The Culling Read Online Free PDF Page B

barely enough room to retreat. I can feel the heat of their bodies, sniff their sweat, which smothers what little circulation of air there is. They both turn to look at me, the laughter gone from their lips and eyes.
    My mouth goes dry.
    “Take me to the Prefect,” I repeat.
    Renquist ignores me and turns to Styles. “It’s a shame to let this one go to waste. Has he been logged in yet?”
    Styles nods, not taking his eyes off me. “We can always do a little creative bookkeeping before it gets to HQ. This pretty boy will fetch a nice stash on the market.”
    My stomach tightens. The Emporiums. Hellholes run by traffickers in human flesh who peddle the poor like cattle to slake the decadent appetites of the elite. The slaves’ bodies and minds are used until there’s nothing left and then they’re discarded without a second thought, leaving no trace of their existence. I grit my teeth. I’m not going to end up in some heap of crushed dreams.
    The two move closer. Renquist leers at me, his tongue running across his lips. “Just as long as we get to sample
the merchandise before we hand it over. I’ve been pulling double shifts for the past two weeks on account of this Recruitment and I need to blow off some steam.”
    Styles nods and takes another step. “Of course, partner. And I’m sure Pretty over here isn’t going to tell a soul.”
    They close in on me.
    I back away until the cold concrete of the cell wall presses against my spine.
    I’ll die before I submit.
    “Styles! Renquist!” a new voice blares.
    A female Imp is standing in the doorway, glaring at my captors. I recognize her from the alley.
    Both Imps snap to attention.
    “Captain Valerian,” Styles barks. “We were just interrogating the perp.”
    “I know what you were doing.” Her mouth and nose crinkle. Does she actually have some compassion flowing through her blood?
    “Just give us a few more minutes,” Renquist mutters.
    “That’s a negative, Officers. Your presence is requested in debriefing.”
    Styles’s eyes dart between me and her. “But we can break him—”
    “Stat!” There’s no mistaking the authority in her voice. She obviously outranks them.
    The two move away from me and skirt either side of her, practically bumping into each other as they exit the cell. I lean an arm against the wall and steady myself.
    Valerian stares at me, her eyes cubes of ice. “Don’t think for a minute I have any sympathy for a traitor. Your kind make me sick, spreading your poison. Filthy ingrates. You deserve the treatment you get, but we have laws, a system in place. Sometimes my colleagues let their … patriotism … get the best of them.” She smirks. “I’d shoot you myself. Don’t you forget that.”
    I nod. “I won’t.”
    “You don’t have to worry about that … yet .” She sneers at me. “Seems like you’ve gotten a reprieve, traitor.”
    She tosses me a dirty old blanket, which I drape over my body.
    My vision is now sharply in focus. “What do you mean?”
    “Retinal scan confirmed you as Lucian Spark. Seems when the custody manifest got circulated, the higher-ups requested you be taken up for a personal interrogation.”
    “You mean … ?”
    “That’s right. I’m personally escorting you to the Prefect for questioning.”
    My knees almost give—a side effect of the exhaustion, relief, and anxiety swirling inside me.
    She pulls out a triangular metallic device and points it at me. I’ve seen those in use before. Nerve stimulators. Very painful. Very effective .
    “Move,” she barks.
    I shamble from the cell, squinting against the bright lights, with Valerian at my back.
    The path to the Citadel’s main tower leads me past the dungeon levels, where the anguished cries of those waiting for sentencing or questioning raise all the hairs on my body. From the festering prison, through the shiny metallic Imposer precinct, up spiraling staircases and through enormous iron doors, I travel higher and higher,