Devoted - Merritt's Story 2 - Chapter 18 [nsfw] (Patreon)

I promised a BIG HONKER, and here it is!

FYI, February is a Sketch Tier month, but since it's also a cruelly short month and my freelance schedule has been cruelly busy, sketches may be a few days late.  But I plan to finish Secret Gallery art and $5 email letters on time, and another DOTU page on Monday, and I'll probably post the letter here too so snail mail patrons don't have to wait.

Anyway, the chapter!  You can read it inline or download the attached PDF.  There's a couple content warnings for this one.  I don't always remember to include these, but I try, and I'm always open to reminders.

Scroll down to the chapter header if you don't need content warnings and prefer 100% spoiler free.  Read on below the TOC link if you want the warnings:

[Table of Contents]

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1. Content/trigger warning for sexual assault (groping/threats/violence) - PDF pages 304-307 if you need to skip.

2. NSFW warning for (consentual) sexual content.

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Book 2, Chapter 18

Merritt had dreaded the thought of getting wasted in front of all the underground’s most powerful citizens, but by the morning of the gala, he was so overworked that the idea of letting loose didn’t seem so unappealing anymore. He was proud of his progress in turning the North Sphere into an impenetrable fortress, and he was confident that his people would be safe while he was away. After a half-day’s nap and a vial of Spark, he had just enough energy to make it through the party.

As he shaved in front of the mirror, he wondered one last time if he should take an alcohol inhibitor. It would feel safer, but in the context of the gala, it was a violation of trust. Would any other guests be cheating? From Evans and Pratt to Belmont and Wilson, they all seemed to view the gala as the one sacred space where they could truly let down their guard. No one even hinted that they might try to game the system.

He would ditch the alcohol inhibitors tonight and try to let loose. A break would be good for him. He even had half a day off after the gala. Finally, he’d be able to catch up on sleep—if he didn’t keel over at the party itself.

Over three hundred guests would be in attendance, almost all elites except for Merritt, whose job would be considered elite in any other sphere. The guest list was intimidating, but there would be at least a few friendly faces there. Archer and Odell were both invited. With any luck, he’d have a chance to check in with both of them. And he couldn’t forget Belmont.

Casual flirting, casual foreplay, casual sex—all of these were the norm for the gala. He wondered if the party would be wild enough for him and Belmont to get intimate without raising any eyebrows. For the past month, they’d barely found time for a kiss here and there. He wasn’t up for an orgy, but a bit of physical contact would be nice.

“Is it really okay for us to get that close in public?” Merritt had asked Belmont yesterday. “Won’t it look suspicious?”

“It’s the gala,” Belmont had replied. “It’ll look more suspicious if we don’t. Hooking up with people you aren’t supposed to is practically the point of the party. You and I can get away with doing anything in the world, as long as we don’t look like we’re trying to hide it.”

Merritt hoped he’d feel free enough at the gala to do just that, but he still wasn’t sure.

“One other thing,” Belmont had told him, looking unusually hesitant. “We also can’t only be seen with each other. It’d be a dead giveaway. You don’t have to go crazy if you don’t want to, but at least kiss someone else or give out a few handjobs. I won’t take it personally. I hope you won’t either.”

Merritt had no interest in being with anyone else, and even less interest in seeing Belmont with someone else, but he knew Belmont was right. Nothing would raise more eyebrows at the gala than monogamy.

He fished through the garments in his closet, looking for anything he hadn’t already been seen in a million times. There was only one unworn suit, buried in the back behind all his obsolete lower-ranking military uniforms. It was the suit he’d bought with the four thousand dollars Belmont had given him after becoming Mercury’s right hand. Even though they’d had a spectacular falling out back then, Belmont had demanded he still use the money to buy himself a custom tailored suit.

At that time, Merritt had hated Belmont. He’d felt obligated to use the money as Belmont dictated, but he couldn’t get himself to wear the suit. Tonight, things felt different.

Shirt, pants, vest, jacket. With every item he put on, he felt more like an elite. This was what he’d look like if his sphere had valued him the way any other sphere valued their general. He loved his military uniform, but this suit was in another league. A silky-smooth button-down dress shirt with a full collar—instead of the cold, chafing, cut-resistant tank with metal-blended fibers he usually wore. The suit jacket was as bulletproof as his uniform jacket, but it felt more like natural fabric, with subtler metal fibers.

He was almost embarrassed to meet his gaze in the mirror. He’d never seen himself like this before. Aside from his spiked hair and military piercings, he looked just like an elite blue-tie.

Only after mounting his motorcycle did he realize his fancy suit would be a pain to ride in. He wouldn’t be able to take any of the rough roads he preferred. They were more fun to traverse, but they’d leave him covered in dust and dirt. Just this once, he’d travel the slick, fast, expensive toll tunnels that were only frequented by the upper ranks.

After a shockingly speedy drive, he arrived at the West Sphere’s red light district with his playing card ID in hand. Elites from every sphere were already entering ahead of him. A handful had ridden in on motorcycles like he had, but most arrived in motorcycle-drawn carriages. Merritt had declined the carriage ride. Even though he doubted he’d be sober enough to skip out early, he felt more at ease knowing that his motorcycle awaited him in case of an emergency.

The venue was a massive upscale bordello with a long, winding driveway cast in neon red light. Up ahead was a vast deck lined with nude sculptures. Some treaded the line between classy and lewd, and some made no effort to feign class. A coy Adonis wearing a fig leaf for modesty stood beside a spurting fountain featuring a sex act so explicit Merritt had to avert his eyes.

This was the West Sphere’s version of upscale: rich, luxurious, but somehow still undeniably seedy. Scantily clad elite-level dogs stood alongside the bouncers who were checking ID at the entrance. They danced, chatted, and collected tips from the people in line. Several dogs were offering smoke kisses for five dollars each: they’d take a drag of a North Sphere drug of the customer’s choice, share a kiss, and breathe the vapor into the customer’s mouth. Merritt could see the customers getting buzzed off every kiss. They clearly didn’t regret spending the five bucks, but when the nearest dog gave Merritt a flirty smile and held up her pipe, Merritt shook his head, his lips pressed tight together. The skeptical part of him wondered if the bouncers were being deliberately slow so the dogs could collect more money from the guests as they waited.

He spotted the South’s Queen Noble cutting the line, as face cards were expected to do. Everyone else outside looked to be nines and tens. Merritt was relieved when he reached the front and the bouncers cleared his ID without a fight. One of the hosts, an impeccably styled woman with wavy brown hair, said, “Welcome to the gala. Please follow me, sir.”

Merritt followed her through the front door, down the lobby, and into the luxurious coat room. The walls were lined with wooden compartments, each labeled alphabetically and secured with a thumbprint sensor. The host led him to a locker marked with his name. “Please leave your sphere identifier, weapons, and electronic equipment.”

Merritt did as told while the host watched. After he finished, a security guard stepped forward and checked him from head to toe with a scanning wand. “All right, he’s clear.”

The host bowed her head and said, “We hope you enjoy your night. Please proceed to the grand entrance.”

“Thank you.” As Merritt backtracked through the lobby, he raised a hand to his disconcertingly bare throat. He knew everyone else at the gala, aside from the hired West Sphere staff, would have also discarded their sphere identifiers, but the feeling would take some getting used to.

