Storm of Locusts (The Sixth World, #2)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

Rissa flops onto the chair next to him. It’s my second favorite chair, and I only have two.

“I thought you were turning over a new leaf,” Rissa says to me. “Trying not to kill people.” “I was, but that was yesterday. Today, with the whole captured and drugged thing? I’m feeling pretty aggro.”

“He’s in there right now butchering a man he called his friend five minutes ago.” “He doesn’t like rapists. That seems like an excellent quality to me.”

I feel like I should be offended, but I’m so far from offended. Being a fine lady sounds like a fucking nightmare.

“That was just a lot of words. You didn’t actually tell me anything.”

“Where are you going?” he calls. “To fight your friend. That god.” “Drunk?” “I’m sure as hell not doing it sober.” “Fair point.”

“Sorry.” She grins, showing teeth. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.” “Is that a threat? Because you make that sound like a threat.” “You bet your ass it is.”

“Ah, now,” he says, his grin shifting to disarming, “you wouldn’t shoot a man who baked you a pie, would you?” “Didn’t anyone tell you, Gideon?” I growl, as K’aahanáanii rolls through my veins. “I’m the crazy one in the girl gang.” I pull the trigger.

“Magic, medicine, science, and a little luck. If I had duct tape, I’d throw that in too.”

Don’t you want to be free?” “No! Free is lonely. Free is having no one who cares for you, no one who will sacrifice their own lives to protect you. Free is no one having your back even when you’re a solid bitch. I don’t want that kind of free!”