False Hearts (False Hearts #1)(74)
Focus, Taema. Focus or death will catch you, too.
A bullet whizzes by my ear and I duck down. At least the other side doesn’t have lasers, or we wouldn’t stand a chance. I look over the banister again, taking the safety off the gun. There are about twenty people in dark blue Kalar suits, holding weapons. Enough to overwhelm the guards, though dismantling the security must have been a bitch. I see security people and droids scattered on the floor, the droids spilling wires, the people spilling blood. I try reaching out through my implants to contact the police, but that signal’s still blocked. We have two members of our team just outside. Did they hear the shots? If so, is there anything they can actually do?
A suited figure fires another warning shot to gain people’s attention. He has a rapt audience.
“The King of the Ratel has lost his power,” the man says. Who is it? For a moment, I fear it’s Nazarin; but the detective is at the back of the huddled former revelers. I let out my held breath. He’s crouched low, poised to pounce, his eyes not moving from the main man with the gun. Is this what he’s been planning? Nazarin said he was trying to sow unrest within the Ratel. From the shocked look on his face, though, I’m not sure he expected rebellion so soon.
“I’ve taken control of the biggest Verve drop the Ratel has ever done. I’ve taken control of the biggest arms smuggle. You can see the result right here.” He holds up the bulky gun. His voice radiates with pride. “Ensi is so used to his routine that he’s weak. It’ll all crumble, having an old man like him at the helm. He makes too many deals with the other side. Getting soft.”
Where is Ensi? While I was upstairs, has he already been executed? Would I care?
I crouch and move down the ramp. At one of the circular cut-outs, I peer out again. Part of me wants to hide upstairs. The masked leader takes a string of men and women and lines them up against the white, curved wall. Even though most of the partiers are hardened criminals, not all of them are, and I think the masked man chose at least some of the business associates under Ratel control. People unafraid to get their hands dirty in crooked deals, but who’ve never before had guns pointed at their faces. A man pisses himself, the dark strain spreading down his trousers. Another woman shakes so badly she can barely stand. Malka has also been chosen for the line-up, but she does not look afraid. She stands tall, like the Queen she is.
“Here is the court of the Ratel, gathered for their party,” the masked man says. “Think of me as your jester for the evening, providing the entertainment to you peons. Do you realize that for every tiny bit of money you get, the King gets over one hundred times more?”
He walks closer to the men and women lined up along the wall. “But for you, I’m not your jester. I’m your executioner.” He raises his gun and points it at the first woman. As soon as he aims, someone lets out a wail. The man is startled and lets out the shot, and the woman crumples. I shudder, hidden behind the curving white wall of the ramp. I can’t tell if she’s been hit or not.
Ensi—I’m pretty sure it’s Ensi—emerges from the shadows, knocking the gun from the leader’s hand. Nazarin, seeing that the situation has changed, jumps over a frightened member of the Ratel and grabs the gun out of another of the masked men’s hands. The rest of the Ratel realize the tide has turned and follow suit, wrestling the weapons from the other side’s grasp. A few more shots fire, but they all go wide.
A masked man or woman falls to the ground, the gun skittering across the floor, the person grabbling for it. Nobody else has noticed yet. After an agonizing moment of indecision, I dash from my hiding place and jump on top of the figure, holding my gun against the temple, praying I don’t have to fire. Nazarin sees me, but masked as I am, he thinks I’m one of the insurgents. I hold up my hand and call out “Wait!” He starts, recognizing my voice, and I pull off my hood, shaking the hair out of my face. Nazarin looks stricken. I nod at him.
It’s not over that easily. There’s a riot of people fighting, and guns blaring. More people fall. The perfect white walls are singed.
Only a few people in Kalar suits have fallen—bullets have to hit the right area of the body at the perfect angle to do any damage. But even in my Kalar suit, I don’t feel safe. A fair number of Ratel revelers have died. Blood smears the white floors. I clutch the gun against his forehead, but I don’t fire. I turn off the fear, watching everything with a sort of detached fascination. It’s that, or start screaming and never stop.
Ensi wades through it all, the bullets bouncing off his suit, wrestling the ringleader behind it all to the ground and ripping off his hood. It’s the young man I met at the beginning of the party: little more than a boy, with white-blond hair and black eyes. Leo.
My eyes dart to Nazarin. His mouth has twisted, and I can’t guess his thoughts. I’m still not sure he anticipated the coup.
Leo tries to say something, but Ensi doesn’t give him the chance. The King of the Ratel takes the gun, holds it to the younger man’s head, and fires. The boy goes limp, his head nothing but a mass of blood, bone and brain tissue. Ensi is splattered with gore. I stare at him, not blinking, until my eyes burn.
Ensi pulls off the hoods of all the other masked men and women who dared to rise up against him. Then he calls out a few other names. The Ratel Pawns and Knights bring the people forward. Nazarin holds one of the named men’s arms behind his back.