in luxurious palaces a ganger like her could only ever dream of.
“S’no big deal,” she shrugged, keeping the emotion off her face with effort. That was the trouble with Madison Cole. She was so damn believable. Indra could really tell she cared. And that made her want to care as well, even if she wasn’t very good at it. A little rusty.
“Got a far better education on the streets.”
She danced away from Madison with a grin on her lips, holding up a small data crystal. Madison gasped and then patted the pockets at her hips.
“How the hell? I never even felt that!”
Indra chuckled, her purloined prize held high above her head as she turned in a little victory dance. When Madison reached up and plucked it from her fingers, she let go. She’d never intended to keep it anyway. She just wanted to have a laugh with the closest thing she’d had to a friend in a long time.
“You are incorrigible. You know that?” Madison chuckled, sliding the crystal back away in her pocket.
“Absolutely. And you love me for it.” Indra turned to walk backward, watching Madison. The fact that it also kept the guards behind them in view was completely coincidental. Not. “So... XO?”
“It means executive officer on a ship, the second in command. For the Lathar it’s second,” the blonde explained. “This Nyek S’Vaan is Danaar’s new second, but Danaar’s not happy about it.”
“Your hubby is never happy about anything.” Indra had yet to see the huge, grumpy alien warrior crack a smile unless Madison was around. The fact that he adored his wife was obvious to everyone and was kind of endearing, but she still wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley anytime.
“He’s a sweetheart,” Mads argued with a chuckle. “But yeah, he can be a little difficult to get to know. That new exec, though, he doesn’t like.”
“He did look like he had a stick up his ass,” Indra commented, falling into step as they approached the relaxation hall at the hub of the human area. Voices from within told them the others were already there. “Sexy as fuck, though, did you see the muscles on the guy? Fuck, I’da climbed him like a tree if he wasn’t such a prude.”
Madison slid her a sideways look. A small frown creased the center of her brows. “Prude? What makes you say that?”
Indra lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “He’s the pious type. You can see it soon as you look at him. The type that’s looking for religion or something to give him what he’s missing. Seen them often enough on the streets, trying to convert us all.”
She danced ahead a few steps again, turning to face Madison with the doors to the hall sliding open behind her. “Convert! Worship the all-seeing, all-knowing spaghetti god!” she warbled, waving her hands in the air. “And your soul will be saved! Convert or you’re dooooooooomed!”
“Oh, put a sock in it, Indra!” a laughing voice sounded behind them, and she turned with a grin to find the rest of their little group already assembled at the table in the center of the room.
“Yeah, yeah... you can talk, Stephens,” she threw back. “You’re a prime candidate for worship of the spaghetti god. I’ve heard the way you talk about pasta.”
“Carbs... oh my god, carbs. What I’d do for a carb and fat fest like a good lasagna,” Stephens moaned dramatically, hand over his heart. He straightened up and eyed them all. “It’s okay for you women, the Lathar have that chocolate cake that hits all your pleasure buttons, but what about us guys? I don’t do chocolate.”
“You know what, I don’t really think the Lathar gave a shit about the preferences of human men when they developed their field rations.” Indra dropped into a spare seat opposite the big marine.
“Preach it, sister,” the woman next to her, Gracie, commented, already halfway through a slice of the afore-mentioned chocolate cake. Indra leaned over to swipe a fingerful of the icing. Latharian field cake was just about the most decadent thing in existence. Layers on layers of rich, moist chocolate cake covered in a sauce to die for... and the best part? It kicked the human metabolism into high gear. You could eat as much as you wanted, and it wouldn’t hit your hips.
“Hey! Get your own!” Gracie hissed, stabbing at Indra’s hand with her fork. She meant it too, real venom in the movement, but she was no match