“If I open this cell door, are you going to behave and let me feed you?” she asked, her voice rising to something that was barely more than a whisper. Fear was still thick in the air, but Iwasn’t going to take it personally. If she was indeed a slave here, everyone was going to be scary to her. Her whole life was full of uncertainty right now, and she was wounded and starving to boot.
“I’d rather feed you,” I said with a wink and a smile I didn’t feel. I casually shrugged, and that sent a lance of sharp pain through my side, where the bloody stab wound was. When she stared but didn’t move, I nodded. “Yes, I will not harm you. Come, little one, let’s do this, shall we?”
She hesitated a moment longer, but eventually lifted her hand to unlock the cell door with her bio-signature. She stepped into my cell with her breath stuck in her chest, like she was so scared she’d forgotten to breathe. Her brown eyes were so big they seemed to drown out the rest of her face, the only thing I could see as she shuffled closer. “Breathe,” I whispered. “Breathe, little one.”
She glared—actually glared—at me, and my pulse spiked with desire. I liked that, liked that a lot. I’d always loved a female with a spine, one who talked back, and I was pretty sure now there was sass hiding beneath the fear. I smirked, waiting to see what she’d do next.
“I am breathing,” she told me, and she closed the final distance between us with two much bigger, more confident steps. “Here’s your food,” she added, and she held the tray in front of me, only then realizing that she was going to have to spoon-feed me or unchain me from the wall. Her expression floundered, her eyes flicking from my bound wrists to the food and back, a growing amount of panic on her face.
Taking pity on her, I said gently, “I am not hungry, little one. Eat the food yourself; you need it more than I do.” She’d need a lot more, blazing stars, she was skinny. She looked like she’d break like glass if I so much as breathed wrong in her direction. It was absolutely abhorrent what that Vaher of a captain had done to her. He was going to be so dead the moment I had the chance. Any last remaining shred of loyalty had vanished the moment I’d seen her. No, there was no misplaced nostalgic empathy or loyalty for the pirates on this ship. Once I got out of here, I was going to lay waste to them all.
Her eyes lifted from the food, which had to be tempting to her, and flicked around the darkened brig. Ah, clever girl, she was checking for cameras, just like I had earlier. That was fair; Dimon wouldn’t appreciate it if she ate the food meant for me. “I haven’t seen any,” I said. “Do you?” She didn’t pretend not to understand what I was talking about, her chin dipping into a quick nod that shifted to a head shake and a hint of embarrassed confusion.
“No, no cameras here. Don’t get any ideas, though… I am definitely not freeing you!” She retreated back out of the cell, glanced once at the open door, then dropped to her knees and set the tray in her lap. Digging into the food with the supplied fork, she ate so quickly she forgot to close my cell door, scarfing it down like it was the first decent meal she’d had all day.
“I didn’t ask you to free me,” I said carefully when she’d devoured most of the food. “Feel better now? When was the last time you had a proper meal?” The urgency, the eagerness to learn more, got the better of me, and I added, “What’s your name, little one?” It was too much, too fast; I knew that rightaway. Her eyes grew big again, and her fear spiked as her pulse increased.
She snatched the injector off the tray, abandoned the empty plate with a clatter, and darted into my cell with surprising swiftness. I braced myself, but it still hurt when she pressed the auto-syringe to my neck and released whatever drug was in it. I didn’t kid myself into thinking those were painkillers or meds to aid healing. No, this had to be a drug designed to keep me from shifting. Dimon wasn’t taking any chances; he knew what kind of escape artist I was.
She retreated from my cell the moment she’d delivered the drug, her chest heaving as she panted. With a slap of her hand, the door swung shut, locking me back in, with her on the other side of the bars. That felt incredibly wrong, but I’d learned from my mistakes; I wouldn’t push again.
I watched with an ache in my chest I had no name for as she gathered the empty tray and plate, clutching it all to her chest like a shield. She only glanced back at me once as she began to retreat, her bare feet scuffing across the metal floor. “Name’s Flack, sweetheart. When you come back, bring a clean bandage, please…” It would probably fall on deaf ears, but perhaps if I reminded her that I was wounded, she wouldn’t be so scared next time.
As the door slid shut behind her, the rage I’d managed to bank rose to the surface again. I fought the chains, though I knew it was pointless, a roar rattling from my chest. She’d walked out the door, out of my sight, and nowanythingcould happen to her. I’d been mildly concerned about my own future, but my worry for her eclipsed it all, and I didn’t even know her name.
Chapter 3
Irena
I pressed my back against the wall just outside the brig and fanned my face with one hand. Was it hot in here or what? Maybe that was just the warm meal filling my stomach to bursting, but I was pretty sure it had more to do with that guy in there. The alien who looked shockingly human and talked to me like I was a hot chick he was hitting on in a bar. Little one, sweetheart, beautiful. Who said things like that? Who said that stuff tome?
