Dreyla obeyed, crouching as low as she could in the footwell. After what she’d just endured, she didn’t have the will to argue. As much as she longed to help the others, she wasn’t sure she could hold a gun steady enough to avoid shooting one of her own teammates, much less hit any of the bad guys.
Remy whipped the hovercraft around a sharp corner, which elicited murmurs of alarm from Lilly and Lady Ris—as well as mingled protests from the other two vehicles.
“Where are you going?” the sheriff demanded.
“We need to get our man,” Remy growled.
Via his earpiece comms, he tried to raise Tosh, but got no answer.
Dreyla gasped in the small, cramped space below the passenger seat. She’d nearly forgotten about Tosh. She’d just assumed he was OK, but how could he be? They’d left him on the twelfth floor of a hotel that was now on fire. The captain obviously intended to circle around the property and liberate the doc through the non-burning side of the Butcher’s Place.
Even from the footwell, she could see her fellow passengers. While Lilly had remained in the back of the hovercraft, sitting among several strapped-down crates of nano-biotics, firing at the gunmen chasing them below, Lady Ris had shifted her weapon toward the front of the vehicle.
Oh, great. Hostiles coming at us from both directions.
But after the captain’s pronouncement, the sheriff paused in her firing and whipped her head toward the driver’s seat.
“Negative,” she said coldly. “Half of the shipment’s on board this craft.”
“Well, I’m not leaving Tosh behind,” he replied, a stubborn note in his voice.
Dreyla knew he would tolerate no further discussion.
“You are, Bechet,” Lilly said in a voice as unbending as the captain’s. “Look, I’ve lost two deputies over this, and for all I know, Brand’s dead, too. I don’t want to lose her either, but we’ve got no choice. Too many lives are at stake.”
“Captain,” Lady Ris intervened. “It really would be more prudent to leave this area.”
As always, the head monk sounded cool, calm, and collected. She’d even continued shooting at Darkbur’s men while she spoke. Unfortunately, her wise advice wouldn’t benefit Tosh.
“Besides,” Lady Ris continued, “two of my ladies went back to retrieve him.”
Although Dreyla felt slightly relieved by this news, Remy’s pulsing jaw made it clear he was less than convinced. The captain never liked leaving anything important in other people’s hands.
Stretching upward and peering through the windshield, Dreyla could see the tops of people’s heads as they ran for cover in the streets. Hard to believe that anyone not on Darkbur’s payroll was still in the area.
“We need to get out of Bane!” the sheriff yelled desperately. “Turn around, Bechet. Now.”
“Not gonna happen,” Remy yelled back. “I’m not leaving Tosh.”
“Yes, you are.” The sheriff’s voice had turned intractable again—and ice-cold.
Abandoning caution, Dreyla clambered onto the passenger’s seat for a better look. Having concealed the hovercraft behind a nearby building, Remy had turned his head to meet the sheriff’s stony gaze with a similarly humorless expression of his own. The sheriff had shifted her gun, now pointing it directly at Remy’s head.
“You’re going to shoot me?” he asked, his tone resigned but his eyes flashing, as if daring her to pull the trigger.
“If I have to,” the sheriff snapped. “If this shipment gets destroyed or taken back to Darkbur, a lot of those that need the meds will be dead in weeks. Maybe even days.” She exhaled nervously, tossing back her dark, disheveled hair. “Please, Remy.”
To the untrained eye, the captain’s face remained immobile, but Dreyla noted the miniscule patches of pink blooming below his cheekbones, not to mention a tiny muscle twitching near his left jaw. She’d seen that look before, and it usually meant trouble.
“She is right, Captain Bechet,” Lady Ris implored, lowering her weapon. “We cannot go back there. You must turn around.”
Remy glanced at the monk, then over at Dreyla, then back at the dashboard. The fact that he didn’t look at the sheriff made Dreyla’s chest tighten. A bad omen indeed.
He wrenched down on a lever and gunned the hovercraft into a stomach-churning turn, his hands clamped on the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his face rigid.
Dreyla’s head buzzed. She knew why he’d turned around. Not to save the people of Vox.
