She put her hand out.
“Deal.”
He took it. His palm was rough and calloused, his fingers closing around hers, swallowing her hand completely. A shiver rolled down her spine, but she ignored it. She absolutely did not have time for that kind of thing.
“Sundown tomorrow,” she said, and was pleased her voice stayed level. She got her hand back before it could develop opinions about being held. “Delivery to my ship.”
“I’ll be there.” His voice had dropped, low and entirely too comfortable. “Don’t go anywhere, Red.”
She turned on her heel and walked away before she did anything else stupid.
Cortisol elevated, Fred informed her, the smugness in his tone frankly unacceptable for an AI. Heart rate ninety-four. I am noting this in the mission log as a tactical error.
I know, Fred.
She did. She was on a prison world, she’d just staked her dignity on a machine part, and she had absolutely no idea what the big alien actually wanted. She knew what he’d said he wanted, but she didn’t buy it for a second. Men who looked like that and moved like that didn’t barter for a kiss from a woman who looked like her.
But the money was real… the part might be real. She really needed the part to be real. She pulled her comp off her belt as she reached the shade of the H4-RPY’s wing.
Scrolling down the parts list, she found the hydraulic cylinder listing and marked it Pending.
They’d have to see if the alien hottie could pull off the impossible.
4
Chapter 3
The lower service corridors were black as night, and the stink of old machine oil and damp stone was thick enough to chew on. Raaze rounded the corner, his hands buried deep in his pockets and his stride loose. He was just a male with nowhere to be and nothing urgent to do.
He’d mapped this window a week ago, because he’d had draanth all else to do with his evenings. He was used to parties and the high life of a celebrity, and now he was dumped on a rock in the ass-end of nowhere. Sucked to be him. Absolute draanthing waste of a career.
The hour before night watch was the garrison’s dead zone. The day guard were already in their bunks, no doubt dreaming of something better than this trallhole. The night shift would be on their second caff-stim, complaining about whoever put them on roster. And for ten minutes, the corridors down here between the machine bays and the stores were empty.
Usually.
He reached the junction where the service tunnel met the main storage access, and a sudden prickle at the base of his neck made him slow down. He didn’t stop. Instead, he drifted into the darkness behind a support pillar and put his back to the cold stone. Instantly, the damp seeped through the back of his jacket.
He held still, extending all his senses as far as he could into the corridor ahead.
A heel scuffed stone, followed by a heavy exhale and the sound of fabric shifting.
Draanth it all to hell.
Because, of course, nothing on this miserable rock could ever go to plan. Someone had picked up an extra shift. Or the rotation had changed. Or the universe was keeping up its long personal campaign against him. He sighed. Probably the latter. Recently, the universe had had a real thing for him. Like it hadn’t draanthed him enough already.
Edging forward, he peeked around the corner.
A guard leaned against the far wall. Dark hair, wiry build. His whole posture said he’d rather be anywhere else, which they had in common.
A hard knot pulled tight behind Raaze’s sternum.
Vaath.
He knew the kid. Liked him, actually. He listened when Raaze spoke, which already put him ahead of half the arrogant trall-heads Raaze’d ever coached. But that didn’t matter tonight. Tonight, Vaath wasn’t a player.
He was an obstacle.
The kid stood in the traditional guard slump, weight on the right leg, and his attention drifting all over the damn place. He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t sharp either.
