CHAPTER 6

T he footsteps stamp to a halt directly overhead.

Mitchell and his crew must have called our bluff. Led the Customs officers straight to us. Metal creaks as weight shifts above us. They’re about to lift the roof off our hiding place.

I suck in a breath and hold it, mind racing through a rapid assessment of our options.

Fight? We’re unarmed and outnumbered. And if we won, what would we do then? Commandeer a ship we have no idea how to operate? A ship that hasn’t been cleared for lightspeed?

It’s not a realistic option.

But surrender? No. I will never willingly go back to my father. It’s not only that the thought of being in the same room with the man makes me want to vomit. It’s that I’m also the key to half his empire, and withholding myself is the best way to make him hurt. Make him pay.

No, surrender is not an option.

Above, an unfamiliar male voice barks a muffled question. Mitchell replies, his cadence casual and disarming. A second unknown male, a deep baritone, shoots a terse question and Ballga replies .

There’s an exchange between the two outsiders. Then the footsteps retreat, even and staccato like the footsteps of soldiers.

I can’t believe it. The crew didn’t rat us out after all. I let the breath I’ve been holding sigh out of me like air from a deflating balloon.

“That was close,” Tori breathes. She releases my sweaty hand to scrub both palms over the veil that still covers her face.

“Guess Nature’s on our side after all.” Vince sounds as relaxed as ever. I turn my head and, sure enough, he’s smirking. “And speaking of nature, since the three of us are all cozy down here anyway…”

I do my best to punch him in the side with what little leverage I can get in the cramped space. “God, you’re such an irreverent ass. Have some respect for the gravity of the shitshow we just avoided.” I try to sound mad, but even as I scold him, I’m grinning with relief.

I’m still grinning when Ballga slides away the heavy trapdoor, but my smile dies as my eyes adjust to the bright, bluish-white light of the engine room.

“Hands where I can see them.” Mitchell stands above us with a blaster pointed our way. A blaster I recognize as the one we stole from Carlson.

“Fuck.” Vince drags the word out, his tone more annoyed than worried. He raises his hands and sits up, hinging at his hips then rising to his feet in a smooth motion. He glues his palms to the back of his head like he’s done this a few times.

I’m not so smooth. I struggle under the weight of my false belly, grunting as I attempt to crunch upward while keeping my hands lifted. I strain, but my torso barely budges.

Mitchell takes pity on me and offers a hand. His eyes sear into mine as he hauls me to my feet. “You’re not even pregnant, are you?”

I keep my mouth shut.

Ballga moves behind us. She slaps a pair of handcuffs on Vince’s upraised wrists. He lets out an annoyed sigh. “Look, we’re not hijackers. We’re just looking to get off-planet quietly and then we’ll be out of your hair. We can pay full price.”

Mitchell acts like he doesn’t even hear Vince. He catches Ballga’s attention over Vince’s head. “I want to see their faces.” His voice is calm, but his eyes blaze with restrained anger. A tingle of fear prickles the back of my neck. The way he holds that blaster, I’m certain he knows how to use it.

Ballga tugs roughly and my grey headscarf pools around my shoulders. Navy hair falls forward to frame my face.

Tori draws in a sharp breath as Ballga yanks off her veil, revealing shades of neon-pink, magenta, and rose that make it obvious she’s no Child of Nature. Tori stands still, hands raised above her head in surrender. I note the strain around her eyes and the tense set of her jaw. It’s more than her own fear. She’s definitely picking up the emotions of the crew, and they can’t be pleasant.

Ballga steps into view, a heavy-duty blaster in hand. A blaster that doesn’t belong to us. And the way she’s caressing it like her firstborn child, I’m guessing it’s her personal weapon of choice. There’s clearly more to this old lady than the matronly grandmother persona let on.

Mitchell’s gaze searches Tori’s face, then returns to mine. “You’re wearing coloured contacts. Take them out.”

I force my fingers not to tremble as I lower my right hand, keeping my left raised above my head. I press a finger to one eye, remove the thin membrane, and flick it to the floor, then repeat the process. I meet Mitchell’s gaze, refusing to show the shame I feel at what I know he sees—blue eyes flecked with silver starlight.

“An addict.” The false calm of Mitchell’s voice has become a low growl. He flicks a deadly look at Vince before turning back to me. “This day just gets better and better.”

My cheeks burn, but I keep my head up. “You don’t know me,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Don’t judge me.”

“How about I get to know you, Miss Terra? Though I doubt that’s your name.” Mitchell’s stare burns into my telltale eyes for another long moment before he looks to Tori. He jerks his blaster toward the door. “Let’s talk. ”

-X-

A few minutes later, Tori, Vince, and I are seated in a central living space that Sam called the lounge during our tour, back when we were guests and not suspected criminals. It’s oval, with a kitchenette on one side, a sunken seating area in the centre, and a door on either end.