On either side of the main entryway stood burly, intimidating bouncers. One served an array of drugs and alcoholic drinks. The other held a breathalyzer to test anyone who claimed they were already inebriated. Merritt wouldn’t be allowed past those doors without taking something.

While he contemplated what to do, the bouncer on the left said, “Yo blondie, pick your poison.” He held out a tray with a collection of assorted pills and three ornate glass vials filled with water.

Eyeing the pills, Merritt said, “I don’t normally do drugs. Which of these is the mildest?”

The bouncer laughed. “You’re gonna get fucked up tonight, sonny.” He pointed at the first row of pills. “These here are the pills for wimps. Fifty percent strength. You wanna be sleepy and stupid all night, take this one. You wanna be happy and stupid, take this one. You wanna be happy, horny, and stupid, take this one. And this one just makes you stupid.”

“Which one was happy again?” Merritt asked.

The bouncer pointed to the third pill. “That one.”

“I thought you said that one was horny.”

“You’re holding up the line. Just take one.”

Frowning, Merritt took the third pill. The bouncer handed him a vial of water. After he downed the drug, he was ushered through the doors into the spacious ballroom.

Dance music filled the air. Neon lights flared, casting hot halos around everything in their path. Merritt took in the sight of the rich wood floors and plush furniture upholstered in gold-embroidered fabrics. Each area of the room was separated by sheer floor-to-ceiling jewel-toned curtain adorned with intricately patterned gold trim, tassels, and beaded fringe.

Along the nearest wall, a long bar was manned by about a dozen bartenders. Flanking the ballroom on all other sides were corridors leading to additional rooms. He scoped out the nearest hallway. Some of the rooms beyond looked to be private, one was a large public lounge where people were already sprawled across luxurious sofas, and between them were several restrooms where Merritt imagined people were already vomiting.

He returned to the ballroom. It was packed with rowdy dancers, but he recognized no one in the chaotic neon glow. He stepped onto the dance floor and immediately got smacked in the face by the arm of a twirling woman. After a moment’s consideration, he retreated to the bar.

A drink menu lay on the counter. Open bar, no prices. The only North Sphere drinks available were Charisma and Potent. Everything else was hard liquor or drinks laced with party drugs. He swallowed to wet his dry throat and asked the bartender, “Could I get some water, please?”

The bartender scrutinized him, grabbed a bottle, then filled a highball glass to the brim and handed it over.

He took a sip. It was vodka. Ten ounces of vodka. He gave the bartender a subtle frown, but he knew there was no point arguing. He turned in his seat to face the dance floor, nursing his ridiculous beverage.

Half the dancers were guests. The other half were dogs. Some of the dogs wore fancy clothing instead of their signature skimpy loincloths, but their garments were still noticeably revealing—shirts unbuttoned to the navel, dresses with backs that plunged past the sacrum. Dogs danced on nearby platforms and pedestals, sporting more sparkles and sequins than actual fabric. Merritt averted his gaze.

Out on the floor, one particularly hypnotic dancer caught his eye. It only took him a second to realize it was Belmont, bumping and grinding against a male dog who seemed to have an answer to his every move. His cheeks and lips were red from Potent intoxication.

Merritt felt that same surge of annoyance he’d felt the last time he witnessed Belmont dancing. He couldn’t put a name to this strange feeling, this excruciating mix of anger and longing. The first word to come to his mind was jealousy, but he refused to believe that was what he felt.

Sipping his drink, he let his gaze ride Belmont’s serpentine gyrations. The movement of his hips was mesmerizing, but Merritt felt that same uncomfortable surge every time they bumped against the dog’s ass. He took a heavy swig of his drink, set the glass aside, and stalked across the dance floor. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, but he felt unusually hungry for physical contact. After he reached Belmont’s side, he called to the dog over the thump of the music, “All right if I cut in?”

The dog gave him a polite-but-borderline-flirty smile and stepped aside, just as he was trained to do. Merritt slid between him and Belmont, extending a hand.

Belmont raised an eyebrow in surprise, but he didn’t miss a beat. “You’re wearing the suit,” he cried, taking Merritt’s hand and pulling him close. “You’re wearing the suit! Finally!” He gave a loud whoop. “It’s everything I hoped it would be.”

Merritt took a moment to sync up with Belmont’s movements. He let the motions of Belmont’s body guide him. He stared into Belmont’s eyes as he danced, inviting Belmont to close the distance between them.

After a minute, Belmont turned Merritt around, rocking and sliding against him from behind. He leaned in until his lips brushed Merritt’s ear. “You fucker.”

“What?” Merritt asked, jokingly indignant.

“You know how to dance. You’re good at it. All this time, you had me believing you were so uptight you’d never danced before. What the fuck, Merritt?”

Merritt rode Belmont’s hips, closing his eyes and concentrating on the sensation of their bodies moving in unison. He didn’t feel like explaining that he’d learned to dance because of Torrence. Torrence just wouldn’t stop dragging him out to clubs, and when Torrence got excited about the music, the feeling was infectious. Merritt doubted Belmont’s claim that he was a good dancer, but it was a relief to know he wasn’t terrible. He laughed self-consciously. “I know I’m not as good as that dog.”

“I’d rather dance with you,” Belmont purred into Merritt’s ear. He gave Merritt’s neck a light nip before they turned to face each other.

The beat of the music brought their bodies closer and closer together. Merritt felt himself heating up, reveling in the rare opportunity to put his hands on Belmont’s body in public. It would be so easy, in this venue, to shift from dancing to something less innocent.

He was on the verge of surrendering to temptation when another couple stumbled into them, knocking them apart. Startled, Merritt glanced at them and realized the couple wasn’t even dancing; they were having unabashed sex. Belmont looked at them and burst out laughing, and the sound of his broken snort set off Merritt’s laughter too.

Damn, that drug really had made him happy, horny, and stupid. After nearly a minute of unstoppable cackling, the two of them stumbled off the dance floor, with Belmont’s arm wrapped around Merritt’s shoulder and their bodies pressed together. They rounded the corner into a hallway lined with lounge furniture, then collapsed together onto a sofa, their bodies still shuddering with laughter.

“Really?” echoed a man’s voice a few feet ahead of them. “I never thought I’d see this.”

Merritt, lying atop Belmont with his head resting on his chest, looked up and met eyes with Troy. He felt no urge to get off Belmont and try to play it cool. Instead, he grinned up at Troy with bleary eyes and said, “I’d invite you to join us, but this couch isn’t big enough for armbands.”

“So this is what Merritt looks like wasted,” Troy said with his own delirious grin. “Interesting.”

Another shadow crossed the floor behind Troy. Merritt looked up, startled to see Mercury staring down at him and Belmont. He rode out the momentary urge to tense up or jump off Belmont. We can get away with anything as long as we don’t look like we’re trying to hide it.

Belmont seemed to feel the flash of tightness in Merritt’s muscles. He pulled Merritt’s head down and kissed him with full, lascivious tongue while locking eyes with Mercury. The overly intense look on Belmont’s face made Merritt break into laughter again. He was too far gone to care that his King was staring at him. Hell, Mercury was probably more wasted than he was.

