You can accept it, or you can join your friend.”

“What are you talking about?”

He perched on the bed. “I have also lost someone quite close to me recently,” he said, lacing his fingers together. “My dear niece, Lila, was killed while on a skiing trip in the mountains last week.”

The beeping beside me slowed. “She did? But I didn’t hear about it on the news.”

“The media does not know. No one does.”

I stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

He shifted on the bed until he was facing me. “Do you know why I picked you?”

“Picked me for what? To be your mistress?”

“My mistress?” Daxton chuckled, but it was a humorless laugh. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You—you bought me,” I said, at a loss.

“I did buy you, but not to be my mistress.”

My mind raced. What other reason did he have to spend thirty thousand gold pieces on me? “I don’t understand.”

He leaned in close enough for me to smell the coffee on his breath and count the pores on his nose. “We have searched a long time for someone like you, Kitty. So long that I had begun to give up hope. When my officials told me someone with your unique features had been spotted, I had to come see you for myself. And there you were. Perfect in every way that mattered.” His smile was so cold I wanted to shiver. “Did you know that eye color is the one thing we cannot change? Experiments have been done, of course, but ninety percent of those who attempt the alteration are instantly blinded. The other ten percent go blind within a year.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, so I stayed silent. Daxton didn’t seem to care.

“Tell me,” he said, cupping my cheek. “Have you ever thought about how much better your life would be if you were a Hart?”

Before I could answer—or spit in his face, because I was still deciding—the door on the other side of the room swung open. A pair of guards entered, followed by a woman I’d only seen in photographs and on television.

Celia Hart, Daxton’s younger sister and Lila’s mother.

Pictures didn’t do her justice. Like her daughter, Celia was stunning. Her face, so perfect it must have been surgically altered, was set in a smooth mask, but her eyes burned as she glared at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Thinking she meant me, I opened my mouth to answer—honestly, did she think I’d paralyzed myself on purpose?—but Daxton cut me off. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Playing God.” She waved her hand, and her guards disappeared through the door. “Who is she?”

“A nobody. Some tramp I found in a club in the city,” he said, and I hissed.

“I’m not a tramp. You’re the one who bought my virginity.”

“And yet you still have it,” he said. “Hold your tongue, Kitty, or I’ll have it numbed, as well.”

“Do it, then,” I said, not feeling half as brave as I sounded. “I have a right to know what’s going on.”

“Your rights extend as far as I let them.” Daxton opened a drawer in the bedside table and pulled out a syringe. “This might sting.”

Celia snatched it away before he could uncap it. “Don’t you dare.”

“But she’s talking,” he said.

Celia tapped the tip of the syringe against his throat. “So are you. Unless you start telling me what I want to hear, I’ll freeze your vocal cords, and who knows how long that’ll last?”

Daxton scoffed, but I could see his hands tighten into fists. “We need a replacement to undo the damage she caused. Mother thought it best if we take advantage of this opportunity.”

“Opportunity?” sputtered Celia. “My daughter’s dead.”

Daxton shrugged. “It is of course a shame, what happened to Lila—”

“Don’t you dare act like you aren’t responsible,” said Celia. “You murdered my daughter, and you think you can replace her without any consequences?”

Replace her?

“I didn’t touch a hair on her head,” said Daxton patiently. “Your conspiracy theories are growing tiresome, Celia. It was a freak avalanche.”

“You’re lying,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “You planned this. I know you did.”

“You just lost your child. Your grief is getting the better of you. Once you’ve had time to adjust, you’ll see the madness in your accusations.”

Her expression darkened. “I’m not crazy. First my husband, now my daughter—”

“Your husband was a traitor,” said Daxton. “Lila was seventeen. No matter how poorly you think of me, dear sister, I do not execute teenagers.”