his whole life, from his home world to the space battles in far-away solar systems, and they were the only thing he’d been able to count on when even technology failed. They told him that, yes, he could trust Mara Skiren.
His fingers slowly unclasped from around her arm. He nodded tightly.
Something shifted in her expression, a momentary hint of surprise that he would trust her, followed by a flutter of…gratitude. His trust was an unexpected gift—they both understood this at the same time.
They turned when they heard the sound of the bay door open, and footsteps on the metal floor of the galley.
“Don’t say anything,” she warned.
He nodded again, and together, they moved into the galley. Kell kept himself loose, ready for anything. Mara asked for his trust, and he gave it, but he never trusted PRAXIS. They’d broken too many treaties, overtaken too many worlds, destroyed too many lives.
A PRAXIS officer and two armed troops stepped into the galley. Kell fought down the demand to just take the fuckers out. If anything happened to the officer, the clipper would open fire, and then everything would be over.
Unlike the 8th Wing’s gray uniforms, the PRAXIS Group’s uniforms were a spotless, gleaming white, as if they still believed themselves to be an influence for positive change and progress in the galaxy. Once, long ago, they had been, but greed had superseded the impulse toward advancement and worlds fell underneath the unstoppable force of PRAXIS’s demand for more. More wealth. More planets. More power. Any who disagreed or wanted their own governance were crushed.
Only the 8th Wing stood between PRAXIS and their complete domination of the galaxy.
The officer—a captain, judging by the bars on his collar—stepped into the passageway as if he owned it. He stared insolently at Mara and then Kell. Kell tensed, half expecting the captain to recognize him as the enemy. But the 8th Wing was always careful about keeping the identities of personnel hidden, especially his squadron.
Mara greeted the PRAXIS officer calmly, despite the weapons that were likely trained on her ship at that very moment and the presence of the two armed troops. Her composure reminded Kell of top fighter pilots, level-headed in even the most dangerous situations.
His admiration for her struck him unexpectedly, like an elbow between the shoulder blades.
Mara kept her focus on the PRAXIS officer. “This day gets better by the minute.”
The officer’s eyes lingered on Mara, liking what he saw. Kell’s fists curled and tightened. If that bastard so much as breathed on her, he would tear the captain’s limbs off.
“What brings you to this part of the galaxy, scavenger?” the captain drawled.
“Business.”
The captain smirked. “Of course. Bottom feeding, as usual.”
She didn’t respond to the taunt, even though Kell had the strangest need to punch the smirk off the captain’s face—not because he was PRAXIS, but because of his rudeness to Mara.
“Can we make this quick?” She gazed toward the cockpit. “I’ve got a schedule.”
Annoyed that she wasn’t going to rise to the bait, the captain frowned. “You know why I’m here.”
She did? Kell resisted the urge to shoot Mara a glance. Instead, he stared impassively at the captain.
Mara sighed. “Give me a minute.” She turned and left the galley, but not before sending Kell a quick look that very clearly said, Do not beat the captain into unconsciousness.
Easier to make the request than to obey, especially when the captain openly leered at Mara’s ass as she walked away. His leer faded when he caught the murderous look on Kell’s face.
“Do I know you?” the PRAXIS bastard asked.
“You don’t want to know me.”
For a moment, the captain blanched, then he puffed out his chest as his hand rested meaningfully on the blaster at his waist. “Careful, scavenger. I could have that disrespectful mouth of yours welded shut.”
“Please try,” Kell said.
“Please don’t,” said Mara, returning. She gave the captain a vaguely apologetic shrug. “He’s new. Doesn’t know how things operate.”
“Make sure he learns, and soon.” The captain’s voice dripped with derision. “Before he gets himself and you into trouble.”
“He’ll learn,” Mara answered. She glared at Kell.
I’m standing right here, damn it. But he clenched his teeth until they ached to keep from speaking aloud.
“The tribute?” the captain asked.
Wordlessly, Mara handed him a small metal container. The captain opened it and smiled, then his smile faded. “These had better be real Ingvarian emeralds.”
“I’m not stupid.”
The captain held up one of the stones, light catching in the deep green facets. The container was full of the