Mercury gazed down at Merritt and Belmont with eyebrows raised. “I think you two have been spending too much time together.”

“Well, that’s entirely your fault,” Belmont replied with an insolent half-smile. “I think the problem is that you’re just not having enough fun of your own.” He turned to Troy. “Hey, armband, give my King some tongue.”

Merritt had to bury his face under Belmont’s chin to hide his chuckle.

Troy didn’t flinch. Gesturing over his shoulder, he said, “I think your King was getting more than enough tongue in that private room with a South Sphere ten.”

“Good,” Belmont replied flippantly. He turned his attention briefly to Merritt’s earlobe, tracing his tongue over the row of piercings.

Mercury shook his head dismissively and continued down the hall.

They were in the clear. Merritt fought the urge to cheer in triumph.

“Move along, armband,” Belmont said, wrapping a possessive arm around Merritt. “This isn’t a live show.”

Troy did as told, but not without splashing his tequila in Belmont’s face on the way.

“Asshole!” Belmont cried, wiping away the liquid with his shirt cuff. Merritt wondered if he’d get angry enough to retaliate, but instead he fell back against the sofa, laughing all over again. Apparently, the supply of mandatory “happy” drugs was the secret to keeping peace at the gala.

“Those two are jealous as fuck,” Belmont said.

“Jealous of what?”

“Jealous of me, obviously.” Belmont ran a hand down Merritt’s back and then squeezed his ass. “They wish they were the ones doing this.”

“I thought you said Mercury was straight,” Merritt teased. “And I’m pretty sure Troy is too.”

“Either way, you confuse them.” Belmont leaned his head back against the arm of the sofa. “They trust you; they can tell you’re not a backstabber. And all your yes-sirs and whatever-you-need-sirs and unconditional loyalty—underground elites eat that shit up. Half of them can’t tell the difference between attraction and servitude.” He gave a sudden melancholy sigh. “You confuse me too. How do I know you’re not just into me because you answer to me?”

“Do you think I go around kissing all my bosses?” Merritt asked. “You’re the only one I’m kissing.”

“Liar.”

Merritt gaped. “I’m not lying. Why would you say I’m lying?”

“You say I’m the only one you’re kissing.” Belmont’s eyes narrowed. “But are you kissing me right now? No.” He suddenly slipped out from under Merritt, flipped him onto his back, and leaned in to meet Merritt’s lips.

Merritt returned the kiss, as clumsy and desperate as if it were his first time. He could taste Belmont’s last drink on his lips. Something fruity.

A small, rubbery object bounced off the side of his head. He ignored it, immersed in the sensation of Belmont’s lips against his.

Another hit, and then another. But nothing could tear him away from this kiss.

Nothing except the inevitable need for oxygen. At last Merritt parted with Belmont, letting his head fall back against the upholstery as he sucked in a deep breath.

Something round and firm flew into his mouth and down his throat. He shot up to his seat, coughing and choking before he finally spat the object out into his palm.

He looked down, perplexed. It was a grape.

Across the hall stood a young East Sphere fighter, no more than sixteen or seventeen years old. She was packed with lean muscle and sported a dyed red faux hawk with the sides shaved short. Merritt had never spoken with her before, but he recognized her from the surveillance footage he’d watched of the East, and he knew she was a member of their fearsome Explosives Unit. He barely recognized her without the decorative soot caked around her eyes.

“Yo, blue-tie nerd,” she said, squinting her vibrant red-brown eyes.

“What are you doing?” Merritt asked, too confused to be annoyed.

The teen grinned. “Troy brought a bunch of his special super-rare grapes to the gala,” she said. “He had to jump through a million hoops to get them through security. He wanted to give some to you, but he said you looked ‘busy,’ so he gave them to me instead.” She tossed another grape at Merritt’s mouth. It bounced off his closed lips. “This game is a lot harder than basketball. The hoop keeps closing.”

“Hey armband, can you not?” Belmont snapped. He rolled his eyes. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Old enough to wipe out your entire military,” the girl taunted. She turned to Merritt. “Oh, your buddy Swann says hi.”

She tossed the last grape into her own mouth, then walked away before Merritt could speak another word. He stared after her, still unsure of how to respond to the surreal encounter.

“That was weird,” Belmont muttered.

“Did you see her aim?” Merritt asked. “That was amazing.”

“It was obnoxious.” Slowly, Belmont climbed off Merritt and sat back on the sofa. “Sometime before the end of this party, we need to get ourselves a private room.”

Merritt opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Mannheim appeared from out of nowhere and grabbed Belmont by the arm. “Grant, you have to come with me. They’re giving out YCO-4 in the Lavender Room, and all the non-blue-ties are wigging out.”

“Ooh, I gotta see this,” Belmont said, hoisting himself up off his seat.

For an awkward moment, Merritt wasn’t sure if he should follow them, but Mannheim’s invitation didn’t appear to include him. The use of Belmont’s given name felt especially jarring. It reminded him that there were people in Belmont’s life—people who hated Merritt—who were still closer to Belmont than he was. He remained on the sofa, leaning his head back against the wall as he tried to decide what to do next.

A little while ago, his mind had felt fuzzy and inexplicably euphoric. But the sensation was already fading.

An older man in a crisp suit leaned against the wall beside Merritt. With a beckoning grin, he asked, “Mind if I sit?”

“Oh.” Merritt looked down at the sofa. “Sure, you can have it. I was just leaving anyway.” He gave the man a polite nod and rose to his feet. The man looked vaguely confused as he watched Merritt walk away.

Merritt passed a few more smiling patrons on his way back to the ballroom. A few called out to him, and he responded by waving or smiling politely in return. Damn, everyone at this party seemed a lot higher than he was. He took a seat at the bar and ordered another vodka. This time, the bartender gave him a more reasonably sized glass, but he dropped a pill into the drink as he served it. When Merritt protested, he said, “You need it. You look too serious. Give it another few minutes, and you’d have bouncers threatening to throw you out.”

“Can you at least tell me what drug that was?”

“One of the starter drugs. A kiddie drug. You’ll be fine.”

“He dropped the same one in my drink an hour ago,” a woman said from the seat beside him. Merritt jumped, recognizing 75th. She looked as surly as ever, her opaque black sunglasses reflecting neon pink from the ceiling lights. “I’m still alive.”

“You look like you need four or five more doses yourself,” the bartender said to her.

“I’ve been kicked out of the gala six years in a row,” 75th deadpanned. “Gotta keep my legacy alive.”

With a shrug, Merritt took a sip of his drink. He considered making small talk with 75th, but even in his semi-drugged state, it was hard to get past her hostile energy. “How’s Odell?” he asked at last.

She gestured toward the dance floor, where Odell looked to be having the time of her life moving to the beat between two other women. The contrast between her and 75th couldn’t have been starker.

“Why don’t you dance with her?” Merritt asked.

“There’s not enough drugs in the world to get me to jump up and down like an idiot.”

Merritt pointed at the crowd. “You’re calling your girlfriend an idiot? Calling all of them idiots?”

“That’s not what I said, dumbass.”

“They all seem to be having a better time than you.”

