any bounty hunters hoping to catch her would look. Fay had saved her life, and she wasn’t going to repay her friend by bringing death to her doorstep.
Maisie asked the navigation system to show her the farthest option possible while keeping clear of Alliance airspace and known Splinter routes. It calculated the inputs and gave her two choices. She hadn’t ever heard of either of them. They were far away in another sector filled with independent territories and colonies. Her best chance to disappear was either one of those planets.
She picked one and set her course. Her eyes started to sting as she accepted that she would never see Terror again. If he lived—and by the stars she prayed he would—he would never be able to find her. She wiped at her eyes, angry at the way fate had fucked them both, and activated the jettison protocol.
She closed her eyes as the countdown to release began and gripped her safety harness in both hands. She pictured Terror next to her in bed, his boyish, playful grin making her feel warm and loved. She recalled the feel of his powerful hands on her body, and the way she slotted in so perfectly against his chest after they made love.
I love you.
She kept repeating the words in her mind as the pod dropped from its mothership.
I’m sorry.
She held the safety harness so tightly her fingers started to hurt. Somewhere above her, the explosives detonated and tore up the crippled ship. She felt the heat of the explosion on her face, and for a single moment, she wanted the destructive force and the flames to overwhelm her pod and end it all.
How many times had she told Terror she wouldn’t leave him? She had just betrayed his trust in the worst way. She had proven to him that she was weak and would run to save her own skin.
Forgive me, Terror.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I’m drowning.
I’m on fire.
Terror writhed in delirium, desperate to breathe and burning up with fever. His head was pounding. It felt like someone was stabbing him with a white-hot razor, slicing away at his belly and chest.
I’m dying.
Why isn’t anyone helping me?
Muddled voices surrounded him, and he wanted them to shut up. His eardrums felt like they were about to burst, and the loud voices were agonizingly painful. He mustered his strength and swung blindly, muttering thickly and angrily.
“Stop!” Someone caught his fist and shoved it back down to the bed. “Stop fighting us! We’re trying to help you!”
“Get some restraints in here!”
Terror recognized that voice. It was Risk. He tried to argue back, to threaten to kick Risk’s ass if he put restraints on him, but his mouth wouldn’t work. He managed to open his eye, but everything was blurry and bright so he closed it again.
“Hit him with a sedative,” Risk commanded. “And get him intubated as soon as he’s out. His lungs are trash. Where are his lab results? I need to know what toxin they used! And get dialysis set up!”
No! Not a breathing tube! Don’t you fucking dare!
A flash of cold, stinging fluid traveled up his arm, and he surrendered to the pull of dreamless sleep. Everything ceased to matter, and nothing made sense until the annoying blip of machines penetrated the haze of sleep. The sensation of something incredibly heavy on his chest caused him to panic. He lifted his hand, his muscles so weak his fingers trembled, and brushed at his chest, desperate to push the weight off of him.
“Careful.” Vicious suddenly appeared at his side, his voice rough with exhaustion. “You’ll tear out your lines.”
Terror woke to the sight of Vicious hovering over him. His vision took a few moments to clear completely, and when it did, he was taken aback by the bruises on his best friend’s face. There were suture strips along his forehead, and his lower lip was fat and swollen.
When Terror tried to speak, his throat refused to work. All that came out was a raspy squeak before he was wracked with a chest burning cough that left him hacking and gagging.
“Medic!” Vicious called over his shoulder. “Don’t try to talk, Terror. Your lungs are fucked.”
No, shit, he thought sarcastically while gasping for air.
“Risk had them pull your tube a few hours ago. They cut down on your sedative so you would wake up, but it’s going to be hell the next few days.” Vicious grabbed a stack of gauze squares from a nearby tray and used them to mop