Page 69 of Because I Killed Him
“Are yousure?” Croft asks, clutching the shield in disbelief.
I swipe my Blood Ring over his to transfer my student ID number. “So you know where to send the shield when this is over.”
I crawl on without looking back. If Croft gets caught, if the shield fails again, and he dies, I don’t want to see it.
I redial Dad’s number. This time, he picks up.
“Loredana!”
His deep, breathless voice sends tears spilling down my cheeks. I never thought I’d be so happy to hear my own name.
“Dad.” The word rips from me. “Are you okay?” The connection is shaky, cutting in and out.
“There was an attack, Loredana,” he shouts, fighting to be heard over the noise around him. “The president was shot.Hide.”
The call drops, leaving the shaft in brutal silence. Dad is alive. At least I know he’s alive.
I dial Dickie’s number, expecting voicemail, but he answers on the first ring.
“Broad?” he says in a jittery voice. The video feed flickers on, showing him huddled with his Pinkie chaperone under a cypress tree outside the Speakeasy, wrapped in the crinkled folds of a thermal shock blanket. His face is drained of color, making his freckles stand out in stark contrast.
I stare past Dickie, and my eyes flare wide at the chaos. Students pour out of the Speakeasy in a frantic stampede, stumbling and pushing, people falling in the crush as they flood into the surrounding gardens. Some look confused about why they’re being evacuated, while others appear too drunk to care. Their angry shouts tangle with the blare of sirens and the chopping roar of rotor blades.
Armed Coppers swarm the scene like hornets. Hovercars jerk to a stop, their doors flying open as more police leap into the fray, plasma rifles drawn and ready. Others shimmy down ropes from helicopters, their face shields glowing under searchlights that carve through the darkness. The Coppers storm the Speakeasy in coordinated waves, battering down doors and shouting commands.
“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” Dickie’s mouth quirks into a joyless smile.
“What’s happening out there?” I rasp.
“The Blues are losing it. Well, most of them, anyway. It’s all over the news, broad. They whacked President Reeve at the Bridge Banquet.”
The shaft floor seems to drop out from under me.
“So, he’s really dead?” I whisper.
“Don’t know. The media’s being stingy with the details. Some say yes; others say no.” Dickie pulls his thermal shock blanket tighter. “The Blues strung up two students in the Gin Gallery. I didn’t see it, but I heard. For a minute there… I thought one of them might’ve been you.”
“It almost was,” I say, my throat burning. “Where’s Charlotte?”
“Jack picked her up. They’re on their way out.”
I almost fold in half with relief. “Dickie—did Edmund kill anyone tonight? Any family members of the representatives?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Bank on it, broad. Ed fights his duels clean.”
“Where is he now?”
“The Lucky Dice Loft. It’s not officially mapped, but you’ll find it on the Diamond floor, between the Lindy Hop Ballroom and the Cigar Den.”
I know where that is. I hang up without another word and crawl forward, my mind a relentless drumbeat:move, move, move.I know what I have to do.
Even if this coup fails and Reeve somehow survives, the Blues won’t stop. They’ll keep coming for Reeve, for Dad, for every representative who stands in their way, for their families, and for me.
Unless I make myself untouchable.