75th turned her head, and even through her sunglasses, he could tell she was glaring at him. He held up his hands to signify a truce.

“He’s not high enough,” 75th said to the bartender, who promptly dropped another pill into Merritt’s vodka despite his protests. “You should know better than to give a blue-tie a kiddie drug. They got so much trash in their system, each pill lasts ‘em twenty minutes.” Then, to Merritt, she muttered, “Keep this up and you’ll get your ass kicked.”

Merritt took his drink and moved down to the far end of the bar. He’d had about all he could take of 75th. In the back of his mind, he wondered if she was right. The effects of the party drug had worn off pretty fast. Was it really because he was a blue-tie? He wasn’t accustomed to party drugs by any means, and his lone experience with high-grade Potent certainly hadn’t felt tempered.

“It’s because of the poison immunizations.”

Merritt turned toward the whispered voice behind him. He spotted Archer, who stood hazy-eyed in a long, sparkling white gown. At first, he was startled at her seemingly uncanny ability to read his mind, but then he realized she’d probably overheard 75th talking about the drugs.

She took the nearest seat and tossed back a shot of something neon green. “You had a bad reaction to the IPJ-8 antitoxin. Because of that, some other drugs with similar formulas will only have a limited effect on you.”

“Oh.” Merritt wasn’t sure what else to say. He felt a little awkward; he and Archer hadn’t spoken one-on-one since their uncomfortable meeting in her office months ago, where she’d challenged his relationship with Belmont. Things had felt strained between them since then. He wanted more than anything to clear the air, but Archer was obviously too intoxicated for that kind of conversation.

“Stay away from the ‘stupid’ drugs,” Archer said. “They’re designed to make you slow, and they share certain attributes with the knockout drug IPJ-8. The one the bartender gave you won’t do anything for you. Go for a stimulant or hallucinogen instead. Or an aphrodisiac, if you’re so inclined.”

“Where would I find those?”

Archer pointed down the adjacent hall. “You can usually find someone standing outside the private rooms with a selection of drugs. Worst case scenario: if you’re stopped by a bouncer and you fail their test, they’ll offer to drug you before kicking you out as a last resort.”

“Good to know,” Merritt replied. He glanced down the bar, where 75th was now arguing with one such bouncer. As much as he would have liked to watch her get kicked out, he had to cover his own ass first. The drug he’d taken at the door was almost entirely worn off; all that remained was slightly fuzzy vision. He shot Archer a grateful smile and rose to his feet.

A good-looking guy on the dance floor met Merritt’s gaze and shot him a smile. Merritt politely flashed back a rounded grin, then quickly averted his gaze and headed down the hall toward the private rooms.

He passed several doorways but spotted no drug-toting waiters. Some of the rooms were behind open arches that offered a clear view inside, while others were concealed by closed doors lined with light strings. Lights-on meant the room was occupied, off meant it was vacant. But none of the doors were equipped with locks, and even the rooms with doors had a large inset window where passersby could peer inside. The lack of privacy was supposedly one of the gala’s safeguards.

He reached the end of the deserted hallway. Just his luck—he’d picked the one corridor that didn’t have any waiters.

He was about to head back when a sharp cry echoed from the door behind him, sending the hairs up on his arms. The voice had cut off after only a second, but he instantly recognized it as a scream of pain. An uncomfortable tingle ran through his palms and the soles of his feet, spurring him to action. He turned and peered through the window. A hulking man in elite West Sphere dress delivered a stunning kick to a much smaller, nearly naked dog who was on his hands and knees. The dog, who had dark brown hair cropped short, held up a hand to ward off another attack, but the man shoved him to the ground and kicked him again.

Merritt threw the door open and sprinted into the room. He was on the towering red-sash before he could even turn around. He grabbed the man around the middle, using a combination of strength and technique to knock him off his feet, land a hook to his jaw, and shove him aside. Getting between the man and the dog, he ordered, “Leave him alone!”

The man rubbed his quickly bruising chin, and Merritt’s fuzzy vision cleared just enough to show him how badly he’d fucked up. Standing before him was Gray, West Sphere King Bardia’s right hand—and he was livid.

Gray’s dangerous, unsettling gaze held Merritt in his tracks. He was the kind of guy who might have been attractive if his every pore didn’t exude the overwhelming energy of a sociopath. He had the bone structure of a fighter—strong chin, thin lips, and a heavy-set brow ridge that cast his incongruously long-lashed eyes in shadow. His spiked dirty-blond Mohawk, bristled goatee, and scars only made him look more imposing. He was as tall as Belmont but muscled like Troy. Never before had Merritt felt more aware of his own lean build.

Merritt had been the first to insist to his soldiers that red-sashes weren’t the unconquerable, barbaric monsters they wanted their rivals to believe they were. He’d sworn up and down that it was all just posturing. But this man, whose menacing eyes were locked on Merritt, felt like the embodiment of that mythical, murderous red-sash. He looked like he could snap any passing blue-tie in half.

“Did you just put your hands on me?” Gray asked, his voice quiet but white-hot. He stalked forward, triggering a surge of nervous adrenaline in Merritt’s blood. Fight or flight—with this guy approaching, Merritt’s body chose flight. He sidestepped, but Gray caught his right arm. Merritt threw another punch with his left but barely rocked the hefty man. New fury sparked in Gray’s eyes, and he flung Merritt against the wall. Merritt crashed hard, and Gray closed in on him fast, pinning him to the plaster.

Past Gray’s hulking shoulder, Merritt glimpsed the injured dog, who rocked back and forth while clutching his abdomen. From the kicks Merritt had witnessed, it looked like he’d taken a liver shot, but Gray gave Merritt no more time to worry about the dog. He grabbed Merritt’s jaw, threatening to snap his neck. “Did you just put your hands on me?” he asked again, his tone even more deadly this time. “You broke the law of touch and the laws of the gala. I could kill you twice over.”

Merritt glared up at Gray, refusing to be intimidated. “I wasn’t the one to break the laws of the gala. I saw you kick that kid. Violence against anyone at the gala is forbidden, and that includes people within one’s own sphere.”

“‘People’?” Gray scoffed. “He’s not a person, he’s a dog. And you’re just a five. You had no right to pull me off him, and I’ll have your head for it.”

Merritt gritted his teeth. He didn’t have a reply ready. Gray was right; Merritt had touched him without permission, and it was within Gray’s purview to have Merritt arrested or even killed on the spot. Even if he was lucky enough to get away with his life, his infraction was serious enough to potentially cost him his job.

Poker face on, Merritt growled, “Would you really disrupt the entire gala just for this? The West is the host sphere. You were just strong-armed into giving up your underage dog trade. The spotlight is on you. How would your South Sphere guests feel about a master caught abusing his dog in the middle of the gala, of all places?”

Gray narrowed his eyes. He leaned in so close his stubbled jaw scratched Merritt’s face. “I know who you are,” he whispered into Merritt’s ear.

Merritt began to respond, but Gray tightened his vice-like hold and left him breathless. Merritt spotted a split-second opening where he could possibly slip out from under Gray’s grip, but the moment he tried, Gray stifled his movements.