No, he’d done it because he’d chosen that woman over Tosh.
Hot tears streaked down her cheeks as the vessel rocked back and forth. Listlessly, she heard yelling in the streets and saw plasma blasts sailing past the hovercraft, but she hardly cared about the danger.
A blur of minutes later, Dreyla registered an ear-splitting crash as the captain busted through the city gates, which, to be fair, seemed fairly mangled already. Hopefully, the other two hovercrafts had made it out safely.
Soon afterward, they were gliding across a wide-open desert, far from the city, where the air was slightly cooler and infinitely fresher. In the distance, she could discern the other two vehicles waiting for them. Although she felt relieved to see them, dismay and dread still plagued her heart. Dreyla twisted around in her seat and gazed back at the buildings of Bane in the early-morning light. As they diminished in size, she wondered if she’d ever see Tosh again.
She turned around in her seat and shot the captain a dirty look, but he ignored her—and everyone else—merely pretending to focus on his driving.
“What’s the likelihood they’ll chase us?” the sheriff asked Lady Ris.
“Oh, I am certain they will try to,” she replied, “but we will have air support within thirty minutes. There are half a dozen mini-wings headed our way, and my ladies are excellent pilots.”
Dreyla didn’t know what the hell mini-wings were, but somehow, she trusted they’d be good enough to cover the rest of their escape.
Well, they’d better be.
Of course, Darkbur didn’t strike Dreyla as the type of criminal to lose a battle gracefully. If anything like Larker Max, he wouldn’t stop until he’d reclaimed every last crate. And given the destruction zone back at the Butcher’s Place, he certainly wouldn’t balk at retaliating on the sheriff’s station in Naillik, much less a monastery.
For now, though, Dreyla merely sank into her seat, folded her arms across her chest, and thought of Tosh… the crazy, lovable old man, all alone. The man who, in a heartbeat, would have given up his own life for either Dreyla or Remy.
A fresh tear rolled down her face, but before her father noticed, she wiped it away with her fist.
Chapter 7
SHAW
Amid agonizing throbs, unbearable heat, and deafening roars and screams, Commander Tara Shaw regained consciousness. As her eyelids fluttered open, she considered her immediate situation. She lay on her back on the hard ground, staring at a lightening sky filled with acrid, hellish smoke.
What the hell’s going on?
One thing was certain: Shaw was tired of being knocked unconscious, only to wake up aching and confused in a strange, unwelcome place, especially after missing yet another chance to execute Captain Remy Bechet. Besides a sizable headache and a tender welt on her forehead, though, she seemed relatively intact.
Gingerly, she sat upright and looked around.
Nope, not strange after all.
In fact, she recognized the scene. She was sitting in the street behind the Butcher’s Place. Only, everything was on fire. The rear building as well as the main structure housing the saloon, brothel, and hotel were all ablaze and crumbling to the ground with loud, protesting moans.
“What a shitstorm,” said a deep, familiar voice beside her.
She turned to the side and noticed Darius standing alone in the street. Covered in black body armor and armed to the hilt, he looked as sexy as ever.
He turned to her, his grim, hardened face still one of the mor
e handsome things she’d seen since crashing on Vox. She attempted a smile, but it hurt her own face too much.
Glancing toward both ends of the empty street and noting several bodies on the sidewalks, she could only guess that the rest of Darkbur’s troops had either chased after Bechet and his people, slipped away to lick their wounds, or died during the battle over the meds. But Darius was a survivor, like her, so it didn’t surprise her to see him standing here, with little more than a sweaty brow for his trouble.
The last thing she could remember was standing in a now-burning medical laboratory, facing one of Darkbur’s gunmen. After she got knocked out yet again, Darius must have spotted her lying on the floor and pulled her away from the encroaching flames.
Gazing back at the thunderous inferno, she said, “Thanks for getting me out of there.”
“I didn’t.”
She met his unyielding gaze again.
Huh. Must have been the kid then. Imagine that.
Cautiously, she rose to her feet and dusted the ash from her uniform, now a total, sweaty mess.
