In the next instant, the woman dropped into the dirt. On a perfect, heart-shaped ass.
Freezing in place, 673 waited to see what happened next.
“Fine,” the woman shouted, stumbling to her feet. “Go. But I’m not leaving. We’ll find a way.”
“Your funeral.” Soldier bastard grabbed a pack off the ground. He slung it onto his shoulder next to a similar one.
“At least leave us one.” She surged forward, grabbing for the pack, but soldier bastard darted out of reach.
“Not so high-and-mighty now, are you, Cadet West? In fact, seems like you and your Council friends might need us after all.” Soldier bastard patted the pack. “These were issued to the military crew, and you know how strict Command Council is about ensuring resources are relegated to the proper department. You survive the night, I’ll be ready to hear just what you’re willing to do to get an unsanctioned taste.” With a final leer in her direction, soldier bastard kicked it into a jog. “Let’s go, men.”
An odd frisson of uncertainty snaked through 673. He wanted those weapons, wanted what was in those packs. But he’d come for a different reason entirely, and with the seven soldiers out of the way, the few left would be easy pickings.
It was a curious thing: choice. For so long, there had been only the option to survive. He didn’t like having alternatives. It almost made him feel human again.
“West, please,” a dark-haired female in a similar gray uniform limped over to where the other woman stood, the quality of her boots marking her as Council even without his ability to see the CC designation on her skin, “go with them. You’ve done so much for us already. Why should you die, too?”
He’d already noted this second female and the wounded Council officer on the ground and dismissed them as any kind of threat. Fact was, like fighter girl, they were dead folks walking—because, in this case, soldier bastard was right. The strong barely survived out here. The injured didn’t have a chance in hell.
His fighter girl didn’t seem to care, though. His? No, she wasn’t his. She wasn’t anything but Dragath25 dirt in the making.
He’d learned long ago not to stick his neck out for anyone else. Keeping himself alive was hard enough.
Just beyond, the wind picked up, brushing against 673’s skin, signaling the start of another dust storm. Within the half-hour, this place would be choked in dirt and debris, everything within suffocated under an indifferent cloak of dirt and rock.
“I’m not leaving you.” Fighter girl stumbled forward, her wavy, soot-colored hair brushing her ass . . . so easy to grab and wrap around his wrist. “Let’s find something I can drag Dr. Winthrop in.”
She turned in his direction, giving him his first full view of wide green eyes, a lush pink mouth, and firm, high tits full enough to fill his hands.
His body rioted to attention, the man he’d once been waking with a silent roar as white-hot lust flooded his veins. He jerked to standing, all subterfuge, all caution, forgotten. The absence of touch for eight long years, a sudden agonizing stab of need across his skin.
“Look!” She pointed near to where he stood, and for a heart-stopping moment, he was sure he’d been sighted. But then she turned back to her friend. “There’s something that looks like a cave only a little way up. If we can make it there, we can hide.”
“But—”
“No but. We are making it there.” She dropped to her knees beside the wounded officer’s body. “No one else is dying. Headquarters will send search and rescue to investigate the crash. We only have to stay alive until then.”
The shrieking cry of 223’s pack sounded again. Closing in fast.
The reminder cooled 673’s lust enough to get him thinking again.
His gaze flickered between the woman, now frantically working with her friend to wrap the man in some kind of fabric, and the strewn, burning wreckage that littered the ground. His hands clenched and unclenched.
Choices.
His dick was telling him one thing. His mind another. Shit. He really hated choices.
He started forward.
To read more, click TRAPPED and settle in for another wild ride!
Acknowledgments
First, thank you! Yes, you. Thank you for reading my work. I’ve said it before, but I know there are a lot of amazing books out there and I appreciate you taking the time to read mine. It means a lot.
Next, I want to do a special shout-out to some incredible readers who have gone above and beyond. Persephone Black, Tricia Len, Holly Grays, Janey Dyson, Holly Hill Mangin, Christen Roxo, Jean Stillman, Janet Seavey, Carol Hanlon, Rose Files, Anthony Abignale, Lori Rattay, Katrin Ähmsry, and Ema Cristina—thank you for your support, your reviews, your shares, your posts, your pictures, and your ideas. The writing journey can be lonely, but not with you guys in my corner.
I’d like to thank Daqri Bernardo at Cover by Combs for another gorgeous cover, Margaret Bates and Lisa Knapp for their terrific editing and proofreading, and Veronica Adams at L.Woods PR for all her incredible PR help.
A HUGE thank you is also owed to the extraordinary Danielle Raleigh from Danielle Leigh Author Services. She saves me every day. From newsletters to social media to beta reading, she makes it happen—and she’s an incredible, patient, funny lady as well. I feel very lucky to have found you, and your tips with this book were spot-on. Thank you!!!
Nor would I dare forget my author friends including the brilliant Lynne Silver, Monique Moreau, Lynn Winchester, and EJ Frost who are always generous with their time, writing suggestions, and support. Lynn Winchester was particularly amazing and her final beta read caught so many last-minute details that needed to be tweaked. I am so grateful for her support and keen eye.
Thank you, as well, to my dear friends Karen, Phyllis, Jay, and Louise for your friendship and your continued determination to hold a book party despite my lameness and for just being all around terrific people.
Thank you, too, to my wonderful dad for loving this series and always being excited to read the next one. You’re the greatest dad a girl could have.
An infinite number of thank yous are owed to my mom for her editing, constant support and cheerleading, and insane patience in the face of my whining. She is the heart of each book and my life, as well. You are so extraordinary and I am so grateful to have you in my life.
Finally, how does one thank the husband that inspires each and every hero I write? You are my anchor and my refuge, my shelter and my home. You are my everything.
About Alison Aimes
Alison Aimes is the award-winning author of the sizzling, action-packed sci-fi romance Condemned series and Alien Warlord series, as well as the sexy contemporary romance Billionaire Bad Boys collection. A book fanatic with a PhD in Modern History, she’s an all-over-the-map kind of woman with a love for dramatic stories, no matter the era. She lives in Maryland with her husband, two kids, and her dog. When not in front of the computer, she can be found hanging with family and friends, hiking, trying to turn herself into a pretzel through yoga, or, last but not least, sitting on the couch imagining her characters’ next great adventures.
Alison can be found online at