“You’re the blue-tie who helped the East with their attack on our border. The one who slaughtered our soldiers when we invaded last year. The new blue-tie general.” His lips brushed Merritt’s ear in a manner that was clearly meant to unsettle him. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

Merritt tried again to break Gray’s hold on him. He was too strong. Impossibly strong.

“I hear you’ve got a vendetta against us,” Gray growled. “I hear you were the one who convinced Mercury to join the embargo against my sphere.”

Merritt barely had a second to wonder who had told him that, before Gray’s hand slid from his jaw to his throat and squeezed. Merritt could barely even squirm under Gray’s crushing grip.

“Mercury never had an interest in going against the dog trade until you turned him around. You must have thought you were pretty fucking powerful.” He crushed Merritt against the wall and tightened his grip around his neck. “How strong do you feel now, blue-tie?”

Merritt’s pulse pounded in his head. He couldn’t believe the power behind Gray’s single hand. He’d only ever felt this level of pressure from a full sleeper hold. His vision was starting to blacken around the edges. He tried to twist free, to lever Gray’s body, to punch him or hit a pressure point. Nothing worked.

Gray pressed his lips so tight against Merritt’s ear that his speech felt like a kiss. “I used to be just like you. Wanting to save the world. One day you’ll look back and realize how stupid you were.” His low laughter rumbled against Merritt’s ear. “The ones who fly the highest fall the hardest. Serve, protect, do unto others. The ideals of the surface are weights. Cling to them, and they’ll drag you down to Hell. The only way to stop falling is to let go of the weights.”

Gray’s words barely registered in Merritt’s mind. He was too far gone to tell if Gray was talking nonsense or if it was just the lack of oxygen to his brain. But what his mind couldn’t process, his gut could. Something wasn’t right with this guy.

Finally, with a pull and twist in just the right direction, he broke Gray’s hold on his throat and sucked in an urgent breath. Gray gave him the moment of air, but he still kept Merritt sandwiched between his body and the wall. Merritt spotted another opening and tried again to slide free, but Gray outmaneuvered him.

How was this possible? Never before had he been so grossly outclassed. The only other time Merritt had faced someone of this level was the fight against Pangolin of the East Sphere, which had left half his squad dead and nearly killed Balbo too. Gray’s tooth clacked against one of the commemorative piercings in Merritt’s ear, reminding him of that night’s desperate battle. This time, there would be no squad mate to save his ass.

Gray laughed menacingly. “You want to walk out of here with your life? With your job? We can work something out.” His hand slid between Merritt’s legs and gripped him hard. “Exchange one bad touch for another.”

A new surge of adrenaline shot through Merritt’s body. Even as he tried to convince himself that this was just another meaningless West Sphere intimidation tactic, the fighter in him was already springing to action. He shoved Gray’s hand off his crotch, making enough space between them to deliver an elbow to the face. Gray barely flinched, like a parent hit by his toddler’s pillow. When Merritt slipped in an uppercut, Gray lost his patience. He dragged Merritt to the ground, smacked his head against the marble, and mounted him. Merritt barely managed to push himself up to his hands and knees when Gray’s arm wrapped around his neck.

Merritt could see Gray’s dog out of the corner of his eye. He sat crouched against the wall, watching the scene with a blank, detached stare. For an uncomfortable split-second, his glassy eyes met Merritt’s, and Merritt could see that he’d been robbed of some part of himself.

“You want to spare my dog so badly?” Gray taunted. “How ‘bout you take his place?”

Merritt could barely breathe. Through heavy gasps, he grunted, “I don’t have time… for your stereotypical… West Sphere threats.”

Gray mimicked a feeble canine “yip-yip” in his ear, then gave him a mocking hump from behind.

It took all Merritt’s effort to keep a cool head, to remind himself of what he’d told his own soldiers over and over. Red-sashes were cowards, all bark and no bite. They played mind games to cover for their mindlessness. They were easy to beat, as long as Merritt didn’t lose his—

Gray tightened the arm around Merritt’s neck, vaporizing his train of thought.

Merritt’s fingernails scraped uselessly against the marble floor. He couldn’t break free. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe….

The vague silhouette of a figure paused in the open doorway, blocking out the incoming stream of light. “Damn, Merritt, you’re really getting around tonight.”

Merritt recognized Troy’s voice. He looked up, eyes unfocused. He tried to say or do anything to communicate, but then his vision flickered out and his head went slack.

Pounding footsteps shook the floor; then suddenly someone was jostling him. “Whoa, Gray, easy! You’ll crush his neck.” Troy’s voice. A pause, more jostling, then, “Gray, let him up.”

“I’m just playing with him,” Gray grumbled. “I could go harder, but I’m not.”

“Gray, let him go. He’s an ally.”

“He’s no ally of mine.”

“Just let him go. As a favor to me.”

Gray’s grip tightened, tightened more… then finally released him. Merritt collapsed to the ground, sucking in deep breaths as he waited for his surroundings to come back into focus. White pinpricks of light clouded his vision, and his head throbbed.

Somewhere beside him, Troy said confidentially to Gray, “Listen, you don’t want to do that. He’s the North’s general. He’s low in the card deck, but he’s got a lot of sway with Mercury and Belmont. They’d both be on you if anything happened to him.”

“He got in the way while I was disciplining a dog. He put his hands on me. He doesn’t have the status to do that.”

“The kid’s all doped up and confused. He’s a blue-tie, but he never does party drugs. He probably didn’t even realize who he was grabbing.”

“That’s no excuse. He had no business putting a hand on me.”

“Gray, let it go, just this once. As a favor to me. I’ll owe you. And I’ll talk to him and make sure he never touches you again.”

“I want to break him into pieces.”

“Gray.”

Merritt rolled onto his side, watching the interaction between Troy and Gray. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Troy wasn’t that much older than Gray, but their dynamic was almost like father and son, or mentor and student. He remembered Belmont’s claim, during his card game at Yackley’s, that Troy and Gray were tight. But during Merritt’s mission in the waterways, Troy had told him that he’d never dealt with Gray before. It looked like Belmont had been the honest one. 

Gray’s shoulders softened. He let out a sigh and turned away. “Fine. I’ll let him off this time. But if I ever see him break the law of touch again…” he glared at Merritt, locking eyes with him in challenge, “I swear to god I’ll gut him.”

Merritt refused to break eye contact while Gray stared him down. But he couldn’t lie to himself. He knew, after what he’d just been through, that he was no match for Gray. If he was ever idiotic enough to confront the man again, he’d be signing his own death warrant. 

Gray motioned toward the dog, who still cowered in the corner of the room. “Paris. Come with me.”

Merritt watched the two West Sphere men leave. It wasn’t until several seconds had passed that he realized Troy was holding out a hand to help him to his feet. He was too shaken to trust the offer. He ignored the outstretched hand and wobbled upright on his own.

“Listen, Merritt,” Troy said sternly, “you should never get in the way of a red-sash who’s beating on a dog. It doesn’t matter how bad it looks. Just let them do it. Because unless you plan to kill the guy right then and there, he’s just going to go home and take it out on the dog. That kid’s gonna get an extra beating, thanks to the drama you caused with Gray.”

