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The bitter laugh escaped before she could stop it. “Oh, come on. He stole every credit I had and fucked off. We weren’t exactly having heart-to-hearts.”

Joe didn’t laugh, but she hadn’t expected him to. This wasn’t a conversation. He was fishing, trying to find out why Martel wanted her. He wanted a reason… some hidden account, a secret job, or connection she’d forgotten about that he could use to demand more money for her.

Idiot.

Martel had a reputation for killing people who tried to squeeze him. Not dramatic killings, either. Just gone. One day someone was running their mouth in a bar, the next day nobody mentioned their name anymore.

Joe leaned back. “James had gambling debts. Big ones. Men don’t sell their fiancées over a few cards unless there’s more in it.”

“He wasn’t my fiancé then.”

“Still sounds personal.”

She shook her head. “No. It sounds like James was a cunt.”

Joe set down his fork. “What did Martel want from you, Keller?”

“I keep telling you, I don’t bloody well know.”

“You’re certain?”

She sighed. This was getting circular. “Yes.”

He nodded, an expression on his face like she was making his evening difficult on purpose. “Because I could make this unpleasant, you know.”

The door slammed open before he could get any further, and a guard rushed in, breathing hard. “Boss. Martel’s ship just docked.”

Joe froze. “What?”

“His people are already in the docking arm.”

“What? No!” Slamming his chair back, Joe surged to his feet. “He’s early. Fuck it! Take her back to her room. I’ll say she’s receiving medical treatment or something. And someone get Mitch down here to find out why the fuck Maxim wants her.”

They took her a different route back, presumably to avoid running into Martel. Blythe couldn’t say she was upset about that. She had absolutely no desire to meet the guy. None whatsoever.

One guard dragged her along, his hand locked around her upper arm hard enough to bruise, and the other walked close behind, shoving her in the back every time she slowed by half a step.

Not that she was slowing.

No, she was counting.

The corridor curved left from Joe’s ridiculous suite, and ran straight for twenty paces before the deck sloped almost imperceptibly beneath her boots. The air smelled different as well. Hot metal, recycled air... something oily coming through the vents.

This was an older ship. It was big enough to have a separate crew deck and private VIP quarters, but not big enough that it had proper climate control like a proper luxury cruiser.

She slowed her steps to try and get a look at the panel on the fire extinguisher as they passed. Sometimes they were branded to the original company or line that had ordered a ship, and that would give her a clue as to the class of ship. Slowing down got her a shove in the back, and she let a tiny whimper escape her throat.

“There we go,” the one behind her said. “Knew you’d get scared eventually.”

Dammit, the plate on the extinguisher was blank. She let out another little broken whimper. Total bullshit to play the angles.

“Yeah,” said the guard holding her. “Boss says he wants answers, he gets answers. You don’t want us to fetch Mitch.”

“What?” The other one half turned to look at his companion. “Boss said to get Mitch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the one behind her shoved her again. “But if we get the answers ourselves without needing to fetch him, then it’ll look good in front of the boss, won’t it? You gotta think of career progression, Keev.”

She kept her head down as they argued, dark hair falling over her face. The dress clung to her thighs as they walked, cheap, slippery fabric that rustled every time she moved and the whole thing revealed far more of her than she was comfortable with, but her boots were still on. Thank fuck for small favors.