Chapter 7 · The Lows' Dirty Deal

"Don't move a muscle, or I'll make sure your heart stops before the company does," the voice hissed from the shadows.

Mara froze. She didn't even have time to breathe before a cold, metallic barrel pressed firmly into the soft skin beneath her jaw. The man holding the gun was small, wiry, and smelled like old ozone and desperation. He was one of the Lows—the scavengers who lived in the gut of the city, people the biotech firms had erased from the ledgers decades ago.

Beside her, Kane didn't flinch. He didn't even look at the gun. He just looked at Mara, his eyes tracking the way her pulse was hammering against her throat. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing her shoulder, the heat radiating off him in waves.

"He's not going to shoot," Kane said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "He knows who I am. And he knows what happens to people who kill a Rusk in the Lows."

"I don't give a damn who you are, suit," the scavenger spat. "I care about the stabilizer. I saw you drop it. Give it here, or the girl gets a new hole in her head.