M L Sparrow

Excerpt

 

“Step back,” Ludo orders, even as he takes a large step forward, putting himself between me and the men who’ve appeared, their stances menacing. The boy has disappeared – it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I’d been led into a trap.  

Ignoring the command, one of the men stalks closer – he’s short and wiry, with a maniacal gleam in his eyes and a sharp grin. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? The President’s daughter! I never thought I’d see you around these parts. Did the wittle Princess get bored of her palace?” His words were a slow, thick slur that sent shivers down my spine.

“This is your final warning,” Ludo’s voice, by contrast, is like music to my ears, “step back or I will shoot.” With those words a rectangular hatch in his forearm springs open and what appears to be the barrel of a gun rises from it as he extends his arm; except that it’s not a gun loaded with bullets, but rather a Taser. A red dot appears on the man’s chest.

From behind us, a cool, ruthless voice says, “Destroy it.”

Immediately, Ludo’s alarm begins to go haywire, “Weapons detected…” A bright flash of red light blinds me, accompanied by the rat-ta-tat of gunfire. Yelping, I drop to my knees and hunch over with my arms wrapped around my head.

It’s over in an instant.

Having been tightly clamped shut, my eyes slowly peel open when silence stretches on. A pair of shoes and denim covered legs stand in front of me and I cautiously follow them upwards. He’s tall, that’s the first thing that comes to mind, but not particularly well built. Though he has broad shoulders, there isn’t enough meat on him to bulk him out and his clothes hang from his frame, his cheekbones sticking out at sharp angles, throwing his face into shadow. The man holds out a hand. I don’t know what possesses me, but I take it, let him pull me to my feet, meet a pair of blue eyes several shades lighter than my own. They are so pale that they look almost silver in the moonlight.

“Miss Beaumont,” he addresses me politely, but the look in those cold, gleaming, gun-metal eyes makes something inside me quell. His is the voice that preceded the gunfire. Panic grips me and I tear my gaze from his, swinging around to see Ludo sprawled on his back, his eyes lifeless, sparks of electricity jumping from the wires which are exposed by the gigantic holes riddling his chest. Disbelief coursing through me, my mouth gapes open. I’d never though Ludo would be that easy to take down.

Blinking as reality sets in, I turn slowly back to the man standing not two feet from me. Rage bubbles up inside of me as I looked up into his impassive face; he doesn’t care. Without thinking, I lunge at him, fist swinging forward of its own accord. I’m actually surprised when it makes contact – the jolt of pain that shoots up my arm is inconsequential. Elated, I draw back my other hand, but he catches it as it nears his face, long fingers shackling my wrist.

“I think one’s enough,” he says calmly, grabbing my other hand when I swing it at him. Unable to tear them free, I let out a frustrated, feminine screech of outrage, which gains me nothing except a raised eyebrow and a look of vague amusement. Wanting to wipe that expression off his face, I kick his shin. Hard. His ‘oooff’ is almost silent and the tightening of his lips near indiscernible, but the humour slips from his face.

“You barbarian,” I spit the words at him like bullets, “you monster. Look what you did! No wonder you’re in the Ghetto, you’re too thick to do anything but sift through garbage.” Someone chuckles and I swing my head around to glower at them. The little man who had mocked me earlier is lying on the ground, jerking sporadically, having obviously been hit by Ludo’s Taser before the robot was taken out. My eyes skate over the wreckage and dart away again, unable to bear looking at it for too long.

“Shut up, Jay.” The man holding me begins to bite out orders in a clipped tone, “Help that idiot up, then get rid of the robot. Kit, you’re with me.”

Logically, I didn’t expect them to just leave me here, but it still comes as a bit of a shock when the grip on my wrists transfers to my arm and a teenager, who appears to be a couple of years younger than me, appears to flank my other side.

They tow me forwards and I dig in my heels, not that it helps, screeching as I thrash, “Let go of me, you bastards. My dad will have your head for this! I swear to god…”

Swinging me back around to face him, my captor stoops to my height, stopping only when his face is invasively close to mine. His whisper is more of a hiss, “I really don’t wanna have to knock you out, but I will.” Held in his steady gaze, my resolution to fight fades as my mind finally gets a handle on just how much trouble I’m in. My lower lip begins to tremble and the back of my throat and eyes burn. For a moment I think I see a softening in his face, but I must have imagined it, because a second later he’s dragging me down the garbage heap towards the buildings.

“Yo, Sin, what do you mean by ‘get rid’ of it?” one of the men calls out, halting our progress.

“Use your head, you got a brain for a reason,” the man – Sin – shoots back. “Take it apart and sell it for scraps, bury it, hide it somewhere no one will find it, I don’t care, just make damn sure it don’t come back to bite us in the arse.” Looking down at me, he narrows his eyes and adds, “While we’re at it we should frisk her.”

In the next instant, hands are roving over me, thorough yet impersonal. Though I had been disheartened, now all my indignation comes roaring back to the surface and I slap away the hand skimming my thigh.

“Get your filthy hands off me, you pervert.”

“That’s not very nice, darlin’,” he admonishes, finishing his search despite my protests; pulling my toolkit from my pocket and examining it quickly before shoving it into his own pocket. “I have to say I’m disappointed; you always seemed so charmin’ on TV.” Cursing loudly, I strike at him again and fail. Tutting mockingly, he shakes his head, “I bet Daddy wouldn’t approve of that kind of language from his little girl.”

Just for that comment, I do it again, stomping hard on his foot and jerking away in his moment of distraction, only to be caught against a thin, rangy body. I could probably get away from the boy, if given a moment, but the ringleader doesn’t give me time. Coming up behind me, sandwiching me between them, his large hand wraps around my throat, fingers pressing down. There’s a brief moment in which I feel my head spinning before everything goes blank.

 

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