combination of fear and pain.
Mara hurried forward and collected the fallen weapons. “Going to stamp out his miserable life?”
Blocky whimpered.
Breath and rage pushed through Kell’s body. The fucker had threatened Mara. Kell demanded blood.
But, as Blocky had helpfully reminded him, Kell was 8th Wing. They had a code, a sense of honor that had to be preserved. Cold-blooded murder was PRAXIS’s way.
“I want to.”
Blocky whimpered again.
He slammed a fist into the side of Blocky’s head. The man collapsed to the ground, splashing in the greasy puddles.
Mara gazed down at the unconscious man. She nudged him, not gently, with her boot. “Why not?”
“I shed that skin when I left Sayén.” He hefted Blocky’s substantial bulk over his shoulder. Gods, the man was heavy, but Kell didn’t stagger under his weight. “A killer’s skin.”
She gave him a look, and he distinguished the gleam of respect in her eyes. It nourished him, far more than killing ever had or could.
He turned and strode down the passageway.
She followed. “We’re not taking on any passengers. Especially not this ass.”
“Only room for two on the Arcadia.” They reached the cargo lift, and, in silence, rode it down to ground level. The lift spit them out into an alley. Garbage rested in moldering heaps, and Kell kicked the heaps apart to find precisely what he needed. Lengths of touw cord, used to bind pallets for shipping.
Mara knew exactly what to do. She wrapped the touw cord tightly around the unconscious man’s wrists and ankles, then, for good measure, she gagged him with a scrap of coarse cloth—without brushing off the dirtroaches skittering through its folds.
A largely-empty waste drum proved an excellent location for hiding the would-be interloper. There was just enough room to cram him inside and replace the lid. Didn’t look like the alley got much foot traffic, so the location was secure. It wasn’t a death sentence, but it would take a lot of effort and determination for Blocky, with his broken arm, to fight his way free.
“That ought to hold him. Ten solar hours, at least.” She glanced around the alley. “Appropriate he should wind up here, with all the garbage. One regret, though.”
He glanced at her, curious.
“I didn’t get to punch him.” She kicked the drum. “The shit tried to hurt you.”
The only people who defended him were other Black Wraith squad members. She was the first civilian who gave a damn about him.
He didn’t care that they were standing in a grimy alley. He kissed her, hot and demanding. Her hands gripped his biceps, her hips cupped his. He wanted her against the wall—just like last night.
With a growl, he finally tore away from the kiss. This wasn’t the time, and definitely not the place.
“You keep promising a banquet.” She struggled for breath. “But all I’m getting are snacks.”
“I’ll give you a feast. But our appetites are going to be unsatisfied for a while.”
“I’m not good with delayed gratification.”
“We’re both hungry.”
“Wish that gave me some comfort.”
Hand-in-hand, they ran from the alley. Time kept moving onward, slipping away. Lieutenant Jur would be sold into slavery in a few hours. He readied himself for any threat, considering all the possibilities, all the hazards. Not just hazards to himself, but to Mara. Nothing would hurt her.
As they headed toward the docks and her ship, understanding hit him. He’d never been a covetous man. He deliberately kept his needs simple—street life had taught him that. But now he burned with greed. Each time he kissed Mara, each time they touched it only made him want more and more of her. Until he had everything. Until she was entirely his.
Chapter Eight
Saying goodbye to Beskidt By wasn’t a hardship. The place reminded Kell too much of what he had left behind on Sayén, what had been lost when PRAXIS used then abandoned his homeworld. He’d never known Sayén before it had been ruined, but he knew it after, as an animal that had devoured itself.
Even Mara, piloting her ship out of the city, looked faintly disgusted by what she saw, the same as when she’d taken a long look at the club’s daylit interior. Long-held beliefs falling away to reveal something raw and new beneath.
“Good to shake off that dump’s grime,” she murmured. She guided the ship above the skyline, through the columns of greasy smoke and between the soundskiffs blaring pop songs and advertisements. Thick storm clouds formed a roiling, lightning-lashed boundary above them. “It’s time to start looking for a new place to roost.”
“Because of me.”