Just then, the rear wall of the building buckled under the pressure, and the upper levels collapsed amid a geyser of smoke and flame. Instinctively, Shaw and Darius took a few steps backward.
“Your boss isn’t going to be happy about this,” she remarked, surveying the damage.
“He’s not.” Darius held up the tiny comms unit he’d removed from his ear—probably after Darkbur had screamed holy hell at him. “By the way, he’s your boss as well. And he’s especially pissed at you.”
She performed a quick search for her weapons, but found she was unarmed. Again. And the comms earpiece she’d swiped from that deputy was gone, too.
Glancing downward, she spotted a small pile of familiar-looking blades and guns on the ground, not far from Darius’s feet.
Noting her companion’s clenched jaw and merciless eyes, she squinted with suspicion. “Did you take my weapons?”
“You’re not gonna need them,” he said calmly.
In that moment, she realized that her favorite drinking companion was no longer on her side. If given the chance, he probably would have left her in the burning building. Since one of Darkbur’s men had knocked her out, the crime lord had undoubtedly issued a kill or capture order. Having lost one of his businesses and perhaps the meds as well, Darkbur was likely in no mood for her shenanigans or excuses—and he needed someone beyond Captain Bechet and Sheriff Greyson to blame, especially if they were currently out of reach.
Of course, what both Darkbur and Darius failed to realize was that Shaw would never succumb without a fight—Gono Darkbur and his minions weren’t used to dealing with truly competent quarry... or lucky ones.
“Sorry,” she said, and actually meant it.
“Apologies aren’t going to help—” Darius began, lifting his blaster in her direction.
“I know.” An unabashed grin spread across her face as she glanced beyond him. “But I’m still sorry.”
Before he could decide whether or not to turn around, the driver’s-side door of a fast-moving hovercraft slammed into his back, sending him sprawling facedown to the ground.
Shaw stepped aside just in time, as the vehicle came to an immediate halt a few paces away.
Zain’s head appeared above the door. “Commander.”
Through the windshield, she could see Jibs smiling at her from the front seat.
She’d never been so pleased to see her two subordinates. Not that she planned to tell them so.
“Nice ride,” she said as she stepped over Darius and circled around to the passenger side.
“It’s gonna be a bit tight in here,” Jibs said, scooting over. “I think this thing was made for two.”
She gazed down at Darius, who stirred on the ground below. He lifted his head slowly, and his dark eyes locked with hers, his expression both hurt and confused.
Well, you were ready to shoot me.
“Like I said… Sorry.”
As she crouched next to him, her right fist collided with his face, the unyielding alloy crunching bones under its immense force. His head hit the ground, where he remained in a motionless heap.
“Commander,” Zain said urgently, “please get in the vehicle. We have to go.”
After scooping up her weapons, Shaw lifted herself into the hovercraft, squeezed onto the cramped seat, and slammed the door shut.
Bye, Darius.
Zain floored the accelerator and zoomed past the raging fire, making her jostle against Jibs.
“Sorry, Tara,” Zain said, punching the thrust stabilizers.
She gazed past Jibs and stared at Zain’s profile. In all the time he’d worked for her, he had never dared to call her by her first name. Some might have considered it insubordinate to do so now, but the funny thing was… he hadn’t said it with disrespect in his tone, just simple familiarity.
Yes, she and her two crewmen were in this mess together. So, she’d let her number one call her Tara… at least until they managed to return to their own solar system.
Zain turned toward her, his mouth slowly morphing into an amiable grin.
“Wipe that smile off your face,” she ordered.
Zain shifted forward again, his face resuming its default passivity as if nothing had happened.
With a tiny smile of her own, she stared through the windshield. Despite her pounding head, she surveyed their surroundings as they traveled across the city of Bane. Charred buildings still burned, and nasty-smelling smoke swirled everywhere. Sirens wailed, and sporadic plasma blasts streaked across the hazy sky. Citizens ran helter-skelter in and out of buildings, alternately yelling and crying.
Bechet and his crew must have caused at least some of the wreckage they presently glided through. It was his trademark, after all.
