Her mother had tried to comfort their hurt feelings, but she’d been sick for so many years that Shahara could barely recall the time before her mother became ill. And her mother had depended on her for everything. To beg for more time to pay bills, to help her dress and care for her mother and siblings, to hide money from their father . . . There’d always been something to worry about.
Then there’d been Gaelin. He’d seemed like some mythic hero swooping down to help her just when she needed it most. Her father had barely been dead a year and she was just starting her training as a tracer. She’d met him outside the market and he’d followed along after her like a lovesick puppy.
“Come on, baby. Give me a little smile. That’s all I ask. Here, let me carry that box for you. Don’t worry, I don’t bite. I’m one of the good guys.”
He’d seemed so harmless that in no time she’d dropped her shields.
God, she’d been so stupid. Why had she not seen through him from the beginning?
But she knew. She’d been so strong for so long that it was nice to be able to lean on someone else for a change. And he’d seemed so interested and nice . . .
Young and innocent, she’d wanted to believe that there was goodness in the world. That happy endings were possible and that people were decent.
Yeah, right.
All he’d been interested in was her body and what little money she had. And after he’d felt he’d waited long enough, he’d taken what he wanted and left her bleeding.
That day, she’d died, too. Not physically, but inside. Every hope or dream she’d ever held about her future vanished. From that day forward, she knew there would be no children—Gaelin had seen to it that would never happen.
No love, no husband.
Nothing but a long life spent serving her siblings and trying not to let it turn her bitter. Making sure that they were able to have the dreams she didn’t dare have anymore. Making sure that no one ever took from them what had been brutally taken from her.
Her throat tightened and she wished she could cry. But what was the use? Tears were cheap and she wasn’t one to wallow.
Still, she wished she’d never met Gaelin. Wished she could have met Syn under another set of circumstances.
Wouldn’t it have been great to meet Sheridan Belask, medical student? Ignorant of his past, she could have probably liked him a whole lot.
Gah, Syn’s right, you are a crybaby. Enough. What was done was done. She couldn’t go back, and right now they had much bigger problems ahead.
Switching off the monitor, she promised herself that she would think no more of what could have been and no more about him.
She couldn’t afford to.
Hours later, Syn came awake to the sound of the intercom buzzer. “Yeah,” he said, his voice ragged from the new pain that had seeped into his bones while he rested.
Don’t move. Don’t breathe.
Someone, shoot me and put me out of the misery . . . Why did it have to hurt so much to move? He rolled his eyes as the medical reasons shot through his head. Shut up, brain. I know why I hurt. I just don’t want to.
“We’re coming up on Rook. I thought you might want to come up here and talk to the controller.”
“Not really,” he breathed. But she was right. She’d get them shot out of the sky. His luck, she’d even admit who they were and the fact that they were coming in to hide.
Grinding his teeth in expectation of more pain, Syn carefully pushed himself off the bed, pulled on Caillen’s hated boots, and went to join her.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked as soon as he entered the bridge.
“Like a baby vorna that’s been caught in a steel trap.” He took the pilot’s chair and tried not to breathe anymore.
She shook her head at him. “They started asking for our letters and registration a second ago.”
“Did you give them any?”
“No.”
“Good girl.” He flipped open the channel. “Cut it, moron, if I had this thing registered, I wouldn’t be here. I lifted her on Gondara. Let us pass before I hunt you down and beat you for wasting my fucking time.”
The channel buzzed for several seconds until a gruff voice came back. “Who’s her captain?”
“Chryton Doone.”
“Dock in Bay Nine, Hangar Delta Four.”
Shahara lifted her brows in surprise of both his new name and the ease with which they were granted landing approval.
Was Chryton what the C stood for?
No. Chryton couldn’t be it. The name just didn’t suit him.
She sat back in her chair. “That was easy.”
“Don’t go optimistic on me.” He brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I promise they’ll have a welcoming party for us. So keep quiet and pray no one recognizes you.”
Yeah, that could be bad. Bringing a tracer on board a planet of criminals was suicide indeed. And if any of them marked her, she was sure not even Syn’s reputation would see her through. And while she could fight with the best of them, they seriously outnumbered her here.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
In a few minutes, Syn had them docked and locked.
Just as he predicted, a group of three armed men and two armed women came out to greet them. They waited just outside the doorway, weapons held at ready.
Syn sat at the console for several seconds, flicking his finger back and forth over the lateral controls as if he, too, were debating the sanity of being here.
At last, he rose to his feet, shrugged on his jacket, and headed for the boarding ramp.
When he reached the end of the corridor, he paused. A small mirror had been placed just to the left of the hatch and he took a moment to look at himself.
“Ah, jeez,” he sneered, fidgeting with his hair to help conceal the bruise on his forehead. “I look like I climbed out of a hole in hell.”
“Well then, you ought to fit in here.”
The look he gave her would have iced fire. He pulled a pair of shades out of his jacket pocket and put them on to cover his black eye. “Hand me your blaster.”
