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Stevie’s face warred between frustration and what was no doubt the desire to hit him with the nearest heavy object.

“Don’t piss me about, handsome. You said one,” she bit out, a dangerous light in her pale blue eyes. “Which indicates the existence of at least a second point.”

Dropping the act, he let the smile slide off his face.

“Two,” he said. “I doubt any of you aboard are using your real names. People on the run tend not to. Makes them real easy to track down if they do. And none of you ladies strike me as stupid enough to make it easy for this Joe to find you.”

A lot of Lathar tended to discount humans as a threat, especially human females. It was easy to fall into that trap.

Humans—apart from a few anomalies like Davis, who appeared to be some kind of human from a different reality, and Jesh, who had more metal in her bones than a small shuttle—generally were much smaller and weaker than the average Lathar.

But Rann had seen Mira and other humans in action, so when all the females around him went still and the temperature dropped in the room, he knew he was in a dangerous position indeed.

“Honestly, not a criticism,” he said quickly, unfolding his arms and flashing his palms in the universal signal for ‘I’m unarmed. Please don’t shoot me in the face.’ All his instincts were on red alert because Layla had her back to him and he couldn’t see what she had in her hands. Hell, even B was slowly undoing her restraint straps, and no one was stopping her when before they’d practically sat on her to stop her moving. Which meant that something had changed in the last few seconds.

“You’re not the only ones running, is what I’m saying. I’m just not running from whoever this Joe is. I’m running from someone way worse.”

This confession dropped into the atmosphere of the room, but didn’t change the tension level one iota. Draanth, how the hells could anyone ever think human females were harmless? He was sure if they got him onto that medical bed, he’d be leaving the ship in more pieces than he’d arrived.

The last strap free, B sat up and swung around to face him. Her expression was just as flat and careful as Stevie’s was and all the hairs rose on the back of his neck. He couldn’t see her right hand, half concealed as it was behind Layla.

“Oh,” she said lightly, “so who are you running from? Who is worse than Joe?”

Trall, trall, trall.

He racked his brains quickly, because saying, ‘Hey, well, actually, I’m an ex-imperial Latharian warrior from a clan who used to be the old emperors’ mad scientists or torturers, no one’s really sure on which… but I screwed them over and now they hate my guts. So they’ve been tracking me for years and when they find me, they’ll brutally torture and murder me and anyone I’m with.’

Yeah. That would get him thrown out of the airlock in little pieces, even the M’Suun wouldn’t be able to piece back together.

“Maxim Martel.”

The name was past his lips before he could think about it, and the effect was instantaneous.

“Well, fuck.” Stevie breathed, pushing her hand through her hair. “You weren’t kidding when you said worse, were you?”

B held his gaze, but he was sure there was something akin to new respect in her expression.

Smiling, she handed something off to Layla, and he realized that both females had been holding lazer scalpels. A cold chill washed over him as how much danger he had actually been in hit home hard and fast.

But, thankfully, the tension in the room had all but dissipated now.

“So what did you do to piss off Maxim Martel?” B asked, sitting on the edge of the medical bed as Stevie and Layla moved to the other side of the room to confer.

Moving closer, he shrugged. “Stole something from him.”

She whistled. “Ballsy move. No wonder he’s after you. Martel doesn’t tolerate people taking what’s his.”

He snorted, remembering the blazing arguments between Davies and Covak when the big vorrtan had eaten some of Tell’s food. If his brother—his litaan—was the same... “Nope, he does not. He really does not.”

Rann grinned and leaned against the wall beside the bed, folding his arms over his chest. The medical bay still smelled faintly of antiseptic and whatever sharp chemical Layla had used on B’s cuts. It clung in the back of his throat.

“So what was it?”

B frowned up at him. “What was what?”

“The tool you asked me if I recognized.”

For a second, she just stared at him. Then one corner of her mouth twitched.