Maybe she’d get another shot at him, or maybe she should just cut her losses and leave him on this sickening dump of a planet. Darkbur would nail him one way or another, and the arrogant crime lord likely had an assortment of creative torture methods at his disposal.
No matter what, though, she and her guys needed to get to Naillik and jack that med ship ASAP.
A bunch of armed guards attempted to stop them at the mangled gates, but amid a volley of plasma blasts, Zain simply ducked his head and crashed right through the barrier. He’d totally read her mind. Another sign of his intuition and common sense, for which she was exceedingly grateful. After all, her head throbbed too damn much for her to take control of the situation.
“If my calculations are accurate,” Zain announced, “we’ll reach Naillik in eight hours.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “If this piece of shit can make it that long,” he added under his breath.
“It will,” Shaw muttered in reply. “Then we grab that med ship and get off this damn planet.”
She gazed ahead, across miles and miles of sand, boulders, and tumbleweeds, toward the golden horizon. She didn’t want to be on-planet anymore. Living and working on the move, preferably in a starship of her own, suited her autonomous personality a whole lot better. Hell, she even got jittery on the mining asteroids, and the luxury space stations held no appeal for her whatsoever.
Open space, and a pirate to chase—that was how she liked it.
Chapter 8
LILLY
During the ride across the vast desert, Lilly edged her way toward the front of the hovercraft, crouched behind the passenger seat, and, while pretending to focus on the proximity scanner on the dashboard, snatched glances at Remy Bechet. The strain showed on the pirate’s face—his squinting eyes, his clenched jaw, and the tiny blood vessel throbbing on his right temple. But given his steady expression, his shaggy, black hair flying in the wind, and his forearm muscles tightening as he clutched the wheel, she couldn’t deny the flicker of attraction thawing her deep inside.
He’d succumbed to her demand. He’d turned around at gunpoint, leaving Tosh behind—a decision that must have deeply pained him.
> A lump formed in her throat. She wanted to explain that she never would have shot him—that she’d only aimed her weapon out of sheer desperation for the people of Vox.
But then she noticed Bechet’s face. He’d shifted his gaze toward Dreyla, and the obvious look of fatherly love and concern told her everything: he hadn’t left behind the doctor for her or anyone else on this planet. He’d done it to get his daughter out of harm’s way.
A peripheral flash alerted her, and she flicked her eyes back to the scanner.
“Uh-oh,” Bechet said. “We’ve got company.”
Apparently, he’d spotted the four incoming ships, too.
Lilly turned toward the back of the vehicle, planning to fire the rear blasters, but she knew they couldn’t possibly fight off all the vessels at once, even with the other two hovercrafts. None of them sported the kind of defenses that Darkbur’s armed pursuers likely had.
“They have come,” Lady Ris said, her eyes glowing with relief.
Confused by her expression, Lilly said, “Yes, I know.”
“No, not Darkbur’s people,” Lady Ris replied, pointing westward. “The mini-wings.”
Lilly followed her gaze, but she couldn’t see anything with the naked eye. Turning back to the dashboard, she spotted six dots on the scanner, swooping toward the four ships currently pursuing the trio of hovercrafts filled with the planet’s entire supply of nano-biotics. Once the well-armed mini-wings appeared in the sky, Darkbur’s ships turned around and headed back to Bane. Presumably, his men had calculated the odds and decided to give up the fight.
For now.
“Nice timing,” Bechet said.
“One less worry,” Lilly agreed.
The time passed uneventfully, but just as they were within sight of Trame, the hovercraft wobbled. Lilly glanced toward the front. Bechet’s hands had slackened off the wheel.
What’s he playing at?
Then he slumped forward, and the hovercraft veered dangerously off course.
Lilly made a dive for the steering wheel, but Dreyla beat her to it. After pushing the captain back, the girl grasped the wheel and yanked it to the side, just in time to avoid plummeting over a cliff that overlooked and partially sheltered Trame. Dreyla hovered over Bechet’s lap as she tried to guide the craft toward the monastery.
The Sky Is Crying Page 4