“Why? You planning to shoot me?”
“Not quite yet.” Then he added, “If I go out there unarmed, they’ll know something’s not right.”
Shahara debated a minute longer before finally handing it over to him.
He tucked it into his left pocket. “Do you still have the small one in your boot?”
“Yeah.”
“Take it out and keep it in your hand, in your pocket.”
She didn’t like the sound of that, but she obeyed.
“Now give me your other hand.”
She frowned before dutifully giving it over as well. He grabbed a small stylus from a notch in the wall and quickly wrote down a name and address on her palm. His touch tickled her hand and did incredibly strange things to her belly while she watched. What was he doing?
“In case something happens to me, that’s the address for a man named Digger. It should be two blocks down the street on the right. It’s a large apartment building. You can’t miss it.” He took the silver necklace off and placed it around her neck. His warmth still clinging to it, it sent a chill over her back. Her breasts tingled. “Show him this and he’ll help you.”
“What about you?”
“If I go down, don’t worry about me. I don’t have a brother and two sisters who need or love me. You just make sure you get away.”
She didn’t like the sound of that at all. “You don’t think you can make it two blocks?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he changed the subject. “Stay here while I go talk to the guards.”
Frowning with concern, she watched him extend the ramp, then walk down to meet their landing party. Only a slight limp gave away his injuries. Well, that and the bruises that still marred his neck. Bruises that made her feel guilty for the part she’d played in handing him over to Merjack.
With a masculine, in-control-at-all-times nonchal
ance that astounded her, Syn approached the guards and exchanged a few words with them.
As the guards walked away, he motioned for her to join him.
She took a deep breath in relief. “What did you say to them?”
That wicked grin returned, flashing his dimple. “I’m not about to repeat it to you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Careful, convict, I might finish what the Rits started.”
He just laughed and threw his right arm over her shoulders. Her alarm bells ringing, she stiffened at his touch.
“Relax,” he whispered, his breath tickling her neck. “I need a crutch and I can’t very well be seen on the street here with one. If one of the natives detects any weakness, we’re both roadkill. So just look mean and don’t make eye contact with anyone.”
She smiled seductively. “Gee, hon, you take me to the most wonderful places.”
“Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much. Now quit talking and start for the door.”
As they started walking, she couldn’t help noticing the muscles flexing beneath her hands, against her side. Hard and strong, they made their presence known in a way that disturbed her breathing. Her hunger for his body begging for appeasement, she did her best to think of something disgusting—like Caillen’s dirty underwear.
It didn’t help.
And it only served to remind her that Syn didn’t wear any . . .
Once outside, she almost stopped as dread consumed her. Only Syn’s constant pull on her kept her in motion.
Filth lined the street and an odor that smelled way too much like human waste, garbage, and alcohol assaulted every olfactory gland she possessed. Bile rose in her throat, effectively distracting her from the tantalizing form next to her.
“Relax.” He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Breathe through your mouth.”
“My God, what is that stench?”
“Hell.”
As he continued to lead her down the street, a funny feeling settled deep inside her stomach. She was putting a lot of trust into a man she barely knew. He could take her to some remote location and dump her.
For all she knew, he might even be taking her to a slaver so that he could get enough money to hide. My God, Shahara, what are you doing? This wasn’t her. Shahara Dagan trusted no one.
Ever.
The last time she’d made that mistake, she’d been robbed and raped. And if Syn ever learned the truth about why she was here with him, she was sure that was mild compared to what he would do to her.
“Where are we going?”
He gave her a puzzled look. “To an old friend.”
“What kind of old friend?”
With a weary sigh, he shook his head. “I’m not going to dump you here with no money and no way home if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not half the bastard your bounty sheets say I am. I wouldn’t leave a rabid dog at the mercy of the vermin who inhabit this place. So relax. The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”
She still couldn’t stifle her nagging doubts. “Why are you helping me?”
“Ah hell, I don’t know. Stupidity, I guess.” He glanced at her and must have seen the worry in her face. “You’re Caillen’s revered big sister. Remember?” His voice was suddenly void of aggravation. “I’m not about to face him after I let something happen to you. It would kill him and I think too much of him for that.”
His explanation brought an unexpected wave of disappointment to her.
She tensed. What were you expecting? Gee Shahara, I’m helping you because I care about you?
Wake up. You know better than that. People only help when they have to.
With a sigh of her own, she readjusted her grip on his lean hips and directed her gaze away from him.
The buildings that surrounded them were the strangest hodgepodge of glass, steel, brick, and wood. It looked as if the architects had used spare parts and designs they’d thrown out. And every person they passed eyed them with an interest that made sweat bead on her forehead.
Footsteps approached from ahead. Remembering Syn’s warning, she focused her gaze on the sidewalk before them.
“Hey, how much for the woman?”
Syn pulled her to a stop.
Shahara couldn’t resist a quick glance to see the tall, bald man who stood in front of them to the right. Beefy and intense, he put the scare in scary. He had a shorter, gray-haired companion about a foot behind him.