Merritt bit his lip. He didn’t want to believe what Troy had said, but he could feel the truth behind the words. The guilt left him sick to his stomach. According to Merritt’s research, Troy had first earned his name in the East Sphere military by running a successful undercover mission in the West’s dog trade. Troy knew what it was like behind the scenes.

“And stay out of Gray’s path from here on, all right? He’s not a guy you should be fucking with.”

Merritt rubbed his sore neck, his guilt giving way to humiliation. He thought back to his altercation with Gray, trying to pinpoint any moment when he could have turned things around. Was there anything he could have done? It didn’t feel like it.

“Don’t be too embarrassed,” Troy said, breaking through his thoughts. “That guy can kick my ass too.”

Merritt narrowed his eyes. “You told me in the waterways that you’d never fought him.”

“You thought I’d show you all my cards the first day we met?” He chuckled. “Nah, that guy’s a monster. There isn’t a person in the underground whose neck he can’t wring with one hand.”

Merritt straightened out his rumpled suit jacket. “Then I guess I feel a little less stupid about getting my ass kicked.”

“No, you should still feel stupid. Because no one else would have gotten in the way if they saw him beating a dog.”

“Then the problem isn’t me; it’s them.”

Troy rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe that you, of all people, were the first one to break the rule of non-violence at the gala. And all for a fucking dog.” He gave a hearty laugh. “Come on, let’s get you more drugs.”

Lacking the energy to argue, Merritt followed Troy down the hall. As they walked, Merritt said, “Gray seemed pretty sober. I thought everyone here would be under the influence of something.”

“You thought he looked sober? I thought he looked wasted out of his mind. He only talks crazy like that when he’s wasted.”

Merritt didn’t buy it, but he kept his mouth shut.

Troy smirked, looking Merritt up and down. “Problem is you’re even more wasted. It’s the only explanation I got for why you’d go after him.” He raised a bare eyebrow. “Or why you were getting so cozy on the couch with Belmont of all people.”

Merritt knew better than to respond. Instead, he said, “I didn’t thank you for helping me out back there.”

“Don’t thank me,” Troy said. “Just remember it.”

They reached a private room at the end of the hall. “Come in here for a second,” Troy said, motioning for Merritt to follow him inside. The room was empty except for a bartender behind a small counter that only sat three people. Troy ordered two drinks with names Merritt didn’t recognize. “These are just booze,” he said, handing Merritt one of the drinks. “We’ll get some pills on the way out. But first, I gotta ask.” He leaned forward with his elbow on the counter. “What is it with you and dogs?”

Merritt frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I remember our mission in the waterways. You said you wanted to dismantle the dog trade. And now, at the gala of all places, you attacked the West Sphere’s right hand because you happened to see him disciplining his dog.”

Merritt had a feeling he now knew who’d told Gray about his supposed vendetta against the West. But he wouldn’t show Troy his cards. “He wasn’t ‘disciplining’ the dog. He was beating him up.”

“It’s the same thing in the West, buddy. Still doesn’t explain why you go batshit crazy whenever the subject of dogs comes up.”

“You’re exaggerating. I’m not the only person who’s opposed to the trade.” He took a sip of his mystery drink. It was the best alcoholic drink he’d ever had, but it bothered him that Troy was always so good at picking out drinks for him.

Troy leaned back against the counter, looking overly cocky. “I know what the real reason is that you’re so touchy about dogs,” he said with a haughty smirk. “Even if you won’t admit it.”

Merritt took another sip of his drink.

“It’s because you’re a dog too.”

Merritt curled his lip. “We both know I’m not a dog. I’ve never been forced to do any of the things dogs do.”

“No?” Troy challenged. “You’ve never had to give up your body in service to your sphere, whether or not you wanted to? Never had to take marks and bruises and beatings? Never had someone else decide how hard you should exercise, how fat or thin you should be, how old you can get and still be useful?” Troy took a swig of his drink and laughed. “Nah, Merritt. You’ve always been a dog. But you can’t criticize your own sphere for what they did to you, so instead you deflect it onto the West. As if the North treats their kids and aces any better than the West does.”

Merritt glanced over his shoulder at the bartender. Pointing to Troy, he said, “This guy isn’t high enough.”

The bartender stepped forward with a spoonful of pills, but Troy shoved his hand aside without looking away from Merritt. “Listen, this is the underground. You’re not gonna change anything here.”

Rather than address Troy’s comment, Merritt continued to drink.

“Lemme explain,” Troy continued. “You’re not gonna change anything as long as you’re a soldier in the North Sphere. It’d be different if you were an armband. We get more freedom to go after personal causes. If you were in the East, you could probably put together your own special unit and target the dog trade.” He shrugged. “But you’re not. Oh, well.”

Merritt narrowed his eyes. “Are you finished?”

“I’m just saying. Even captains in the East get more freedom than you do. You’re the head of the North’s military. Don’t you want to make your own decisions instead of just following orders?”

“There’s nothing I need beyond the opportunity to serve my King.”

Troy laughed. “So obedient. No wonder Mercury loves you. No wonder Belmont loves you. Hell, I’d love to have a soldier as devoted to me as you are to them.”

Merritt opened his mouth, but words failed him. Instead, an overwhelming air of awkwardness filled the space between him and Troy. What in the world was he supposed to say to that?

He knew immediately that Troy never would have made that statement sober. Troy’d thought he had the upper hand during their conversation, but then those revealing words had slipped out.

After a long, uncomfortable pause, Troy tried to laugh it off. “I think it’s time for more pills.” He shooed the nearby bartender. “There are better ones down the hall. Follow me.”

Merritt followed him. He wanted the pills. He wanted to clear every last one of Troy’s words out of his mind.

Troy led Merritt around the corner and down another hall of private rooms. They stopped at the last door, where a waiter stood holding a tray of pills. Troy took one. Then, surprisingly, he left Merritt alone without another acknowledgment. Merritt watched him slip into the adjacent room, where he caught a glimpse of an oversized red bed and a few wandering dogs before the door swung shut.

The waiter gave Merritt a polite smile, waiting expectantly for his order.

“I don’t know what any of those pills are,” Merritt admitted.

“Take that one,” a guy behind him said while pointing toward a heart-shaped red pill. Setting a hand on Merritt’s shoulder, he whispered in his ear, “And I’ll show you how to make the most of it.”

Merritt turned, startled. He met eyes with an attractive man about his age. Strands of brown hair lay across his forehead and over his eyes in waves so perfect they could have been sculpted in place. Every lock seemed deliberately positioned. Did this guy have a hairdresser following him around to touch up his curls throughout the night? There was no other explanation for his impeccable styling.

He wore a violet chiffon scarf atop a turquoise suit jacket with ornate gold trim. Definitely West Sphere garb, but he seemed too friendly and benign to be a red-sash. He was probably from the North or South; it wasn’t uncommon for guests who’d lost their clothing, one way or another, to pick up a loaner outfit from one of the hosts.

He flashed a magnetic smile, and Merritt realized he was the same guy who’d smiled at him from the dance floor while he was in search of drugs. There was something familiar about his face, but Merritt couldn’t quite place him.

“I’ve been trying to catch your attention all night,” the man purred. “Trying, and hoping one of the other twenty people making eyes at you didn’t catch you first.”

