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heady mix of jazz and blues rolling out from behind the swinging doors. The simple sign above the door advertised the word Mike’s in red paint, and confirmed he’d reached the right spot.
    As soon as he entered Mike’s , the commotion prickled his skin so much it induced an instant headache, making him pause just inside the door.
    He was here for one thing—to find a way off this rock—and no amount of throbbing inside his skull was going to deter him. He lost himself in the crowd, listening to the sweet voice of the pretty singer onstage. He tried to catch snatches of the conversations going on around him while pretending the intoxicating aroma of blood wasn’t making his stomach growl. But the constant drumming was so loud and contained so many different beats he could no longer pretend it wasn’t the symphony of heartbeats.
    No one spoke of ships or transports, just exchanged animated chatter about the destruction of the arena. A lot of them still toasted the downfall of a tyrant. Rumors and innuendo about what really happened and who was responsible were the most discussed topics, but no one seemed to know for sure. When he approached the bar, the man behind it narrowed his eyes.
    “Can I help you, son?” The bartender was slim, his hair long and graying at the sideburns, blending in with his beard. He was dressed like a cowboy, and his shirt was stained with splotches of alcohol.
    Pain erupted through his skull, but Knox managed to say, “I’m looking for someone called Mike.”
    “Then it looks like you found him.” Mike leaned one hand on the counter between them, the other one tucked beneath while ignoring the other patrons. “What do you want?”
    Knox pushed the barstool out of his way. “Someone at the market suggested you were the man to speak to about finding a ship to get off this planet.” The pain inside his head intensified but he kept his cool, grinding his teeth together just so he could concentrate on something else.
    Mike’s brow furrowed. “We don’t have any ports around here—”
    “Okay, thanks for nothin’.” Disappointed and sick of hearing the same crap over and over, Knox pushed off the bar. What was it going to take to get off this fucking planet? Escaping the arena should’ve been the hardest thing. Now there seemed to be one obstacle after another, when all he wanted was to get as far away from Fray as he could.
    “Hold up a second, son.” Mike narrowed his eyes and glared at Knox. “I didn’t say I couldn’t help.”
    “Well, can you?” He was starting to feel ill, close to passing out. Yet, keeping his gaze on the man somehow helped soothe his mind. It could be his imagination, but he suddenly felt as if a calming wind stirred inside his brain—pushing aside the reek of blood, the erratic sounds of heartbeats and his constant anger at being stuck.
    Mike poured a beer and placed it in front of him.
    “I don’t have any credits.”
    “It’s on the house. You look like you could use a drink,” Mike said. “ You also need to calm down and control all of those fitful thoughts, or you’re going to drive yourself crazy.”
    Knox frowned, staring at the bartender. There was no way he’d just heard the man’s voice inside his head. I’m going batshit insane.
    “You have no idea how true that is.” Knox took a sip of the offered beer. It slid down his throat too quickly and cold, all the way to his empty stomach. Though, it did help wash away the sour taste of dirt and blood at the back of his throat. “Cheers!”
    “Now, about getting off this planet… You’ll find a small ship on the outskirts of Grit. It’s been abandoned for several days and I was about to take it to the market, but it looks like you need it more than I do.” Mike watched him a little too closely, as if he were hearing something no one else could.
    The offer seemed too good to be true. “You give me a free drink and access to a ship. What’s the catch?”
    “There’s no