Containing Malice (Rebel Cyborgs #1) - Cynthia Sax Page 0,41

negotiate as weapons. Every moment she delayed gave Valor more time to reattach his legs. “The Humanoid Alliance doesn’t require three guards to oversee those beings.” She looked at the other guard. “But Nelson already knows that, don’t you, Nelson?”

She didn’t know if that was the truth. Her goal was to divide them.

“I don’t know anything.” Nelson tried to appease Picton. “I swear that’s the truth.”

“Shut up.” Picton’s knuckles whitened around the reprimand stick. “I’ll deal with you later. You.” He glared at her. “Shut your mouth. I’ve had enough of your chatter.”

The chatter was postponing her death. “I—”

“I said, shut up.” He ran toward her, lifted the reprimand stick.

She ducked to the left, dodging the blow. As he passed her, she extracted the laser scalpel from her jacket, activated it, sliced through his flight suit, slashing his stomach.

“You cunt.” Picton spun around and swung his torture tool.

She twisted her form but wasn’t able to avoid the strike. Metal struck her arm. Bones cracked. Pain surged over her. The laser scalpel dropped from her fingers, clattered against the floor tiles.

He lifted the reprimand stick again.

She bounced back, out of his reach. Her right arm was useless. It hung at her side. And she had lost her makeshift weapon.

Her foe had been wounded, however. Crimson bloomed over his midriff.

That was a small victory, but she’d take it. “You move too slow, Picton.” She ignored her agony, watched his hands, the position of his booted feet.

“I could stun her.” Nelson made that unhelpful offer.

Being stunned would render her unable to defend herself, unable to avoid their attacks. A chill gripped her. Picton could do all the horrible things he no doubt had planned for her and she couldn’t stop him, would have to endure it.

“Stunning her would take the fun out of this.” Picton, fortunately, turned down that proposal. “I want to hear her scream and cry and beg me for mercy.”

“I’ll never do that.” She would lose consciousness before that happened.

“You will break, cunt.” The guard charged at her again.

Illona didn’t stand her ground and face her larger, stronger opponent. She abandoned her pride and ran in the opposite direction. It wasn’t an honorable defense, but it was effective. Picton chased her, couldn’t catch her, and, with every step, she earned herself a few more moments of life.

She was fast, faster than she’d ever been. Malice’s nanocybotics must have boosted her speed. She sprinted around the sleeping support.

By the time she spotted the puddle of crimson on the floor, the blood from the removal of Valor’s tracking device, his explosive, it was too late to avoid it. She skidded in the slick mess. Her booted feet slid out from under her.

She hit the tiles hard. The air whooshed from her lungs.

Picton slammed the reprimand stick across her left leg. The hurt nearly blinded her but it didn’t stop her. It couldn’t. If she paused, she died.

She rolled, rose into a standing position, pushed herself forward. Her injured leg screamed a protest with every stride, but she kept going. Her foe was behind her. She could hear him wheezing.

Illona pumped her one usable arm, moved as quickly as she could. Her muscles strained. Her lungs burned. Darkness rimmed her vision.

“You’re slowing, cunt.” Picton followed her. His words lifted with maniacal glee. He was deriving pleasure from her agony, from the chase.

The guard hated her. That was clear.

And what was also clear was Malice hadn’t loathed her. Not like that. Her cyborg had been rough with her that first fuck, but he hadn’t broken bones, hadn’t spilled her blood, and he could have done that. Easily. He, unlike Picton, was designed to wound beings, to kill targets.

Yet he hadn’t hurt her. She didn’t know why, would never know why. Her energy was evaporating. In a few moments, Picton would catch her and she’d be dead.

But she knew Malice hadn’t hated her. Not that much.

And that gave her some joy, some—

The reprimand stick thwacked her shoulders. Something cracked.

She fell. Her chin banged against the floor. Her teeth pierced her bottom lip. The metallic flavor of blood filled her mouth.

It reminded her of her cyborg, how his skin tasted of metal and minerals. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend he was with her, would have him with her when she died.

“Get up.” Picton kicked her in the stomach, the male not allowing her the luxury of that fantasy.

She folded into two and coughed up crimson. All of her hurt.

“I want to see your