THE HUXIAN FOX
SAMPLE

“Don’t move ya filthy, cheatin’, shinver-stealin’, polyps-crusted butt.” The dirt grinder points his lava gun at my forehead, and I freeze. “Put ya hands up, girl.”

I stare down the large barrel of the weapon and wonder if it’s the cheating or the stealing he’s most upset with. Surely one small case of shinver isn’t worth the trouble, but the woman? She’s gorgeous and way out of his league, so it’s easy to see why Gussart’s angry. He probably didn’t even realize she was into girls like me—but seriously, how could she resist?

“Which is it, Gussart?” I ask. “Don’t move or put my hands up?”

“Don’t mess with me, Sung. I’m not in the mood for ya games. Put ya hands up.”

I slowly raise my hands.

Gussart’s bald head has turned red, like it’s about to explode.

The two goons, who had been helping me unload the last cases of shinver, take their boss’s cue and approach me, flexing their muscles and cracking their knuckles like it makes them look tougher.

It does.

Gussart’s young wife stands by the door of the warehouse, keeping several yards between her and potential danger. Her eyes are wide with fear as she wrings her hands; I’m not sure if she’s concerned for me or for herself.

“Oh, come on, Gussart. It was just one little kiss. She still loves you.”

“Kiss?” He spins to his wife, who hangs her head, unable to hide the truth.

Oh, fiery balls.

Gussart whips back to me, teeth bared. His eyes are bloodshot, the little veins in his eyeballs ready to burst. I run my hand through my short hair and shrug. He doesn’t wait for his men to do his dirty work. He leaps over a crate, charging like a bull.

I duck, and he goes sailing right over my head.

Gussart sprawls on the ground behind me, scrambling to get to his feet. As he stands, his two henchmen close in from behind.

“Come on, guys, we can work something out.” I show them my open hands, trying to placate them, but they continue their approach.

I can’t stick around any longer. I dart to the left, around a chest, and over another. Gussart’s large warehouse is filled with hundreds of boxes, crates, barrels, and packages. Not all of them contain drugs; plenty will be filled with weapons, ammunition, and other contraband. I’m grateful the place is full because it gives me loads of stuff to hide behind. My nimble feet take me across the room. All the while, I keep my head low, listening to the fools as they crash along behind.

As I sprint around a large wooden box, a hand makes a grab for me.

“Whoa.” I lurch out of the way and jump on top of the nearest crate.

They’re right on my tail, rushing through the warehouse, shoving boxes out of the way to get to me.

I dance along the tops of crates, climbing higher and farther away from my pursuers. Stopping on top of a stack of three, I take a breath and look down at the scene below.

The warehouse is a disaster of toppled containers. Some are broken, spilling cigars and bottles of alcohol onto the ground, but most of the mess is white shinver powder.

My assailants spot me and try to climb up. The first crate breaks under their weight, and a cloud of shinver bursts into the air, covering them as they fall in a heap. I try to suppress a smile at the sight of their white-powdered faces. One of them sneezes.

Lucky bastards. That stuff should get them happy.

They stumble to their feet, unholster their weapons, and aim their lava guns right at me.

I raise my hands again. “Come on, I thought we were friends.”

Gussart stares up at me, his chest heaving, his skin sizzling with so much anger I can literally see steam rising off it. He looks so stupid with his thick neck and bald head still bright red. He thinks he’s tough with all his tats running down his bulging arms, but he’s just another fool that can’t satisfy his lady. He does have a big gun, though.

“Gussart, let’s discuss this like two business partners.”

“Ya no partner of mine,” he huffs. “No, Sung. This is the end of the road for ya. No one steals from me.”

“Don’t be so overdramatic. It was just one little case of shinver.” I shrug. “I’ll give it back.”

“I can’t trust ya, Sung. And that’s a problem for me.”

I huff.

“Ya’ve been foolin’ around with my wife—”

“It was only one kiss.”

“—and I know it’s not just one case a shinver, Sung.”

“It is, I swear. Count them.”

“One case from this load, but ya’ve done this before.”

Busted. How long has he known?

“Do ya think I’m stupid, Sung?”

I shrug again, which is exactly the wrong thing to do.

“Shoot her.” Gussart’s face turns so bright it’s glowing. “Shoot that smug, redrynch dung smile off her face. NOW!”

My eyes widen. He’s seriously going to kill me. I jump from my perch onto the next crate, dodging blasts from their weapons.

