Weapons Master Galactic Gladia - Anna Hackett Page 0,3
knew why. Maxon’s species possessed a highly developed intuition. Their biological senses were able to pick up things that couldn’t be detected by others. His cyborg implants had dampened it somewhat, but Maxon still had a high sense of intuition. He used it and trusted it daily in his work. He’d feel how to get a design right, rather than just depend on facts.
“Her skills are of value to the Edull,” Magnus said.
“But she helped their enemies. They’ll make her pay for that.”
“Do you have anything specific from this feeling?” Magnus asked.
Maxon shook his head.
The imperator nodded. “I’ll step up our plans to get back to Bari Batu.”
There was a knock at the door.
A female house worker entered and bowed her head. “Imperator Galen to see you.”
A muscled, rugged man strode in, his black cloak flaring behind him.
He wore fighting leathers that slicked up powerful legs, and a black shirt tight enough to show that, despite no longer fighting in Kor Magna’s famed gladiatorial arena, Galen kept in fighting form. Tattoos peeked out under the sleeves of his shirt, and a black eyepatch covered one eye.
“Magnus.” Galen inclined his head. “Maxon.”
“Always a pleasure, Galen,” Magnus said.
Galen ran the House of Galen with a firm hand. They had the best gladiators in the arena, and behind the scenes, they rescued enslaved fighters not suited to doing battle in the arena.
He and his gladiators had rescued the first woman from Earth, and brought down the Thraxian slavers. All the women they’d rescued were now happily mated.
That included the woman Galen had claimed as his own—fierce Sam Santos.
“I have news,” Galen said.
Maxon straightened. “About Bellamy?”
The imperator nodded. “An informant got word to us via Corsair.”
Corsair was the leader of the Corsair Desert Caravan. The caravan master was mated to Ever’s sister, Neve.
“And?” Maxon demanded, impatient to hear.
“It’s likely a day old now,” Galen said, carefully.
“Tell us,” Maxon growled.
“A woman matching Bellamy’s description was spotted at the Meridian Outpost.”
Maxon didn’t know the outpost, but he noted that Magnus straightened.
Gut churning, Maxon kept his gaze on Galen. “Go on.”
“She was taken there by the Edull. She was—” Galen’s lips quirked “—fighting them.”
Of course, she was, the little fool.
Galen’s face turned serious. “She was sold to Zulnath.”
“Drakking hell,” Magnus muttered.
“Who is Zulnath?” Maxon asked slowly.
“A desert crime lord,” Galen answered. “He runs raids, prostitution, drugs.”
Maxon grunted, not liking this turn of events at all.
“He is also known to buy slaves…to feed live to his pack of caquls.”
Maxon stood so fast his chair toppled over. Caquls were mean, vicious little carnivores. This information was a day old. Bellamy could already be dead.
He swiveled. “Magnus.”
His imperator nodded. “I’ll have Jax gather the team.”
“I’m coming.” Maxon strode across his workshop and opened some cabinets on the far wall. He started pulling out his weapons. He wasn’t part of Magnus’ elite cyborgs, but he could fight.
“I’ll contact Rillian,” Galen said. “Have him prepare a ship for you.”
Maxon tried to focus through the gathering storm in his head. Rillian, an ally and owner of the Dark Nebula Casino, was insanely wealthy. The man had been experimenting with ships to navigate Carthago’s deserts. A certain mineral in the sand wreaked havoc on engines, so until now, most tech didn’t function in the desert.
Maxon slammed his weapons into holsters on his hip, then he clipped explosives onto his belt.
He wasn’t trained like the elite cyborgs, but he kept up his fitness and skills. He met Magnus’ blue gaze.
The imperator nodded. “Let’s go.”
God, men could be so clichéd. Even alien men half a galaxy away from Earth.
Bellamy was shoved across the dusty courtyard with two other captives—a woman and a man. The woman was ahead of Bellamy, sobbing hard. The slim man beside her trembled.
Bellamy and the woman were both clad in a tiny twist of red fabric that clasped around their necks with gold wire. She felt like Princess Leia in her slave bikini. She keenly hoped she would get the chance to strangle an asshole with a chain.
The man was shirtless, with simple trousers on. He was trying hard not to show his fear.
Bellamy’s outfit had a slit at the front, showing off the vine-like tribal tattoos winding up her stomach.
“Move.” One of the guards shoved her again.
Biting her lip, she forced herself to swallow a creative curse. Ahead, the woman tripped, and as the guard moved toward her, Bellamy stepped between them and glared. She reached down and helped the woman up.
The Edull had dumped her at this hot, desert outpost—kicking