I might be trapped on this ship like a worm in a can of fish food, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for them to capture me. My best chance—my only chance—was to start firing and take them by surprise.
Once again, I was in a situation where I had only bad options. Sometimes I thought that was the sad story of my life. No good, easy, simple choices, only those that ranged from bad to worse to catastrophic. I firmed up my shooting stance. Well, let’s see how catastrophic I could make someone else’s day.
The red seam grew wider, longer, and hotter, and a shower of sparks appeared, winking like the fireflies that sometimes braved the polluted evening air on Temperate 42. The distinctive clink of a lock breaking sounded.
Then . . . silence.
The sparks vanished, but the red seam remained, slowly growing dimmer. The mercenaries had put away their laser torch and were getting ready to board. I drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out, steadying myself.
A large metal spike punched through the molten seam in the middle of the doors, making me flinch. The two halves of the spike split apart, turning into a hydraulic spreader. Then, with a loud, ear-splitting screech, the doors zipped apart, and the first mercenary rushed on board.
I shot him in the throat, above his protective breastplate and below the clear visor that covered his face. He gurgled something unintelligible, then toppled to the floor. Behind him, a curse sounded, but I pulled the blaster trigger again and again and again.
Blue bolts zinged through the dark opening. A few more muffled curses rang out, although I couldn’t see whom I was shooting at.
“Return fire! Return fire!” someone yelled.
Bolts streaked in my direction, but I kept firing my own blaster in return. If the other mercenaries managed to get on board the ship, then I was dead.
A bolt zipped out of the opening and slammed into my body, right above my left hip. Red-hot pain erupted in my side, and the force of the blow punched all the air from my lungs and threw me back. I ground my teeth to keep from screaming, raised my blaster, and fired again.
And then again . . . and again . . .
No more bolts came shooting out of the opening. I stopped firing, straining to listen over the roar of my heart in my ears—
A black-clad figure erupted out of the darkness. He must have had a speed enhancement, because he closed the distance between us before I could get off another shot. He shoved me back, then grabbed my right arm and banged it into the wall. Painful tingles zipped through my hand, and the blaster slipped from my nerveless fingers and hit the floor. I lunged after it, but the mercenary dug his hand into my hair and yanked my head back.
“No use fighting anymore, Vesper,” Hal Allaston hissed. “You’re going to tell us exactly what you did with those files you stole.”
He released my hair and punched me. Pain exploded in my jaw, but I braced my legs and managed to stay upright. Slowly, I blinked the world back into focus.
Four men were now standing in front of me. Three of them had blasters aimed at my chest, while Hal was cracking his knuckles in a clear attempt to intimidate me. I wasn’t afraid, though.
I was angry.
I was angry that I’d gotten shot. Angry that Kyrion Caldaren had attacked me after I had saved his life. Angry that Rowena Kent had dumped me on an Imperium ship. That she thought it was okay to play games with my life when she was the one putting innocent people in danger.
And my anger went back even further than that. I was angry that Conrad had stolen my work, my ideas, and the promotion that should have been mine. That he had cheated on me with Sabine Kent. That he had just bided his time with me until someone richer and more powerful had come along.
And I was especially angry about my mother abandoning me and never looking back, that Nerezza had cared more about becoming a Regal with wealth and power than she had ever cared about me. I was angry that my father—whoever he was—didn’t know that I existed and probably wouldn’t care even if he did.
I was angry about all of that—so fucking angry.
But most of all, I was angry that I was going to die on this ship, surrounded by men who saw me as just another piece of trash they would dispose of as soon as they got what they wanted.
Hal cracked his knuckles again and gave me the same toothy, predatory smile he’d given me in the R&D lab this morning when he’d propositioned me. Even more anger surged through me. Lecherous bastard.
“I’m impressed, Vesper,” Hal said, his voice deceptively calm and pleasant. “I didn’t think you would survive being conscripted. Then again, I didn’t think you would be clever enough to download all those files either. But you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the pain pounding in my side.
Hal gave me a speculative look. “What were you going to do with the files, Vesper? Send them to a gossipcast and hope they would run some exposé?” He clucked his tongue in mock sympathy. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
“I was smarter than that,” I snapped. “I was going to sell the files, take the money, and disappear.”
“Sell them, huh? Yeah, I can see that. At least a dozen gossipcasts would have paid you handsomely for the information, not to mention some of the other Regal families. It might be enough to ruin the Kents if it got out, especially once Callus Holloway learned about it.” Hal’s face hardened. “But that’s never going to happen. Do you understand me, Vesper? Your little escapade is over. All that’s left is for you to decide how much more you want it to hurt before I kill you.”
More anger bubbled up inside me, along with frustration. He was right. This was over. Given the severe wound in my side, I would bleed out soon if I didn’t get some help—and no one on this ship was going to help me. The mercenaries would spend whatever time I had left torturing me. If they were especially smart and vicious, they would heal me just enough so they could hurt me again. A process they could repeat over and over until I spilled all my secrets and was begging them to kill me.
I had never felt so completely helpless, so utterly useless, as I did in this moment, which made my anger boil up into full-on rage.
Hal slapped me across the face. “Pay attention, Vesper. I’m only going to ask these questions once. Then I’ll let my friends work on you, and they won’t be nearly as nice and gentle as I am. Understand?”
I was too busy blinking the stars out of my eyes to respond. Hal’s blow had spun me sideways, and I found myself staring through the glass barrier into the cargo bay.
Kyrion was still leaning against the counter. The mercenaries were so focused on me that they hadn’t spotted him yet. Kyrion stared at me, his face blank and unreadable, although his fingers tightened around his helmet, as if he wanted to use it as a weapon—as if he wanted to do something to help me.
If I’d had the breath for it, I would have laughed at the absurdity of that idea. Kyrion Caldaren didn’t want to help me. He was probably just bored waiting for the mercenaries to finish killing me.
Hal dug his hand into my hair and yanked me back. I banged into a wall, causing more pain to ripple through my body. Tears streamed down my face, but I swallowed the screams that kept bubbling up in my mouth like acid.
He gave me a cold, dispassionate look. “We know you downloaded the Velorum files. We searched your workstation and your apartment, but we didn’t find them. So what did you do with the files, Vesper? Where did you hide the drive? Is it on you right now?”