I swing from a beam, over more boxes, and sail through the air. Vibrations course up my legs as I land, but I keep on running.

The goons are no match for me. I’m as fast as a fox. I have them chasing me around the room without a chance in hell that they’ll catch me. I laugh as they lumber behind.

I head for the exit, turn a corner, and—

Bam! I run smack into Gussart, who is blocking the only way out.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He lifts me by my throat, slamming me up against the wall. His fingers press painfully into my neck, and I struggle to breathe, feet dangling.

“Gussart, come on, don’t do anything you’ll regret.” I squeeze the words out.

“The only thing I’ll regret is ever trustin’ Fan Sung,” Gussart growls and presses harder.

 I squeak and gurgle. No more words escape. I grasp at his hands. Scratching. But he’s too strong. My lungs burn.

I stare wide-eyed into Gussart’s dark and determined glare. He’s really going to kill me over a little kiss and some shinver.

My vision darkens. I need air.

My arms go limp, giving up the fight. But as they do, my fingers brush my duster pistol in its holster.

I don’t want to kill Gussart, but this is my only hope to survive.

With my last ounce of strength, I flip the duster from the holster, hold it to Gussart’s leg—

—and shoot.

Gussart shrieks and instantly lets go. I fall to the ground.

Coughing air back into my lungs, I rub my neck; it throbs, and every breath burns. My limbs shake as I pick myself back up and the oxygen starts to circulate once again.

“Ya shot me!” Gussart howls, clutching his leg.

“Yeah, but only in the leg.” My voice comes out in a croak, but I still grin as I holster my duster.

His eyes grow dark again, and he reaches out with his bloody hands. I quickly step out of range. As he moves to follow, he groans in pain, and his hands promptly return to the hole in his leg.

“I’m just saying, I could have killed you. But I didn’t. Drop a Y chromosome and walk it off. It’s just a graze. Remember that next time we meet.”

I give Gussart a casual salute and dash out of the warehouse door.

“After her!” Gussart’s pained roar fades as I run past his wife, winking as I go. Her eyes go wide as she lets me pass.

The pavement outside is slick from rain, and the lights of the city reflect in the puddles. The rain has stopped, but there’s still plenty of water dripping from the overpasses and skyways that weave around the grid of skyscrapers.

It’s past midnight, but the streets are still crowded with people. They’re out for a good time—drinking, eating, getting high on shinver, looking for love or just a shag.

Instead of washing away the scents of the streets, the wetness enhances the stench of street vendors cooking meat, alcohol spilled from drunken fingers, the sickly sweet perfume of a prostitute, and the acrid odor of human excrement.

Kep City. Such a lovely place to retire.

I sprint past it all while my pursuers lumber behind. There are more than just two of them now—Gussart has called in reinforcements.

When I skirt around a woman in six-inch heels, she stumbles and almost breaks her ankle.

“Sorry, milady,” I call while I speed on, pushing past a group of men. They yell obscenities at me but are cut short when the goons crash into them, causing a bigger commotion.

My assailants disentangle themselves quickly, spot me, and take aim with their lava guns.

Oh no.

I shelter behind a street vendor serving roasted sangue nuts that smell like they’ve been burned.

Bam!

The cart explodes, and smoke billows around me. If the sangue nuts weren’t burned before, they are now, and my cover is gone. I look up into the eyes of one of Gussart’s men taking aim again.

I take off.

Sliding on the slick streets, I slip as I turn a corner into a dark alley, but catch myself before I hit the ground. It’s lucky because they’re right behind me.

But they won’t catch me. Because—right where it should be—my squito awaits, gleaming red in the night with Luchlon astride it and the motors running. It hovers a few feet above the ground.

I leap onto the back, straddling the vehicle and gripping Luchlon around the waist. He guns the engines and takes off with a roar.

“I see it didn’t go too well,” Luchlon calls over his shoulder.

“He accused me of fooling around with his wife and stealing shinver,” I say over the roar of the engines.

“You did fool around with his wife and steal shinver.”

“Semantics.”

He chuckles as he spins the squito out of the alley and onto the street, swerving around other vehicles and pedestrians.

“They’re following us,” I say when I see more pursuers, one on a black squito—not as pretty as mine—and two more in a hovercar with the top down. Both of them are gaining on us.

Luchlon isn’t going fast enough. He’s not the skilled pilot that I am. Lava blasts shoot past our heads.

