Firstlife (Everlife #1) - Gena Showalter Page 0,60

tears in Clay’s eyes as he smiles up at the Laborer, and I’m almost knocked over.

This. This is what I was waiting for. The moment is so...momentous. I hadn’t known the heavy weight Clay used to carry on his shoulders until just this second—because it’s gone, the weight is gone. His head is higher, his shoulders no longer hunched but squared and proud. Contentedness radiates from him, as if he’s shed years of fatigue.

I want that. I want that so badly.

“In Troika,” Archer says, “you’ll be rewarded for your deeds in this life. I’m not saying your deeds affect the benefits you receive while you’re here, only that the sacrifices you make for us will never be forgotten.”

“What kind of rewards?” Sloan rubs her hands together, suddenly intrigued. “We talking jewels? Cash? Gold?”

The scent of heather drifts on the wind, and in unison Archer and I stiffen. Oh...zero! “I’m pushing the pause button on this conversation. We’ve got to go.”

“She’s right.” Archer disables the wall of jellyair.

We follow him back into the frigid cold. We run and run and run, sunlight glistening off the ice at our feet. My wheezing returns, only it’s a thousand times worse, the burn in my lungs soon competing with the one in my thighs.

“Changed my mind...need another break.”

A light erupts from Archer’s wrist. He doesn’t slow as his fingers dance through it, typing, typing. Up ahead, a blue beam shoots from the sky and slams into the ground, leaving something behind when it fades.

Archer grabs that something as he runs past it. “Here.” He tosses each of us a length of rope. “Knot them around your waist. You’re going to need them.”

I don’t ask questions. As I run, I do as commanded.

A new noise erupts behind us—a howl of rage. A war cry?

Something dark whizzes past me and slams into Archer. The Laborer is thrown into the side of the mountain with so much force there’s a vibration at my feet. When he lands in a tangle of punching fists and kicking feet, I catch a glimpse of dark hair and an arm sleeved with intricate tattoos.

Killian found us.

I slide to a stop, grabbing hold of Clay and Sloan as they do the same. Together we stand or together we fall.

“I’m going to kill you.” Killian delivers a viscous jab, jab to Archer’s nose. “You had no right—”

“I had every right!” Archer ducks, avoiding the next round of fury. He lands three punches to Killian’s side. “She doesn’t want you.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants.”

She, meaning me. My stomach twists.

“I won’t let you hurt her the way you hurt Dior,” Archer says through gritted teeth.

Dior?

“By the time I finished with your darling,” Killian says, his tone nothing but silk and heat, and yet I pick up the underlying note of his rage, “she was begging me for more.”

That rage...over a girl... Killian is doing his best to hide his feelings, but he’s failing.

He loved Dior, didn’t he?

Mind scramble!

The vicious fight rages on, the boys hitting rocks and razor-sharp ice as well as each other. I cringe as flesh is torn from both Shells, every tattered piece shimmering with diamond dust. Lifeblood, Archer called it.

“Let’s not wait around to crown the winner.” Sloan pulls on my arm.

“I can’t leave. I have to help Archer.” Clay is already moving forward. “He’s family!”

I don’t understand the bond he feels so quickly. “Clay—”

Boom!

The explosion echoes from the sky, and again, it sounds as if fireworks have been unleashed. A battle is happening up there at the same time one is happening down here. Maybe... Archer’s friends are throwing down with Killian’s? Is that how it works?

“Wait.” I tighten my grip on Clay’s wrist to hold him in place. If we get in the middle of two savage animals intent on killing each other, we won’t be walking away—we’ll be crawling. And that’s if we’re lucky. And...and...

Are the vibrations at my feet getting stronger?

“How many times did we sit on the sidelines and do nothing when other inmates needed us?” Clay’s eyes beseech me. “I can’t sit on the sidelines anymore.” He pulls from my clasp as Sloan gives me another tug.

The counterforce sends me careening. I don’t mean to, but I take her to the ground with me. The impact is jarring, and even maybe knocks a little sense into me. Clay is right. No more sitting on the sidelines. If I can help Archer and Killian, I have to help them—before they send each other into Second-death.

As

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