Merritt gaped. What other twenty people? Yes, he’d noticed a few men and probably even more women smiling at him or walking toward him, but he’d just assumed they were all high.

The man turned to the waiter and said, “Two of those, please.” The waiter placed two tiny heart-shaped pills and two ornate vials of water on an appetizer plate and handed it to the man, who motioned toward the neighboring private room. “Want to go in?”

Merritt remembered his promise: he had to be seen with someone else besides Belmont. He took a quick glance inside the private room and recognized the back of Pratt’s head. Perfect, a blue-tie witness. And the guy making the offer was cute. He turned back and nodded. “Yes. Let’s go.”

They swallowed their pills; then they entered the room together. Dim blue wall sconces illuminated a scattering of round, plush mattresses—most of them occupied, each canopied by their own set of parted velvet curtains. The curtains only offered the illusion of privacy. Merritt could easily see that Pratt was getting head from Wolfram—but, with Pratt’s face cast in the shadow of the drapes, Merritt couldn’t quite tell how good a job Wolfram was doing.

“I thought they were twins at first,” the man beside Merritt said with a chuckle. “Not that I haven’t seen weirder at the gala.”

Merritt laughed harder than the man probably expected. He shook his head apologetically. “Sorry. It’s just, I work with those guys.”

“Ugh, coworkers.” The man pulled Merritt into an embrace dramatic enough to befit a movie screen. He squinted his stunning gray eyes. “I’ll give you better things to think about.”

*  *  *

There was something surreal about exchanging handjobs under the watchful gaze of a superior. Pratt seemed to pay more attention to Merritt than to Wolfram. He let his eyes wander indiscreetly over Merritt’s pleasure-stricken body, licking his lips in a manner that was simultaneously approving and demeaning.

If that heart-shaped pill had been any weaker, Merritt might have been put off. But instead, he surrendered to the moment. His temporary lover—whatever his name was—lay halfway on top of him while offering strokes as perfect as his coiffed hair. It was hard to concentrate on anything else.

Perhaps he’d feel different in the morning, knowing that Pratt had watched him come. But, for now, the drug kept him shameless. After his own release, he shifted and rolled atop his partner, returning the favor.

In the afterglow of their finish, they lay side by side across the round bed, half-dressed, their clothing rumpled and askew. “You’re good at that,” the man whispered fondly, tickling Merritt’s palm with his fingertips.

“You too,” Merritt replied with a warm smile. He squinted at the man’s handsome profile, then tilted his head. “Why do you look so familiar?”

The man turned to him, puzzled. “You didn’t recognize me?”

Oh, damn it. What had Merritt done now? “I’m sorry,” he gasped immediately. “Have we met before?”

The man replied with an easy laugh. “No, don’t worry about it. I just thought you might have known who I was. It’s kind of nice that you don’t.” He gave his now-familiar charming smile. “I’m Lyra. Lyra West.”

Oh, shit. Lyra West—one of the most famous, most beloved actors in all of the underground. The kind of actor who traveled with a security detail, who couldn’t go anywhere without hordes of screaming fans trying to chase him down. How the hell had Merritt failed to recognize him? He gaped, then stammered, “You… look different in person.”

“Not worse, I hope,” Lyra replied with a laugh.

“No! Not at all. Just….” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t get to watch movies very often.”

“I’m not offended,” Lyra insisted, laughing again at Merritt’s nervous reaction. He leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. “It’s not like I’m a King.”

Merritt sighed with relief. “Well, I did see you play a King in Sub-Lakeview Blues. You were great—really convincing as a blue-tie, without all the usual stereotypes.” Lyra smiled at the compliment, and Merritt added, “Oh, I’m Merritt North.”

“I know,” Lyra replied, and Merritt gaped all over again. He’d expected sphere leaders and soldiers to recognize him, but somehow it had never occurred to him that a famous actor would know his name.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I think I didn’t recognize you because I just assumed you were a blue-tie too. I had no idea you were from the West. You seem so….”

“Normal?” Lyra teased. “Nice?” He grinned up at the canopy. “I know red-sashes have a reputation. But we aren’t all monsters and predators, you know. Most of us are just people.”

“Hmm.” Merritt returned Lyra’s smile.

Lyra rose to his feet. He grabbed his discarded scarf off the pillow, fluffed it out, then draped it loosely around Merritt’s neck. “If you ever want to get into one of my movie premieres, call Media West and give them your name. I’ll make sure you’re on the list.” He gave Merritt a quick kiss on the cheek, then waved goodbye and disappeared into the haze.

* * *

It was nearly midnight. Barely two and a half hours remained of the party, and Merritt still needed to track down Belmont. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, arranging Lyra’s scarf to cover the shocking bruise on his neck.

As pleasant as his experience with Lyra had been, the heart-shaped pill was already wearing off, and the unexpected sight of his growing bruise only reminded him of Gray and Troy. He needed Belmont.

His four-thousand-dollar suit was impressively durable and resistant to wrinkling. It only took him a few minutes to straighten it out and make himself presentable again.

He returned to the ballroom. The crowd on the dance floor had thinned out. It looked like more than half the guests had retreated to private rooms. Belmont had to be in one of them. He wandered down a couple corridors, squinting through whichever windows weren’t blocked by bouncers. At the first door of the third hallway, a waiter held out a tray and said, “You look like you need one.”

Damn, was it that obvious that his last pill had worn off? Merritt grabbed the nearest pill—oval, with an iridescent sheen—and the waiter handed him a vial of water. Once he swallowed, the man opened the door behind him and motioned for Merritt to enter. Merritt hadn’t realized the pill would get him into the room, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go in.

He peered past the open door. The room was so dark that he could barely make out the figures within, but after a moment, he spotted Samsid and the teen who’d thrown grapes at him. There were at least eight or nine other people in the room, lying across sofas and cushions on the floor beside a glowing fireplace, like discarded dolls strewn about by a careless child. Samsid lay on his back across a sofa, hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. The teen lay across his stomach, her feet resting in Pangolin’s lap, and Merritt felt a pang of longing when he saw how easily these East Sphere soldiers were able to share platonic physical contact.

At the far end of the room, he recognized Noble and Iris, two of the South’s three Queens, whispering and giggling to each other.

This room was out of Merritt’s league. He was about to continue down the hall when he saw a head pop out from around a curtain.

It was Belmont. Merritt felt the same surge of euphoria in his chest that he’d felt at the beginning of the night, and he realized it had nothing to do with the drugs. Belmont spotted him and waved him over excitedly. It took all Merritt’s effort not to sprint toward him.

Belmont was propped up on a slick loveseat against the wall opposite the East Sphere soldiers, but by the time Merritt reached the sofa, he could barely make out the figures of the soldiers across the room. They were almost completely obscured by smoke, haze, and darkness, aside from the rim of firelight hugging Samsid’s silhouette. The gentle pop and snap of the burning logs made the room feel warm and welcoming.

“Come on,” Belmont said, motioning for Merritt again.

Mannheim sat slumped beside Belmont. He looked unconscious. There was barely any room left on the love seat, but Merritt squeezed in beside Belmont, sitting on the cushioned armrest. Belmont chuckled at how awkward Merritt looked. He turned, slid his hands underneath Mannheim, hoisted him up, and rolled him off the other end of the love seat. Mannheim landed on a pile of cushions below, still sound asleep. Merritt laughed, then his laughter broke in surprise when Belmont wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him down to the seat beside him.