I’m wedged between Vince and Tori on a semicircular banquette that hugs a round metal dining table. Worn faux-leather upholstery squeaks its disapproval as I shift position.

I stare at our three sets of palms pressed flat on the cold plane of the table where Ballga can ensure we “don’t try anything stupid” while we wait for Mitchell to join us. Between Vince’s large, tanned hands and Tori’s feminine, rose-coloured ones, mine look small and pale. I strain to keep my fingers from twitching.

I hate holding still.

Hate quiet.

Hate waiting .

Hate where my thoughts stray when I’m forced into silent inactivity.

I can’t take it. My index fingers start tapping a nervous rhythm on the table’s metallic surface. Tap-tap-thud, tap-t-tap-thud-thud. The click of my nail contrasts with the softer sound made by the pad of my finger. Ballga sighs loudly but doesn’t stop me.

My gaze snags on Tori’s chipping silver nail polish. It’s been less than forty-eight hours since she painted her nails to match the glittery tube-top she wore to my last show. Probably the last gig I’ll ever play if Mitchell turns us over to any kind of authority. My dad owns them all. He is the ultimate authority.

With all the blood on his hands to go with it.

And as his heir, I’m just as drenched in red as he is. Blood glistens scarlet on my hands even now, as they tap the table, leaving sticky red fingerprints on stainless steel.

Wait.

Fingerprints?

I cease my drumming and stare. Red smudges the silver surface. I turn my hands over. Crimson liquid coats my palms. It oozes warm between my fingers. Fresh.

It’s not real. It can’t be .

I squeeze my eyes shut, open them. Pale flesh shines back at me, clean again.

I’m just glitching. That’s all it is. It happens sometimes, when you’re as stuffed full of mods as I am.

Or at least, that’s what I tell myself. But part of me wonders if dad should have chucked me into a mental institution instead of a rehab clinic .

I groan and lean forward until my forehead rests on the cool metal tabletop. “Where the fuck is Mitchell?”

“Watch your mouth, Rich Girl,” Ballga growls.

Rich Girl. I grind my teeth. My stupid eyes give everything away.

Footsteps fall in the hallway. Then the lounge door slides open with an automatic hiss. My head is still down but I know it’s Mitchell by his steps, know he’s approaching our cozy little party. Know by the restrained energy in his footfalls that he’s mad as hell.

He slams something bulky on the table and I jolt upright. My black bag. It lands open, so the contents spill out. Atop a jumble of undergarments not befitting a holy woman, nine large vials of Delirium shine like moonlight, casting their incriminating glow on my burn-blade and a pair of small blasters, bought brand new for the job.

My hands itch to snatch my stuff up, but I’m not dumb enough to act on the impulse. The captain’s reflexes are just as fast as mine, and it’s obvious he’d shoot me if I reached for a gun.

“We covered for you,” he says, staring each of us down in turn. “When they searched the dormitory lockers and found your bags, Ballga told the officers this”—he pokes the blaster’s nose into my bag, skewers a lacy thong, and raises it, dangling from the tip of the gun like a limp flag—“belonged to her.”

Vince lets out a slow whistle. “Nice panties, DJ Girl.”

I don’t have to be looking at him to know he’s smirking. But I’m not interested in his poorly timed teasing. My eyes shoot to the mechanic. She covered for me? Why?

“The officer took one of your vials as a bribe and didn’t ask too many questions,” Ballga tells me. I’m no expert on Tileah body language, but the way her thin, dark lips pull back to show pointy white teeth doesn’t exactly seem friendly. More like a warning that she wouldn’t be opposed to eating me for dinner. She still holds a beefy, long-barreled blaster in both hands, though at the moment it’s angled toward the ceiling and not pointed directly in my face.

“Why?” I ask quietly, looking into her slitted yellow eyes. “Why help us?”

“Mmm.” Her response sounds halfway between a growl and an agreement with my question. She looks to Mitchell like she’s been wondering the same damn thing and she’s getting impatient to hear an answer. It must have been his decision not to turn us over.

But it isn’t Mitchell who answers, it’s Vince.

“They covered for us because they’d be in as much trouble as we would if a Customs officer found us stowed in their conveniently well-insulated crawl space,” he drawls. He’s not looking at me. He’s locked eyes with Mitchell. “They can’t do anything to us without incriminating themselves and losing their licence. Or worse. So we might as well get the dramatics over with and make a deal.”

Okay, I get it.

