Her wrists were still bound together by the heavy cuffs, but they were at her front, and they weren’t anchored to the floor of the transport. That was better than she could’ve hoped for—Nostrus was usually more cautious than that.
“You think they were exaggerating?” someone asked from beyond her feet; the voice had come from the front of the vehicle, or at least the front-facing portion.
“Who knows?” someone closer responded—someone right near her feet, by the sound of it. The first speaker had likely been the driver. Both had deep, masculine voices, neither of which belonged to Nostrus.
Is Nostrus not here?
“She’s pretty scrawny,” the nearest male continued. “They probably just say she’s so dangerous to save face. I bet she got the drop on them a couple times and they’re embarrassed about it, so they play her up.”
“Maybe,” said the driver, “but best not to take any chances, right?”
The males fell silent. The vehicle’s easy swaying continued; it neither knew nor cared about Shay’s current plight. Moving as little as possible, she tested her limbs; she had feeling throughout her body, which was a good sign even if most of what she felt was discomfort and pain.
“She isn’t bad looking,” near-voice said.
Shay couldn’t make out the driver’s reply.
“It’s not impossible, right?” As near-voice continued speaking, the volume of his voice diminished, like he’d turned his face away from Shay. “Master Foltham said himself that he wants to breed her. Means there’s a chance.”
Shay took a chance of her own; she opened her eyes to slits and bent her neck, angling her head toward the talking guard.
He was sitting at the front of the transport’s bed on a low bench, legs spread and one elbow on his knee. His torso was twisted, head turned toward the driver as he conversed. Shay took a bit more of a risk and farther lifted her head to get a better look at him.
The guard was a borian, big and broad-shouldered, and his suit was tailored to show off the impressive physique beneath. The hand dangling between his legs—almost directly above her feet—loosely held the control for Shay’s bindings and collar.
Finest security, huh, Murgen?
Shay drew in a deep breath. Though they rarely displayed their weapons openly, she knew Murgen’s guards carried blasters. If she could get her hands on one of those weapons, there’d only be what? Twenty or thirty armed guards to fight through? She’d faced odds like that in training simulations, and though she’d yet to overcome any of those sims successfully on her own, she had to try. She had to get her daughter back. Leah wasnotgoing to grow up in a place like this.
Only have one shot at this. Better make it count. They get me into that cell, and its game over.
Slowly, she bent her left leg, planting her foot firmly on the floor to better brace herself, before swinging her right leg up. Her foot struck the borian’s hand. The small control flew out of his grip and clattered against the corridor wall.
The guard spun to face Shay, his eyes wide, and glanced down dumbly at his empty hand. Brief as that look was, it afforded Shay enough time to reverse the direction of her kick. She used her left leg to thrust her backside off the floor and toward him—probably looking like a flopping fish in the process—and straightened her right leg, slamming her heel into his groin.
The borian doubled over with a pained grunt and grabbed a hold of Shay’s ankle in an unforgiving grip. She gritted her teeth, locked her hands together, and clenched her abdominal muscles, throwing herself forward into a sitting position; the motion was sped by the vehicle suddenly braking to a halt.
She swung her arms down with all her strength, hammering her wrist cuffs into the top of the borian’s head with a dullthwack. As he sagged forward farther, she jerked her left leg up. Her knee struck his nose with a wet crunch. Warm liquid flowed over her bare skin. The borian’s head snapped backward, and his torso tipped back along with it. Blood streamed from his nostrils.
Shay could see the other guard now—a goat-faced groalthuun. He’d stood up in the driver’s seat and turned toward her with legs bent as though he meant to jump. She reached into the borian’s jacket and grasped the handle of the blaster holstered under his armpit as the groalthuun leapt over his companion.
The groalthuun’s hands struck her shoulders, and his momentum knocked her back. She desperately clutched theblaster, which was tugged out of the holster by her backward motion. Shay tumbled onto her back. She swung the blaster’s barrel up, pressing its tip against the groalthuun’s stomach while he came down atop her, and fired.
The blaster made its high whining sound three times, and the guard jolted, features contorting in shock. He released a short, harsh breath that sprayed spittle onto Shay’s face, and sagged forward. She quickly raised her thighs, squeezed the guard’s midsection between her knees, and heaved him aside before he could fully collapse atop her. She slid herself aside as she did so, opening some space for his larger body to land.
Once she had the room, she angled the blaster toward his chest and fired two more plasma bolts into him.
The borian groaned. Shay sat up and turned the blaster toward him. He had a hand clasped over his nose as he lifted his head, blood trickling through his fingers.
His eyes fell on Shay’s blaster and rounded. “Fucki?—”
Shay silenced him with three plasma bolts through the chest.
He slumped to the side, twitched once, and went still, lifeless eyes still wide. Smoke curled up from the holes in his chest.
“Fucking hell,” Shay muttered, wiping the spit from her face. She allowed herself a moment to breathe only after she’d ensured the corridor was clear in both directions. Her arms trembled, as did her exhalation, and a wave of nausea clenched her stomach, which threatened to force its contents back up her esophagus.
The simulations she’d run so often back at the compound had been visually realistic, but her dad had been right all those years ago—nothing, not even extensive, intense training, could prepare you for the first time you took a life. Nothing could help you anticipate your reaction to the smell of plasma-scorched flesh and blood, or the absurd amount of adrenaline pumping through your veins.