She gripped the back of his shirt in one hand, peering around his back. He stiffened at her touch, then relaxed.
“Boss.” A tall blond with hair shaved at the sides and pulled back in a ponytail smiled and offered his hand. “Hello there, pretty lady.”
Gark smacked it away with a growl. “Vox, none of that.” Hands that had clenched into fists flexed as he visibly forced himself to relax. “She’s under my protection.”
Aletta flushed, not knowing what to make of the possessive declaration, or the fact she…liked it?
Vox’s grin only grew as he looked from her to his boss. He handed her a steaming cup, which she took hesitantly. She sniffed it.
“This is coffee.”
“Yes. It’s a crew favorite.”
She sighed in pleasure as she took a sip. She’d never tasted anything as good in her life.
Gark ushered Aletta into the room. A tall fridge with a clear door stood against one wall, the door held open by a solid guy with mid-brown skin.
“Who drank my gnavsta juice?” He grumbled.
On either side of the room were booths like the ones in a diner back home, but oversized to fit their huge frames. The one with the tattoo was sitting in one, slurping noodles from a bowl the size of a bucket.
Aletta froze, her hand loosening on the mug, but before she could drop it, Gark captured her hands in his. He moved to block her view of the booth and ducked his head.
She was so close to him that she was staring at his chest. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes.
“Stay here and listen.”
She bristled at the command, but swallowed her retort. She was so out of her depth it may as well be the middle of the ocean—or the universe. She snorted.
Gark was waiting for a response, so she nodded. “All right.”
He nodded, guiding her to the empty booth on the opposite side of the room from where A’Kar was sitting, and gestured for Vox to join her.
She tucked her legs up underneath her, curling into a ball in the far corner of the booth, and cradled her coffee in her hands. Vox sprawled out opposite her, arms spread over the back ofthe seat. He watched her with a smirk, though his eyes seemed serious.
The only sound was the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the slurping as A’Kar ate his noodles. The guy at the fridge moved quietly to stand by the door, leaning up against the wall, as Gark turned to slide into the seat across from A’Kar.
A’Kar must have realized something was up, because he stiffened with his fork halfway from the bowl to his mouth. He lowered it slowly. “What’s this about?”
Aletta clutched her coffee and sank into the seat. She blew into the mug, letting the steam waft up around her face to warm her cheeks, as she watched Gark.
“Tell me about the tattoo,” Gark said, ignoring the question.
“Why?”
Gark braced his hands on the edge of the table. The tension in the room was thick. Nobody spoke. Vox was no longer smiling; instead, he was watching A’Kar intently. So was the wall of muscle blocking the door. The sunglasses he wore and the pose with his arms crossed over his chest added to the look of a nightclub bouncer who was over drunken antics.
A’Kar turned in his seat, looking at all their faces. His eyes lingered on Aletta briefly before darting back to Gark.
“It’s just something I got when I was young.” He crossed his arms over his chest and settled back in the booth.
“Funny, it looks pretty new to me,” Vox said over the top of his cup. “Strange how you’ve been wearing sleeved shirts ever since the last time we docked at Irith’s Moons.”
A’Kar pressed his lips into a thin line, his bowl of noodles forgotten.
Gark didn’t smile. “Taureans don’t decorate their bodies on a whim.”
Aletta’s eyes trailed over the markings on Gark’s neck that peppered one side of his face. So they weren’t tattoos then?
