to make a little extra cash on the side and help Big Steve with a job. A job that went wrong. Horribly wrong.
I closed my eyes, this time the nausea in my belly less to do with the lingering pain in my head and more to do with how Bailey looked once Big Steve finished beating the crap out of her.
She was close to death when I forced the gallberry juice down her throat. I spent a few tense nights huddled with her in a dirty motel room, forcing her to swallow sips of juice every half hour until she stopped coughing up blood and screaming every time she moved. By the time our limited funds ran out and we were kicked out of the motel, Bailey could walk again, and I had a price on my head.
I rubbed at the translator again. Bailey had immediately called home. Not even her love for fucking the Draax – and boy, did she love fucking them – was enough to make her stay. Her near-death experience had convinced her that living with her controlling mother was better than trying to survive on the street. She’d told me to do the same. Told me Richie would never find me living in the suburbs and it was my only chance. She was right. But I couldn’t go back. Even if I wanted to, they’d never take me back. Not after what I did.
There was another pulse of pain and I steeled myself, clenching my teeth and digging my fingers into my thighs. Thankfully, it didn’t worsen, and I hissed out a breath. Something had gone wrong with the translator and I needed to get it out of my head before it killed me.
Too bad Emilio was dead.
I stood up, my knees shaking and the urge to vomit still lingering despite the pain easing off. I was sweating profusely, and I was pretty sure I had a fever. Still, I had to move. I needed some juice to take back to Richie and with my too-thin body, I’d never convince a Draax to trade some juice for a little playtime in the sack with me. They were desperate for sex but apparently not that desperate.
Stealing it was my only chance.
I tightened the straps of my backpack, straightened my back, and walked briskly across the open area of the docking bay. The key was to look like you belonged here. To act like it was your right to be walking across the docking bay toward a Draax royalty ship with the intention of stealing every last drop of gallberry juice.
Sweat slid down my back despite the cold air and the area behind my left ear was starting to throb dully. Shit. That was new. Normally there was nothing until I got felled by the occasional stabbing pain. I really needed to find someone to get the fucking thing out of my head.
I was almost to the cargo hold now and I resisted the urge to look around to see if anyone was watching. It would only make me look guilty. Instead, I marched right up the ramp like I owned the goddamn thing, not releasing my pent-up breath until I was in the ship.
“Holy shit. It worked,” I said before coughing.
I couldn’t help but be delighted with myself.
Yeah, great, it worked. You still need to find some juice on an alien ship, steal it, and get the fuck out of the docking bay without being caught. Save your self-congratulations for later, idiot.
Good point.
I studied the cargo area. It was bare with no containers that might hold gallberry juice. I jogged over to the door that led to the interior of the ship and hit the button. The door slid open and I stepped into the medium-sized room. There was a long narrow table bolted to the middle of the floor, a row of three seats bolted to the left wall next to a metal cabinet, and what looked like a storage area with a narrow door against the right wall.
Best of all, a grey shipping container was on the floor next to the table.
“C’mon, lady luck, cut me a break, would you?” I knelt beside the container and flipped it open. “Holy shit.”
I froze and looked around. I’d been too loud and even with the doors closed, if there was anyone else on the ship, they might have heard me. I strained to hear even the smallest noise. When there was only silence, I slipped my