My core clenches at the memory.
Jax blinks, looking past me. He seems to notice Rynn for the first time. He looks the Valorian up and down—taking in the messed-up hair, the grease smudge, the expensive boots—and I can see him cataloging, assessing.
“Who’s the stiff, Rocket?” Jax asks, his grin sharpening. “New boyfriend? Or did you rob a Core World bank and kidnap the teller?”
Rynn steps forward. He doesn’t rush. He moves with a liquid, terrifying grace that screams threat. Every predatory instinct on full display. He stops three feet from us, his golden eyes locking onto Jax’s arm where it rests on my shoulder.
And I realize with a jolt that Rynn is jealous.
Not just protective. Jealous. Territorial. That Valorian biology that makes them possessive of their mates is fully engaged, and Jax just painted a target on himself.
“I am the client,” Rynn says softly. “And we require a stealth stabilizer. Immediately.”
Jax laughs, tightening his grip on me. He has no idea how much danger he’s in right now. “Client, huh? You got a name, Client?”
“You do not need my name,” Rynn says. His gaze hasn’t moved from Jax’s hand. “You need to fix the ship.”
There’s a sound coming from Rynn’s chest—a low, subsonic thrumming that I recognize instantly. The same sound from the bunk. The same vibration I felt against my back when he was grinding against me, marking me with his scent.
Dermal resonance.
He’s purring. Not the happy kind. The warning kind. The kind a predator makes right before it rips a throat out.
My heart skips a beat. I need to defuse this. Now. Before Rynn decides that Jax is an acceptable casualty of his clearly unraveling control.
I step out from under Jax’s arm, putting a little distance between them. “He’s just the cargo, Jax,” I say quickly, forcing a light tone. “High priority. Pays double for speed. But he’s a little... uptight about schedules.”
The words are out before I can think them through.
Rynn flinches.
It’s tiny—just a microscopic twitch in his eye—but I see it. I feel it like a physical blow.
Cargo.
His jaw tightens, the muscles bunching. He looks at me, and the betrayal in his eyes hits me harder than any weapon. But then the mask slams down, colder and more impenetrable than before. The gold bleeds out of his eyes, leaving them flat amber.
“Right. Cargo,” Jax chuckles, giving Rynn a dismissive look that makes me want to shove my best friend away. “Well, if he’s paying double, I guess I can tolerate the attitude. Come on, Rocket. Let’s go check the inventory in the back. I’ve got some ‘blue milk’ saved for a special occasion.”
He winks at me and turns toward the office.
I glance back at Rynn. He stands alone in the middle of the dirty hangar, looking like a fallen prince in a kingdom of trash. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and the air around him is practically vibrating with suppressed rage.
With hurt.
I did that. I hurt him. After everything—after he told me his secrets, after he held me while I froze, after he almost claimed me—I just reduced him to cargo.
“Don’t break anything,” I whisper to him as I pass, and it comes out more like a plea than an order.
He doesn’t answer. He just watches Jax’s back with a look that promises violence, his body rigid with barely-contained fury.
And for the first time, I’m not sure if I’m more scared of the Meridian assassins... or what happens when Rynn’s leash finally snaps.
The office is exactly how I remember it: a cramped box smelling of stale hydro-coffee and illegal ozone, walls plastered with pin-ups of vintage starships. Jax kicks a pile of hydraulic couplings off a chair and gestures for me to sit.
My skin is crawling. I can still feel Rynn’s gaze on my back, even through the walls. That predator stare boring into me.
“So,” Jax says, leaning back against a workbench cluttered with half-dismantled droid parts. “Cargo. That’s a new one. Even for you.”
