55: Deva
Deva
Sadira loomed over Deva. One hand rested on the crate to keep her steady. The other balled into a fist.
“Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
The kick came out of nowhere. Pain shot up Deva’s leg, her shin on fire.
She bit her lip. No way she’d give this cow any satisfaction. She might be tied up, but Deva was still tough. She’d been in tighter scrapes than this.
And she’d only got out of those through luck, or with outside help.
“I’m not playing games. You know what we want. And you know where it is.”
“Don’t have a clue what you’re on about.”
This time, Sadira punched Deva in the face. Deva’s head flew back, cracked against the crate. Dots of light danced, and Sadira’s face blurred.
Deva blinked her vision back and licked her top lip. She tasted copper.
“Where. Is. It.”
