After what felt like a full day, Mercy's body screamed in protest with every breath. Her legs had gone from numb to burning to a deep ache that radiated up into her hips.
The shelving units dug grooves into her back that would probably leave permanent marks. Her wrists throbbed where the cargo straps had cut into them earlier, and her face felt swollen and hot. She couldn't touch it to assess the damage, but based on the way her left eye was starting to swell shut, she looked like hell.
But worse than any of that was the hunger. Her stomach had given up growling hours ago, settling into a hollow ache that made her lightheaded.
When was the last time she'd eaten? Before the pirates. Before everything went to hell. The bread. Zane's bread, still warm from the oven, with butter melting into the crust. That felt like a lifetime ago.
She leaned against Zane because there was nowhere else to go. His arms had come around her at some point, holding her steady when her legs threatened to give out. The position should have been awkward, intimate in a way that crossed every professional boundary she had. But exhaustion had stripped away her ability to care about propriety.
His heartbeat was steady under her ear. Calm. How could he be calm?
"My fucking useless dad is going to get us killed." The words came out raw, scraped from a throat dry with thirst.
His voice rumbled through his chest, and she felt it as much as heard it. "We're not going to die."
Mercy lifted her head enough to look at him. His face was all sharp angles and shadows, nothing like the soft lord who'd complained about wine quality. Even in the dimness, she could see the certainty in his expression. Like death was simply not an option he was willing to consider.
"We're doing a great job of surviving right now." The sarcasm cost her. Her split lip cracked open again, and she tasted fresh blood.
"We've seen four pirates and the captain. There's almost certainly at least one more on their ship." He shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on her when she swayed. "We can take them."
Was he serious? She searched his face for signs of delusion brought on by oxygen deprivation, but his eyes were clear. Focused. Nothing like the bumbling lord who'd whined about bathroom breaks.
"I have a blaster hidden on the bridge." She'd stashed it behind a false panel near the pilot's seat three years ago after a close call with raiders. "But they'll kill me before I make it three steps." The image flashed through her mind. Her hand reaching for the weapon. The pirates faster, always faster. Blaster fire tearing through her before she could touch the grip. "Fuck!" The word exploded out of her. "I should have fought them when they showed up. I'm sorry, this is so bad."
This was her fault. Her ship. Her responsibility. She'd let them board, thinking she could talk her way out of it. Thinking they'd see she had nothing and leave. Stupid. So stupid.
"We don't need your blaster." His hand came up to cup the back of her head, gentle despite their situation. His palm was warm, almost hot, against her skull. "I can handle them, but I need you to be safe."
The touch should have been comforting. Instead, it sent a spike of anger through her exhaustion. Safe? She'd been taking care of herself since she was sixteen. She didn't need protecting.
"I can handle myself." She tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go. "And you're my passenger. I'm responsible for your safety."
Not the other way around. She was the captain. He was cargo, valuable cargo who'd paid half up front, but cargo nonetheless. It was her job to get him to his destination intact.
"I can handle myself, too."
Something in his tone made her look at him again. Really look. Past the expensive clothes and once-perfect, now mussed and a little greasy hair. Past the act he'd been selling since the pirates grabbed them. There was something there, lurking beneath the surface.
Something dangerous.
They lapsed into silence. Her mind turned over his words, trying to make sense of them. What kind of lord could "handle" armed pirates? What was she missing?
Time crawled by. Minutes or hours, she couldn't tell anymore. The emergency lighting never changed, the walls never moved, and their bodies remained pressed together in forced intimacy. Her thoughts grew sluggish, focusing down to basic needs. Water. Food. Freedom.
The way Zane's thumb was tracing small circles on her shoulder, probably unconsciously. The heat of him seeping into her bones.
Then she heard it.
Running feet in the corridor outside. Shouts, muffled by the door but urgent. Angry.
The proximity alarm shrieked to life, cutting through the ship like a blade. The sound was different from inside the closet, muted but still sharp enough to make her flinch.
"What the hell?" She pressed her ear against the door, trying to make out words through the metal.
The pirates who'd attacked her sounded like they were about to be attacked themselves. The irony wasn't lost on her. Part of her, the petty part that was tired and hurt and angry, found it hilarious. Served them right.
Chaos erupted outside. More running. Something heavy crashed into a bulkhead. It cut off abruptly.
