“It’s the truth,” I lie, drumming my fingers on my knee. Trying to shake the image of Rynn’s face when I said it. “He’s a high-value asset. OOPS assigned him. I deliver him, I get paid, I pay you. Circle of life.”
Jax snorts, grabbing a bottle of amber liquid from a shelf and taking a swig. “Rocket, I’ve known you since we were running stim-packs out of the Cassian Nebula. You’re a terrible liar. Your left eye twitches.”
“It does not.”
“It’s twitching right now.” He offers me the bottle. I wave it away. “That guy out there? He isn’t cargo. Cargo doesn’t look at every other male in the room like he’s calculating the most efficient way to sever their spinal cords.”
I shift uncomfortably, suddenly aware of a low vibration coming through the walls. Through the deck plates. That thrumming purr that means Rynn’s control is fraying.
He can probably hear every word we’re saying.
“He’s protective,” I say, quieter now. “It’s a... species thing.”
“Uh-huh. And the purring?” Jax grins, wicked and knowing. “I could hear him vibrating from here when I touched you. That’s a mating response, Polly. I’ve seen it in Felixian warriors, but never in a... whatever he is. What is he, anyway? Human with a glandular problem?”
“He’s none of your business, Jax.” The thrumming gets louder. Deeper. Rynn definitely heard that. “Do you have the stabilizer or not?”
Jax sighs, his playful demeanor slipping just a fraction. He reaches under the workbench and pulls out a heavy, matte-black component. It’s military-grade. Stolen, definitely. Perfect.
“Quantum-state stabilizer. Self-calibrating. Will ghost your signature for about forty-eight hours before it burns out.” He sets it on the table between us. “It’s yours. For the tab, plus twenty percent interest.”
“You’re a thief.”
“I’m an opportunist. There’s a difference.” He taps the metal casing. “But seriously, Polly. Watch your six with that one. He’s wound tight. Men like that... when they snap, they don’t just break. They explode.”
Too late. I already woke the monster.
And part of me—the reckless, self-destructive part—can’t wait to see what happens when he finally detonates.
“I can handle him,” I say, snatching the stabilizer before he can change his mind.
Jax’s grin returns, lighter this time. “Sure you can. Just make sure you survive the fallout.”
He walks me back out to the hangar. The noise of the station hits us again, a wall of grinding metal and thumping bass.
Rynn hasn’t moved.
He is standing exactly where I left him, a stillness in the center of the chaos. But the atmosphere around him has changed. A group of scavengers is giving him a wide berth, eyeing him withnervous suspicion. One of them has a bloody nose. Another is nursing his hand.
Oh, stars. What did he do?
Rynn’s hands are clasped behind his back, his posture relaxed, but his eyes snap to us the moment we emerge. They land on me first—a quick, thorough scan that checks for injuries, cataloging every inch of me like he’s confirming I’m still intact—before sliding to Jax.
The temperature seems to drop another ten degrees.
“Got the part,” I announce, holding up the stabilizer like a trophy. “Let’s get out of here before the air recyclers give up and we all suffocate.”
“Agreed,” Rynn says. His voice is ice over gravel.
Jax walks us to the airlock, whistling a tuneless melody. As the Pink Slip’s ramp descends, he stops and turns to me.
“Don’t be a stranger, Rocket,” Jax says, stepping into my personal space again. He reaches out, his hand lingering on my upper arm, his thumb brushing the fabric of my flight suit. “If the ‘cargo’ gets too heavy, you know where to find me.”
He leans in, aiming for a kiss on the cheek—our standard goodbye for years.
He never makes it.
There is a blur of motion—too fast for a human eye to track properly. One second Rynn is three feet away; the next, he is between us.