I was starting to think these guys were saints or something. But maybe they’re in it for themselves, just like the rest of us. If we hike our payment to full price instead of the meagre fee they charge their usual refugee clientele, maybe it’s a win-win situation for all.

But Mitchell’s non-blaster hand clenches into a fist, like he’d rather throw a punch Vince’s way than throw an offer of compromise on the table. He takes a deep, slow, breath before he finally speaks. “I need more information first.” He jerks his chin at Vince. “You. Up.”

Vince glowers, but he stands.

“Hands against the wall.” Mitchell gestures with the nose of his blaster at the only flat section of wall, on the far side of the kitchen. His eyes follow Vince as the bounty hunter saunters to the indicated spot and presses his palms on the flat metal, so his back is to us. “Ballga.”

The Tileah moves to jam her blaster between Vince’s shoulder blades. Vince shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling and letting loose a string of annoyed profanities, more like a man inconvenienced by bad traffic than someone with a blaster at his back .

To my surprise, Mitchell’s expression is far less angry when he turns back to me and Tori. He sighs and lowers himself so he’s on one knee in front of the table.

“I want you to know,” he says, resting his forearm on one knee and letting his blaster dangle. “I’ll gladly lose my licence before I play any part in trafficking women, so I need to hear this from you girls.” He looks between us, then sets his blaster on the floor, obviously trying for non-threatening. “Are you travelling with this guy of your own free will? You don’t have to be scared to tell me the truth. I won’t let him hurt you.” He looks to me and his expression softens. “And I won’t take away your drugs if that’s what he’s holding over your head.”

Oh my God.

My mouth falls open as it finally clicks.

He thinks we’re prostitutes. Dope-whores.

I look at Tori and then back at the captain, not knowing what to say. I’m drowning in embarrassment, because it’s obvious the stains in my eyes have got him thinking like this. But at the same time, I can’t help admiring the captain for being willing to help girls in a vulnerable position, even when it would cost him everything.

Tori’s having a different reaction, though. “What the hell?” She leans forward. “You think he’s our pimp or something?” She’s clearly too pissed to use her gift for sweet-talking. Her voice is halfway between a snarl and a yell, and she’s glaring at Mitchell like blaster rays are about to shoot out of her pupils.

Mitchell’s brows rise, and he leans back a little. The man has no idea what a sore spot he’s hit. Though Courtesan Elaine is well-respected, Tori despises her mother and her mother’s profession. I don’t know the whole story, but I know one of her mom’s high-profile clients abused Tori for years, and I guess she blames her mom for it.

It’s weird how she’s totally okay using her gift to seduce assholes like Zander, yet she doesn’t want to be associated with prostitution. I’m not going to say I get it, because I don’t. But I do understand having a past you want to forget and freaking out a little when it’s dredged up.

Tori rises to her feet, leaning toward Mitchell over the table. Her hands ball into shaking fists at her sides. “We are not prostitutes. Don’t you dare suggest that again.”

“Tor.” I know I’m supposed to keep my palms on the table, but I reach up and grab her hand, untangling her fist and wrapping my fingers around hers. “Chill, Tor. He doesn’t mean anything by it. We’re two girls travelling off-planet with an older guy. Illegally. “He’s just—just looking out for us. Trying to help. That’s all.”

Tori glares at Mitchell for another long moment before she allows me to tug her back into her seat .

I let out a relieved breath. Tori can get a little… scary sometimes.

When I’m sure she’s going to keep herself together, I turn back to the captain. “Look, we may not be refugees, and we’re not victims of trafficking, but we have our reasons for needing to get off-planet with no questions asked. And we can pay the going rate.”

Mitchell lets out another long sigh. “I guess we don’t have much of a choice.” The softness is gone from his expression as he looks between me and Tori. He retrieves his gun as he rises, then casts a wary glance over his shoulder to where Ballga’s letting Vince turn to face us. “Full price. And we’re locking up the drugs and weapons. Keep sober. I mean it. And keep your mouths and your behaviour in check around the kid. This ship is his only home, and I’ll space anyone who shows even an inkling toward making it unsafe for him. That clear?”

“Clear,” I agree, as Tori and Vince nod.

The captain was willing to stick his neck out for two random women he’s never met. I don’t doubt he would kill for the kid who acts as his first mate.

I cast a nervous glance at Ballga. Granny Cat’s teeth are still bared. She strokes the trigger of her blaster with one clawed finger as she eyes Vince’s back. Clearly, she’d have tossed us out the airlock already if it were her decision .

I feel like we’ve inadvertently wandered into the den of a small pack of lions and pressured them to have us as roommates. We’re going to need to watch ourselves on this ship.