One of my captors shoved me forward, and I stumbled, barely catching myself. "Found her in the wasteland, boss. Fresh off an Alliance ship. Thought you'd want her."
Persico leaned forward, his dark eyes tracking over me with the kind of assessment that made me feel like meat on a hook. "Human female," he said, and something in his tone—interest, calculation, hunger—made my stomach turn. "Rare commodity on Palaydium. What's your name, little human?"
I opened my mouth to answer, to say something that might buy me time, might give me leverage in this nightmare—
And then I heard footsteps behind me.
Slow. Deliberate. The sound of someone who knew they had all the power in the room.
I turned, my heart slamming against my ribs hard enough to crack bone, and watched Declan Hewes emerge from the shadows.
For one second—one perfect, impossible second—hope flared in my chest.
This was it.
The plan could work. I could get close. I could—
Then I saw his face.
The hope guttered out, drowned by the ice-cold flood of recognition. That expression—I knew that expression. Had seen it turned on subordinates who'd failed him, on rivals who'd crossed him, on people who'd made the fatal mistake of thinking they were smarter than Declan Hewes.
Rage. Pure, calculated, murderous rage.
My body remembered even if my mind had tried to forget—the particular tension in his jaw that meant someone was about to bleed, the way his hands flexed before they struck, the cold precision of his cruelty.
Could I kill him here?
The thought flashed through my panic like lightning. He was ten feet away. If I moved fast, if I was willing to die doing it—
No.
Persico was watching, massive and interested. Guards flanked the room, weapons ready. I hadn't—no blade, no gun, no leverage and I doubted I could do much damage with a water bottle, despite it being metal. I'd get three steps before they cut me down, and Hewes would watch me die with that same cold satisfaction I'd seen him wear a hundred times before.
I'd come to Palaydium to execute this man.
Instead, he was about to execute me.
He looked exactly the same. Same cold eyes, same cruel mouth. He was dressed well—too well for a prison planet, in clothes that probably cost more than most people would see in a lifetime. His hair was perfectly styled, his face clean-shaven, and he looked at me with an expression that made my blood run cold.
"You," he said, and each word was a condemnation. "You stupid, worthless bitch."
I didn't have time to react before he was on me, his hand cracking across my face with enough force to send me sprawling. Pain exploded through my skull, bright and sharp, and I tasted blood.
"Do you have any idea what you've cost me?" He grabbed my hair, hauling me up, and slapped me again. "I had everything set up perfectly. Everything. And you got caught like some amateur, some pathetic little spy playing at espionage."
Another hit. My vision blurred, my ears ringing. I tried to raise my hands to protect myself, but he was too fast, too strong, too practiced at this kind of violence.
My forearm caught the next blow—barely—and the impact sent a shock of pain radiating to my elbow. He wasn't asking questions. Wasn't demanding answers about what I'd told the Alliance, what intelligence I'd compromised. This wasn't interrogation.
This was punishment. Pure and simple.
His knuckles connected with my cheekbone, and the world went white. The taste of blood flooded my mouth—copper and salt and the metallic tang of a split lip. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything except the sound of my own ragged breathing and his voice, still spitting venom I could barely process.
My body tried to curl inward, instinct overriding thought. Protect the soft parts. Make yourself smaller. Survive.
Another blow. My head snapped to the side.
The Prime's voice rang in my memory."When the moment is right, you'll kill him."
