Molly’s mother had always told her she had a talent for stirring up trouble. Leigh was the sweet one in the family. Molly had had to be hard in order to protect her little sister from the men their mother attached herself to. People called anything trouble if it threatened the rules and order of their carefully constructed perfect little worlds.
Molly had grown up outside of good society, outside the rules, outside of safe. To her, trouble meant nothing more than poking a few holes in the walls of society so a little bit of her world could seep through. It was the easiest thing in the world to stir up trouble, and sometimes when the deck was stacked against you, trouble was your best friend.
Nick understood that. That’s why the Reaper was rampaging through Stark’s guests. He wasn’t biting people, just herding them toward the landing pad. The night was filled with the sounds of running feet and panting breath, shrill shrieks and the occasional gunshot. Stark’s guards were being careful with their bullets. There’d be hell to pay if they accidentally shot any of the guests.
Most of the guests were running toward the landing pad, and it was easy to slip into the crowd to join them. The crowd was frantic, and she was jostled and tripped. She managed to keep on her feet all the way to the tower and then parted ways with the crowd. There was an iron gate at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the docking station. The gate was closed and there was a heavy padlock hanging from the bars.
One man was clanging away at the chains with a heavy rock. Other men pulled at the anchor ropes. Molly wasn’t sure if they were trying to drag the ships down or if they were trying to figure out how to climb a rope. Whatever they were after, the only thing they accomplished was to make the ships bob and bump into one another.
To be honest, she was rather impressed by how fiercely the Scrapers were fighting to survive. She’d always thought of them as sheep, obeying their rules and customs and family heads. She’d have expected them to hunker down and wait to be rescued. Stark, apparently, had expected the same. He certainly hadn’t expected his well-bred guests to overrun his guards and fight one another to get to the ships.
Giving up on the tower, Molly ran toward the back. There were always ships in the hangars at Scraper residences. Older ships that’d been retired. Ships they were using for parts. The jumps that the servants would use to get to and from the city. She threw open the doors to a dusty old hangar and grinned at the sight of a corsair. Someone had been caring for the old thing. The balloon was still intact and the brass was shining. Better yet, Molly wasn’t even going to have to push the thing out. The roof was an old shutter model, more common to the border.
She turned the crank to open up the roof, cut the anchor lines and boarded the ship. The ship had already drifted up through the gaping hole in the roof before Molly took the pilot’s chair and realized that the engine was keyed and the key was nowhere to be found. She’d lost the pins in her hair when the guard had pulled the netting off. Good thing she’d tucked a spare set into her garter.
She’d have to tell Carlo if she ever saw him again. There really was no such thing as being overstocked on weapons and lock picks. A man in his position should have learned that lesson years ago.
She fit the pick into the lock and fiddled with it for a moment before she heard a satisfying click. The ship jerked and began to spin. Molly looked up sharply, clipping her temple on the side of the dash.
She frowned out the window. The shell had cleared the roof. What had she snagged on? Standing up, she leaned over to take a look out the narrow starboard window.
Damn.
She hadn’t hit anything. Someone had shot a traction hook into the hull. Dropping into the pilot’s chair, she fired the engines. If she could get going before they anchored the hook, she might still stand a chance. Depending on where the shot had landed, she might be able to pull free even if the hook was anchored. She might lose a few planks of wood doing it, but she could fly with a damaged hull.
Another hit rocked the ship. She grabbed the leather-wrapped handle and pulled hard. The engine sputtered, but then caught with a mighty roar. The cables holding her went taut, and the wooden hull groaned. The cables held. More surprisingly, the hull of the old tub held together too.
The engine was small and underpowered, not original to the ship. She winced when the roar thinned and pitched higher.
“Come on.”
A heavy thump sounded from the hatch at the rear of the ship. She’d been boarded. She was hovering only a few feet above the roof of the hangar. Someone must have jumped for the ladder.
She’d set aside her gun to pick the lock, and it had slid out of reach. She climbed to her feet to retrieve it and pitched forward as one of the hooks gave way. The ship lurched, and the gun slid further away. She dropped to her knees and crawled to it. Her hand closed around cool metal. Her unwelcome visitor shot at the hatch. Wood splintered and she swung around just in time to see a dark shape come through the door.
Dressed in formal black, Karl straightened, his gun pointed right at her.
“Molly.” He inclined his head in a slight bow, like she wasn’t about to shoot him dead. “You’re not going anywhere. Cut the engines.”
“Why would I do that when I can shoot you and run?”
“Freddie has a cannon pointed at the ship. No one has to die. Stark wants you alive.”
She shook her head. She didn’t believe that. Stark only wanted her alive to control Flynn. She wouldn’t be used to hurt him.
“He already has Flynn. The Reaper is down. The situation is bad, but it can still be repaired. Don’t make it worse than it already is.”
“Worse than this?”
Something flickered in his blue eyes. He lowered his gun. “It can always be worse.” He held out his hand. “Come on.”
Her finger tensed on the trigger. She was tempted to shoot him anyway. Stark wouldn’t care so long as she turned herself in afterward. He’d probably even bribe her out of jail so that he could move forward with his plans. Her hands shaking, she lowered the gun. Karl was an asshole, but he wasn’t the real enemy.
She might be a street rat, but there were lines she wouldn’t cross. She wouldn’t let Stark push her over them.