She looked up at Syn and watched the almost imperceptible way his eyes narrowed underneath his shades. “Your life would be about right.” He raked him with a sneer. “You still interested?”
The stranger looked to his friend. An arrogant, amused smile passed between them before the man turned back to face Syn. “C’mon, friend. It’s two on one. You sure don’t look like you’re up to those odds.”
With a casualness that astounded her, Syn removed his shades and put them in his pocket. The only inkling she had to his deadly mood was the subtle shift of his jacket with his left hand to expose her blaster for his grip. He rested his hand casually against his tight buttocks. “You can’t be talking to me. I don’t have prokas for friends. And I assure you I could gut you both before your stench had time to catch up to your fall.”
Rage contorted the man’s features. He took a step forward.
Syn didn’t move. He didn’t even tense. He just stood there, taunting them with his eyes and deadly silence.
Waiting.
Like a vicious, lethal viper who knew it could take down its enemy with a single bite.
The man behind him paled. “Wait a sec, Chronus. That’s Syn. I saw his face on Blade’s scan.”
A flicker of fear dispelled the rage an instant before doubt wavered in his gray eyes. “I thought he was dead.”
Syn gave him a menacing grin. “Not as dead as you’ll be if you don’t walk on . . . friend.”
His buddy grabbed him by the shoulder. “C’mon. Don’t mess with him. Remember what he did to Durrin and Blade. The Partini still can’t walk right.”
Syn gave an evil laugh. “I sure would like to get an eye’s view of your kneecap, too. What say we play doctor for a bit?” He checked his chronometer. “I got time . . .”
With that, the two men took off at a dead run.
Shahara was impressed by their quick flight. Most of all, she was impressed that Syn had inspired that kind of panic in them without having to draw a weapon. “Just what did you do to a Partini?”
He draped his arm over her again. “It’s a long story. And there’s nothing in the universe more boring than an old war tale.”
She was amazed by that. Any other man, her brother included, wouldn’t have hesitated to bore her with a tale of his masculine bravado. But Syn didn’t seem to need to prove himself. She smiled at his confidence. It was such a nice change from the people she’d known.
As they walked on, she looked up at him and watched how well he managed to keep the pain from showing on his face.
How did he do that?
If not for the bruises and slight limp, she’d never be able to tell that he was hurt, and she wondered what internal scars he must hide with the same predatorial grace.
Syn was like hardened steel. And it must have taken the very fires of hell to forge a man this strong. Which left only one question. What was his weakness? Surely he had one.
Without any more confrontations, they approached the apartment building. Twin bright yellow towers stretched up toward the liquid blue sky.
From a distance the place had looked habitable but, with every step that drew them closer, it became less and less attractive. Broken bottles and litter lined the sidewalk. Several bodies lay stretched out in front of the doors.
Tempted to check them for a pulse, Shahara reminded herself that many thieves used that type of ploy. Once someone bent over, they pounced.
Just like Syn in prison.
Syn took her by the hand and led her toward glass doors that were covered with red graffiti. He pushed
the control to open them.
As the doors pulsed open, she thought about an old story she’d once read that described the entrance to hell. This place certainly looked the part. If not for Syn, she’d probably be running in the opposite direction.
For some reason, she took a great deal of comfort in his presence. Much more comfort than she ought to.
He led her across a dirty, dank, empty lobby where even more graffiti was painted, some of it highly vulgar and obscene. It even had pictures of lewd acts and body parts.
As they approached the lift, a huge reptilian thing appeared and cut them off. It had the body of an upright lizard and the face that was half human, half snake. Its shiny blue and green scales gleamed in the dim light.
A scream lodged in her throat as she forgot Syn’s words and looked into the yellow eyes that were broken only by the black slit of its pupils.
He leveled a blaster at them. “Put your hands up, humans. Now.”
CHAPTER 8
Syn let go of her as he faced the reptilian creature. “Stand down or I’m going to shove that weapon some place real uncomfortable for you and I know enough about your anatomy to know exactly where that is.”
It didn’t look convinced. “What do you want here?” it asked in a lethal raspy whisper.
“I’m here to see Digger.”
“And you are?”
“Syn, as in the original.”
It gave a rumbling sound she assumed was a laugh. “You don’t look like Syn to me. And even if you were, what would you want with that old piece of dried-up mud?”
Syn’s gaze turned deadly. “Why don’t you ask him?” The lizard being took out a comlink and pressed a number sequence. After several seconds a gruff voice answered.
“I hate to disturb you, Frion. But I have a human here who says he’s Syn, as in the original.”
“Syn, huh?” It was obvious the man was older by his shaking voice. “Then ask him what his birth name is.”
The lizard looked at Syn.
Shahara also turned a questioning brow. Now she would find out what C.I. stood for.
“Sheridan Wade,” he said with an odd note in his voice.
Sherrilyn Kenyon - [League 02] Page 14