“Hey,” he whispered, examining Merritt’s face. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Merritt said. It would have been a lie a few minutes ago, but now it was the truth. His confrontation with Gray and his talk with Troy faded from his mind. Even Pratt’s wandering eyes felt like a long-forgotten memory. None of it mattered here in this room.

Belmont kissed the side of his head and then pulled him close. He snuggled against Belmont’s side and rested his head in the crook of his neck. Damn, this felt good, being able to sit with Belmont in public like this. He inhaled deeply, feeling more intoxicated by Belmont’s scent than he had the rest of the evening.

He squinted into the distance and realized that even Archer was in the room. She sat curled in an armchair, looking half-asleep and pleasantly happy as she shared a hookah with a high-ranking red-sash. Merritt was happy to see her again, even if neither of them was clear-headed enough to say hello.

Across the room, Samsid said something about a dummy bomb, and then Pangolin groaned. “Oh god, not this.”

The girl lying across his lap protested too, her speech slurred as she said, “No, no, don’t tell the story!”

“I gotta tell the story, Jordana,” Samsid said with a wicked laugh.

“Oh, you fucking pisswhistle,” the girl growled.

“Listen, I love you guys in the Explosives Unit, but you get so fucking serious during training. Sometimes you gotta just loosen up.”

Merritt closed his eyes, letting the soothing sound of Samsid’s voice vibrate in his ears as he began telling a story of a prank he pulled on the Explosives Unit. It was good to see Samsid so relaxed—like the playful, charming, gregarious version of himself Merritt remembered looking up to in his teen years.

Whatever drug Merritt had swallowed in the hall began to take effect, mellowing his nerves until he melted against Belmont’s body. Belmont held him close, and Merritt let out a contented sigh. He wished every day could feel like this, just being next to Belmont’s warm body, listening to the playful banter of someone who, at the moment, was no longer the enemy. Being able to show physical affection for another person without fear and without consequences.

Across the room, Samsid continued his story despite protests from Pangolin and Jordana. Apparently, he’d filled one of their dummy bombs with red dye and chili from the mess hall, and when it had gone off, it splattered all the nearby soldiers with what looked like blood. They’d gone into a panic, believing they’d accidentally set off a real bomb and trying to figure out who had been blown up. Then they’d seen Samsid, lying on the floor in a pool of red dye under a pile of staged rubble. When some girl named Rainey had gone to check on him, he’d jumped her, freaking everyone out all over again.

“That was the worst, man,” Jordana muttered. “Fucking chili everywhere—and not even good chili. We’re gonna get you back one day. You got the entire unit wanting revenge.”

“I’m lookin’ forward to it,” Samsid said, the smile showing in his voice.

Merritt buried his face against Belmont’s neck. He felt Belmont’s hand slide up and down his back, warm and soothing. For a little while, he zoned out—maybe even fell asleep. But the time wasn’t lost, as long as Belmont’s arms were around him.

At last, he blinked his bleary eyes and sat up straight. “How long did I sleep?”

“No idea,” Belmont replied with a laugh. “I might have dozed off too.”

With a satisfied sigh, Merritt turned to kiss Belmont’s throat—once, then twice. He kissed a trail down to his collarbone. More kisses back up his neck, over his chin, and finally on the lips. Belmont held him tight and returned the kiss, then lowered him onto his back across the love seat.

A soft bell chimed. “What was that?” Merritt asked.

“One hour till the lights come back on and we have to go into the recovery room,” Belmont replied, sounding disappointed. “Party’s almost over.”

Merritt felt a painful pang in his chest. It was as if Belmont had told him it was the last hour of his life. He wished he could slow the clock, but all he could do was hold Belmont until the final second.

As the clock counted down, they lost themselves in each other. Nothing else existed to Merritt. All he heard was the sound of Belmont’s breaths and moans; all he felt were Belmont’s lips, his hands, his body.

When the bell finally chimed an hour later, Merritt slowly pulled away and rubbed his eyes. The ceiling lights brightened, and the East Sphere soldiers began to rise to their feet. In just a few minutes, they’d file out to the recovery room and load up on coffee and Focus. Then it would be back to the coat room, where they’d put their sphere identifiers back on.

It felt like a symbol of everything else in the underground. Friendships, alliances, peace, happiness—all of these things were only momentary, subject to a brutal countdown to war, betrayal, and business as usual.

*  *  *

The blue tie around Merritt’s neck felt like a leash. He knotted it loosely and left his collar unbuttoned to give his bruised skin some space. He put on his packs, then his straps, then his holsters—then, finally, Lyra’s scarf. The private room had been dim enough to keep Belmont and anyone else from noticing his bruise, but now he had to be more careful. He’d tell Belmont about it later, but he didn’t have the energy to deal with it tonight.

He retrieved his cell phone, hoping there would be no bad news from Balbo awaiting him. With any luck, she’d successfully held down the fort in his absence.

He turned his phone on and nearly flinched with shock. No less than forty missed calls, all from a private number. What the hell was going on? No messages had been left, and he couldn’t return the call. He stared down at the phone, his heart pounding. Something had happened, but he had no idea what.

There was no way he could uncover the caller’s identity without his hacking tools. With no choice but to ignore the calls for now, he shoved the phone into his pocket and followed a crowd of West Sphere musicians as they filed out the door.

When he stepped out onto the driveway, he was surprised to see Belmont waiting for him, leaning out the window of a private motorcycle-drawn carriage. “Just making sure you got out okay,” he said, his smile wrinkling his tired eyes. “Need anything?”

“No,” Merritt replied. The gala was over, and he could no longer be indiscreet with Belmont in public. “I’m off tomorrow morning, but I’ll see you in the afternoon. Call me if anything comes up before then.”

“Will do,” Belmont replied. He let his fond smile linger for another moment before he signaled to the driver, who nodded and rode out to the main street.

Merritt walked past the valets and found his motorcycle in the parking lot where he’d left it. He straddled it and was about to start the ignition when his phone buzzed. Was it that same caller again? Hurriedly, he fished the phone out of his pocket and raised it to his ear. “Hello?” he asked urgently.

“General Merritt?” It was an unfamiliar, youthful male voice—pleasant and melodic despite the anxious undertone fueling his words.

“Who is this?” Merritt asked suspiciously.

“Is this General Merritt?”

No point lying if the guy had his phone number. “Yes. Who is this?”

“I….” The young man hesitated. “I need you to come out and meet me. It’s about my friend—Torrence.”

Adrenaline set Merritt’s veins alight. “What happened?” he asked. “Is he okay?”

Another pause. “No. No, he’s not.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Merritt demanded. When the man didn’t reply, he said sharply, “I know he’s been sick. Is he worse?”

“Yes,” came the answer at last. Merritt could hear the sorrow and desperation in the man’s voice. “He’s… barely hanging on. Barely even conscious. But….” A heavy breath. “He keeps saying your name.”

Merritt fought down the panic that threatened to choke him. “Where is he?”

“I’ll text you the address. Come as fast as you can. I don’t know how much time he has left.”

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