Most of the otherworlders thanked her, but the Mec threw his bowl at her, the grain flying free and slapping at her. Solo expected her to shout, to threaten, but she simply bent down, picked everything up, and gave the whole thing back to him with a muttered, “I’ll pretend that was an accident. This time.”
That . . . made no sense.
Why so generous? Why so kind? Why not let the offender starve? That’s what a cold, calculating witch lurking underneath an angel’s skin would have done. That’s what Solo would have done.
“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is simple,” X said. “She sympathizes with those under her care.”
“Wrong! No one’s that good. She’s just plain pathetic,” Dr. E said, “hoping the creatures will behave if she’s nice.”
Solo didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“Stupid little cow,” the Cortaz shouted. “I want you dead!”
The otherworlder threw a handful of her own grain at Vika and several pieces stuck in her hair. Every muscle in Solo’s body tensed. Vika faced the culprit, and the Cortaz threw another handful, the grains slapping at her face this time.
Dr. E laughed. “I love watching people get what they deserve.”
X moaned, as though in pain.
Solo held his silence, though his jaw was clenched so painfully he could hardly stand it. He wasn’t sure Vika actually deserved what was happening, but he wasn’t going to get involved. He wasn’t going to be her protector or her defender; it wasn’t like she needed one, anyway. She was a freewoman. He wasn’t going to care what happened to her.
Yes, she had been gentle with the captives. But she’d still done her father’s bidding. She could have freed everyone and run away, but she hadn’t.
“Fine,” Vika said with a twinge of sadness. “Your loss. You’ll starve, and make it easier for Jecis to overpower you.”
They were basically the same words she’d given him over the chocolate. For some reason, that caused an ache in his chest. But judging from the Cortaz’s dark expression, starving was exactly what she wanted. Huh. She must have lied about the brothers. A woman with hope wouldn’t act that way.
Although Solo could understand wanting to die rather than remaining a slave.
“Help her,” X said.
Which “her?” “No,” he whispered, because the answer was the same either way. The Cortaz had hurt Vika, and even though Solo had decided not to protect or defend the girl, he wasn’t going to aid those who harmed her. Just the thought of doing so caused his anger to return.
Maybe . . . maybe he wouldn’t kill Vika when he escaped. He would burn the entire circus to the ground, spring Kitten, lock up Vika at his farm, and go to Michael. Together, they would gather an army, come back here and make Dr. E laugh.
What he would do with Vika after that, Solo wasn’t sure.
Eight
Wisdom will save you from the ways of wicked men.
—PROVERBS 2:12
THE MORNING SUN CRESTED in the sky, flames of gold, orange, pink, and purple streaking in every direction. Fluffy white clouds dotted the never-ending expanse, and a single black bird flew past them while crying a song of loneliness and despair.
Solo understood.
He was still trapped inside his cage.
He, an expert lock picker, a man stronger than ten extraordinary humans combined, who had once sprung John No Name from a prison in Shanghai with only a toothpick and a stick of chewing gum, and, okay, Blue at his side, had failed to free himself from an old rusty pen for animals.
He . . . had no words.
Actually, he did have words, he realized a second later; they were as black as night and full of barbs. He wanted to unleash them, but he also wanted a target and the otherworlders were sleeping, Jecis nowhere to be seen. How was this situation possible? It should not have been possible. He should be long gone. The circus should be nothing more than a memory. He should be free!
Why wasn’t he free?
After trying to disable the lock and failing . . . after trying to cut through the bars with his claws and failing . . . after trying to punch his way through the floorboards, then the roof, and failing, he had allowed his temper to get the better of him. He had shaken the entire cage—but he hadn’t even managed to turn the thing on its side.
He’d been too weak. And the madder he’d gotten, the weaker he’d become. Dr.