"Yes." The word burst out before I could think. "Yes, please. Anything. I'll do anything."
The Prime leaned forward. "Then you will help us kill Declan Hewes."
Her words made me speechless. I just stood there, staring at her, mouth working like a fish out of water.
"Hewes is a blight not just on Earth, but throughout the universe," the Prime said, her voice cold and sharp. "He's careful, paranoid, and exceptionally well-protected. He trusts no one—except, perhaps, those he believes he's broken completely. You might possess access to him that we don't."
War Chief Xabat spoke. "This won't be easy. It will be dangerous. You may not survive it."
The warning should have terrified me. Instead, I felt something fierce and hot unfurl in my chest.
"But if you succeed," the Prime continued, "if you help us eliminate this threat, your crimes will be pardoned. Your record will be sealed. You'll have your life back and can return to Earth."
Hewes had taken everything from me. My innocence, my integrity, years of my life lived in constant terror. He'd turned me into someone I hated, forced me to betray people I cared about. And he'd done it all with that smug smile, knowing he owned me completely.
But I wasn't powerless anymore. Ana and Sebastian were safe. And now the Prime was offering me a chance to strike back.
I'd never been particularly violent, but the thought of ending him sang in my blood like a battle cry.
"I'll do it," I said, my voice rock steady. "Tell me what you need me to do, and I'll do it. Whatever it takes."
The Prime's expression shifted into something that might have been approval. "Then we have much to discuss."
Chapter 2
Ahrick
The stench of Fange City hit me first—always did. Rust and oil and something organic that had been rotting for far too long in Palaydium's yellow atmosphere. I crouched in the shadow of what had once been a cargo hauler's hull, now wedged at a forty-five-degree angle between the skeletal remains of two fighter craft, creating a precarious shelter for the dozen or so squatters who called it home. The whole damn city was like this. Built from the corpses of ships that had crashed, been shot down, or been stripped for parts by prisoners with nowhere else to go.
Fange City sprawled across the wasteland like a diseased organism, metastasizing wherever wreckage provided foundation. Jagged metal spires jutted toward the perpetually gray sky, their edges sharp enough to slice through flesh if you weren't careful. Makeshift bridges of salvaged plating connected structures that had no business being connected, swaying under the weight of foot traffic. Somewhere in the distance, stressed metal groaned—a sound as constant as breathing here, the city's never-ending death rattle.
I'd been watching Persico's compound for weeks. Weeks of breathing this toxic air, sleeping in shifts in whatever hole I could find, tracking the patterns of the guards. The Kerzak crimeboss ran Fange City with an iron fist and complete disregard for law or mercy. Perfect place for a human trafficker to hide. Persico didn't ask questions as long as the credits kept flowing, and Hewes had credits to spare.
The compound itself occupied what had once been a luxury liner—all sweeping curves and reinforced hull plating that had survived atmospheric entry better than most. Persico had claimed it as his fortress, and Hewes had bought himself sanctuary within its walls. Guards patrolled the perimeter in shifts, armed with weapons that would vaporize anyone who got within fifty feet of the entrance.
I was patient. I'd learned patience in my years as a warrior—learned to wait for the perfect moment to strike, to recognize the opening that meant the difference between victory and a shallow grave. Hewes would make a mistake eventually. They always did.
The comm unit against my chest buzzed—a soft vibration that sent alertness through my system. I glanced around the narrow alley where I'd positioned myself, checking for eyes, movement, any sign I'd been spotted. Nothing. Just the usual chaos of Fange City. Prisoners haggling over salvage, a fight breaking out near what passed for a market, the distant sound of someone screaming.
I slipped into an access tunnel running beneath street level, ducking through an opening barely wide enough for my shoulders. The smell intensified—sewage and chemicals and decay—but it was private. The comm unit was precious, worth more than my life in a place like this. Every prisoner on Palaydium would kill to possess it, would slit my throat for the chance to contact the outside world.
I activated the unit with a touch. The holographic display flickered to life, and Nansar's face materialized in the tunnel'sdim light. My old friend looked good. Freedom suited him. So did having a mate.
"Ahrick," he said, his voice carrying that familiar warmth that made something in my chest tighten.
"Nansar." I kept my voice low, aware that sound carried strangely through Fange City's twisted infrastructure. "You have news?"
"We do." Chloe's face appeared beside Nansar's—the human female who'd survived Hewes's trafficking operation and emerged fierce enough to fight alongside warriors twice her size. She'd stood toe to toe with us and fought Hewes and his minions. The female was deadly with a blaster. "The Prime has made her final decision about Hewes."
My pulse quickened. "And?"
"She wants him dead," Nansar said, and something in his expression—surprise, maybe concern—reinforced the weight of his words. "No trial. No extradition. Just... eliminated."
I processed that, turning it over in my mind. "The Prime doesn't usually order executions." Not this Prime, anyway.
"No," Chloe agreed, her green eyes hard in the holographic display. "She doesn't. But Hewes is different. He has too many connections, too many people willing to help him escape. We can't risk another opportunity for him to slip away. This ends on Palaydium."
"Good." The word came out harsh and hateful. I knew what Hewes had done to Chloe, the years she'd spent as his prisoner. I'd already promised her I'd take care of Hewes. And I always kept my promises. "I'm working on it. Persico's guards are many, but there are patterns. I'll find an opening."