“Let me drive,” I say, rising to stand on the back of the squito with one hand holding onto Luchlon’s shoulder for balance. Another blast flies past my nose, and I bob my head.

“I can’t stop now,” Luchlon says, refusing my command.

“You don’t need to.”

I slide one leg over his shoulder and then the other until I’m precariously perched on his right shoulder.

“This is crazy, Fan,” Luchlon complains.

The squito wobbles as he tries to keep control of it. With one foot between the squito’s handles and Luchlon’s crotch, I slip my other foot down the side of the bike, my bum sliding down his chest until he’s forced to move back on the seat, allowing me to take hold of the handles and the pilot’s position.

“See? Easy.”

Ba-bash-bash!

The squito is hit from behind and jolts with a squealing judder. I glance back as a shot almost takes off my head. The guy on the black squito has caught up and is ramming us. Luchlon shoots over his shoulder, buying us a moment.

I lower my eyes, concentrating on the street ahead.

Let’s see them catch us now.

I gun the engines, and the squito takes off at a speed so fast the two of us will be obliterated if we crash. But we won’t. Not with me piloting.

The neon signs blur together as I speed past. Luchlon’s one-handed grip tightens around my waist while he points his lava gun behind us.

Whomp! Whomp!

He lets off two shots, and a crash behind us that tells me he hit his mark.

Bam!

Luchlon and I duck as a shot rings out over our heads. It hits a mega-rig instead, creating a crater in the side of the hood. The motor sizzles to its death, and the truck crashes five feet to the ground. The driver jumps from the cabin, running for his life.

The rig is so big it blocks our way, and we’re charging toward it at a deadly speed. I pull back on the handles, and the squito rises higher.

“Stop, Fan. We won’t make it.”

I don’t listen. I gun the engines harder. Luchlon grips me with both hands so tightly I’m scared I’ll lose my dinner.

“Feet up,” I call. I feel him lift his legs just in time. The bottom of the squito clips the top of the mega-rig as it scrapes over it.

I hope that didn’t damage the paintwork.

We sail above the street, but we can’t stay at this height for long. The overpass is as much of a hazard as the rig was, so I lower the squito back to ground level before we lose our heads.

Bam! Bam!

Those two shots were too close for comfort; the reverberations echo in my ears. The black squito has cleared the truck and is still gaining on us. They must have some crazy spectacular mods if they can keep up with me.

Whomp!

Luchlon is shooting again, but he keeps missing. He’s a good shot most of the time, but the pilot of the black squito is better at evasive maneuvers. We duck as more blasts shoot past us.

Do I have to do everything?

I reach down my leg and pull out my duster. A quick glance behind tells me where the stooge is. I point, shoot, and—

Crunch! The bullet hits the black squito’s motor, and it goes into a spin as it crashes to the ground.

With a flick of my wrist, I holster my duster.

That’s how it’s done.

The hovercar is nowhere to be seen, and I think we’ve got away clean.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Where the hell is that coming from?

I look up to see a hovercar bearing down on me from the overhead street. It charges right off the overpass, the driver apparently unconcerned that the hovercar isn’t designed for heights.

Gussart is at the wheel, the crazy crud dweller. He’s got a dirty big hole in his leg, but instead of getting patched up, he’s coming after me.

The hovercar falls fast.

All the while, Gussart is shooting at me. I take evasive action to avoid his shots. One sizzles past my ear, singeing the ends of my hair.

“Luchlon,” I growl.

“I’ve got ’em,” he shouts back.

“You’d better.”

Whomp! His shot takes off the hovercar’s mirror. Whomp! The next hits the hood.

Gussart’s eyes go wide before his face disappears in the smoke swirling from the engine. His hovercar plummets. It was never designed to descend from such a height, and with the primary engine busted, there’s no hope for it.

I watch the scene play out in the squito’s mirrors.

Gussart stands. Just before the hovercar hits the street, he jumps free from the crash. I lose sight of him in the hustle and bustle on the street, but no matter if he lives or dies, that has gotta hurt.

I give the street ahead my full attention again. Everything seems normal. The people are still going about their business, and the havoc Gussart and I caused hasn’t impacted the traffic ahead. It should put my mind at ease, but it doesn’t. There should be sirens, flashing lights, maybe even a blockade. But there’s none of that.

“It seems a bit quiet,” Luchlon says, echoing my thoughts.

“Yeah,” I say. “Where are the royal guards?”