In the End (Starbounders) by Demitria Lunetta

Author:Demitria Lunetta [Lunetta, Demitria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-06-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-two

Tank is impossibly strong.

And the more I thrash around to break free, the clearer it becomes that my struggle against him is useless; his hold becomes that much tighter. I twist my head to bite his arm, but I can’t get the angle right. I barely pinch him with my teeth. All I’m left with is the rank taste of his salty sweat in my mouth.

“Go ahead and open the damn door, Pete,” Tank says, grunting. Out of the corner of my eye I see his crony scuffling past us, helping Tank snatch me away. They’re dragging me from the back wall toward an entrance in the side wall. It’s too much to hope that anyone will stop them. Not with the riot still raging and Florae-panic still clouding everyone’s minds. And anyway, who would care about a guard having a little fun with the new girl?

So it’s up to me.

I go slack as if I’ve given up. It takes a few seconds that feel like an eternity, but when I feel him relax just the tiniest bit, I land a forceful kick to Tank’s knee. He doesn’t drop me, but he has to adjust his hold, hoisting me up in his arms to get a better grip, his hot, labored breaths blowing down the back of my neck. I duck my head down as far as I can, then whip it back, hard. My skull makes contact with Tank’s face, and I hear his nose rebreak with an ugly, satisfying crack. Then he lets out a wounded howl.

For a split second my heart freezes in my chest—he’s not letting go. Then I feel hot liquid spill down my back; he drops me to stanch the flow of blood from his nose.

I fall to a sitting position, the force sending shock waves up my spine, but I recover and quickly roll away. Tank, one hand on his crimson, swollen face, lunges after me screaming, “You little bitch!”

I skitter away just in time, but then someone else is on me—someone small and light. Pete. I feel a sharp pressure in my chest, like a punch but more precise. He has a knife. He brings it down again and again. The blade rips through my shirt but glances off my synth-suit underneath.

In another second Tank will be on me again. I grab the blade of Pete’s knife and shove it off to the side, my synth-suit protecting my hand, then drive my other fist into his neck. As he clutches at his throat, gasping, I snatch the knife from him and kick the side of one of his knees, toppling him to the ground.

Then Tank is in front of me again, his face and hands covered in blood. He looks like an oversized Florae splattered in gore. I hold on to the image, as it occurs to me that if Tank were a Florae, I would have already killed him. It’ll be easier to get the job done if I think of him as something less than human.

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