Confused, scared, and a little turned on, I was a hot mess thanks to him. He was nothing like I’d expected after Dimon’s hour-long lecture on the monstrous things this guy had done. He’d warned that the guy was silver-tongued, and he was definitely right about that. But… some part of me also couldn’t help but wonder if any of it was true. Dimon was a liar and a cheat, scum. This guy? Quite possibly he was the first person to ever be kind to me since I’d woken up in this nightmare.
I retraced my steps through the ship slowly, lost in thought but not nearly as tired as I’d been before. It was well past midnight, the crew asleep or passed-out drunk somewhere. That time of night when everything seemed to slow down, grow silent, contemplative. I used to love it; I was a total night owl, which had served me well when pulling all-nighters studying in college. Now all I could do was sleep most of the time because I was so damn hungry and weak and scared.
College, I hadn’t even thought about that time in what felt like forever. It was another life, so far removed from the one I lived now that it might as well not exist. I wasn’t sure how long ago I’d been woken from a stasis pod, abducted by aliens, and sold as chattel. A couple months, perhaps half a year, but it felt like eternity already. As if this was the only life I’d ever known.
The chef had passed out in the mess hall, his big body making a mountainous pile in the middle of the room. Vaka and Sil were sprawled at a table in a corner, a forgotten game of Keflo still lying between them. At least one of the three was snoring very loudly. I tiptoed around them, put away the tray, and rinsed the plate quickly. Then I contemplated the kitchen supplies and wondered if I should risk stealing more food.
My eyes darted to the camera glaring at me from one corner, and I decided against it. If Trixom checked those feeds, he might not be a great cook, but he was very fastidious about his galley. It was the only place on the ship that looked in somewhat decent shape. Clean, polished to a shine, with everything neatly in its place.
I retreated through the grate in the floor, down the very narrow tunnel, and deep into the bowels of the ship. I’d explored it all and found the ultimate hiding place—possibly the only spot on the ship where I knew nobody could get to me. The space was too narrow for anyone to reach except me. Over the months, I’d stashed things there; things that wouldn’t be missed. It was almost cozy, that little hideyhole. Almost.
A few blankets and a ratty but clean pillow made up a nest all the way at the back. Broken lanterns I’d managed to fix could be lit to create a bit of light, and I had a handful of trinketsand knickknacks stashed away too that I hoped might be worth something. Things nobody had missed so far, and probably wouldn’t realize were gone for a long time still.
I curled into my blankets, easing slowly onto my side because my hip had begun to ache. When I lifted my dress, I could see a big bruise blooming on the skin there, courtesy of Dimon’s vicious kick. It was hard to be upset about it when it was just another incident in a long list of shittiness. Not when my belly was full and warm for once, thanks to a real meal.
He’d asked me when I’d last truly eaten, like that mattered to him. I told myself that was just a trick, a way to convince me that he was the good guy so he could use me. That’s what Dimon’s stories had implied, that this stranger wouldn’t hesitate to use me in anyway he saw fit. The problem was, he looked so damn sexy, part of my brain saw absolutely zero objections to that. What was he? Who was he?
I fell into a restless sort of sleep, wondering all of that. Friend or foe? Genuine or manipulative? I had no answers, but that hope was back, blooming in my chest. When I woke that morning, I tried to ignore it, told myself not to trust it, but that was hard. A person needed hope, something to cling to, and for the first time in months, it didn’t feel so hopeless.
Daytime meant I had to be twice as careful when traveling through the ship to do my tasks. I wasn’t sure if I was expected to feed the prisoner in the morning as well, so I headed for the galley first. I sneaked under the grate in the kitchen and listened in.
Trixom was up, moving around the space in a slow, lumbering fashion. It looked like his leg was acting up, so he was slower than usual and occasionally slammed a fist against his thigh. The mess hall was filled with the handful of crew already awake, most severely hungover as they stared blearily into cups of Chaff or a strong herbal blend. The scent of Roka came foul and heavy from the corner where a Rummicaron male lay half sprawled in a daze.
I eyed the counters through the grate but saw no sign of a tray with a meal and an injector. There were scraps spilling from the trash receptor in the corner that Trixom hadn’t cleaned yet. I pulled a few edible pieces through the grate and quickly ate them: peels from various vegetables, the rind from a hard block of some kind of cheese that tasted bitter, and one semi-squashed piece of fruit that looked remarkably similar to a strawberry. It tasted sweet, too, so I savored that bite.
With my belly partially satisfied, I scuttled away to find the spot where I could usually drink fresh water, filling my belly to bursting so I wouldn’t feel hungry for a while. When I stood by the tap in the empty, broken crew bunkroom, I could hear people coming and going. This place—it was forgotten—a room with busted pipes, mold, and rust. It was storage for a bunch of crates they might have completely forgotten existed. Itwas, however, smack in the middle of the crew deck, and I could hear all kinds of interesting gossip if I hung around a while.
