Romancing the Alpha: An Action-Adventure Romance Boxed Set

by Zoe York

  Marat met Ying’s eyes, his expression bleak. He opened his mouth, but then closed it again and shrugged helplessly.

  — SIX —

  Marat climbed out of the maintenance shaft into an empty, lower level of the station with the lights dimmed for the night. Or perhaps they were always dim. The bleeps and hums of machinery suggested they had still not returned to a public area.

  Marat straightened and faced the stern, disapproving faces of Sergeant Striker and Sergeant Hazel. It was the middle of the night, and they looked grumpy to be awake. Still, both appeared to be ready for a brawl, with mesh, blast-proof armor beneath their jackets and multiple weapons holstered at their waists. In addition, Striker wore a bandolier of grenades. Marat did not know if they were so heavily armed because they expected trouble from Wolf’s people or if they thought he would resist their invitation to return to the ship. He shouldn’t resist, not if he knew what was best for him.

  He watched as Ying dropped out of the shaft next to him, the hem of the robe rucked up and revealing her shapely calves. The memory of their kiss—what had almost become much more than a kiss—seared his brain. Earlier, he had hoped to win a smile from Ying; he hadn’t expected that he would get even more than that when she had woken up from her dream. Her nightmare. He hoped she would not feel that he had taken advantage of her vulnerability.

  When Ying landed, the robe dropping to cover her legs again, Marat tore his gaze away. Even before he met Sergeant Hazel’s eyes, he was certain he could feel her frowning at him. He was right. No doubt, she believed all this foolishness he had chosen to partake in had been because of a woman. And... she was right.

  Any hint of Ying’s earlier vulnerability was gone. She planted her fists on her hips and stared defiantly at the Mandrake Company people.

  “I assume by your appearance that the captain wasn’t impressed by my suggestions?” Marat asked. He hadn’t checked his tablet since before he and Ying had started... entertaining themselves, but it also hadn’t beeped to inform him of a new message.

  “The captain isn’t impressed by anyone who pisses off an enemy with a ship full of armament and minions happy to use them,” Hazel said, her arms folded over her chest, her aloof exasperation reminding him of Ying, though Hazel had broader features and frizzy hair that would have been a tangle if she hadn’t kept it cut short. If anything, her expression was even fiercer than Ying’s right now, maybe because she was clothed, armed, and had three inches in height and at least twenty pounds more of muscle to throw behind the stare.

  “Sorry, Azarov,” Striker said, though he didn’t appear that apologetic. “When you didn’t come back, I had to tell someone. Didn’t want you getting shot up down here because you were thinking with your—” he glanced at Ying, “—heart.”

  “Heart.” Hazel snorted. “Striker is here to take you back to the ship, Azarov.” Her eyes narrowed. “I suggest you go with him.”

  Marat asked, “What about—” but was cut off before he could finish the sentence.

  “She is not coming with you,” Hazel said. “This isn’t the inner core with all of its fancy GalCon laws. You liberate a slave here, and there’s no police or military organization that’s going to help you. The law on this station says she belongs to Wolf now, and you’re not going to drag the entire company into a fight over her.”

  Ying’s features changed very little as she watched this exchange. She had never expressed any desire to go to the ship with him, so he doubted the outcome of this argument mattered much to her, though he selfishly hoped she would miss him if she never saw him again, at least a little.

  “I wasn’t going to ask to bring her with us,” Marat said stiffly, struggling to keep his tone civil. Hazel was always brusque—he had been to many of her judo classes—but she was usually fair. Tonight, though, she seemed extra crabby. Given how the events must appear from the outside, he supposed he could not blame her. “She wants to kill Wolf, not join Mandrake Company. Unfortunately. She’s a cook.”

  Striker snorted. Marat fought the urge to defend Ying’s talents. They hardly mattered right now.

  “She’s more than welcome to kill him,” Hazel said, “but not with our help.”

  “I never asked for it,” Ying said, her chin up.

  Hazel gave her a withering stare. Ying narrowed her eyes and did not wither.

  “The cuffs, Striker,” Hazel said.

  “What?” Marat asked as Striker unclipped a pair of flex-cuffs from his belt.

  Ying hadn’t been concerned about the argument until that moment. Now her eyes widened, and she leaped away, turning to sprint into the dark tunnel. But Hazel hadn’t survived more than ten years as a combat specialist in Mandrake Company by being slow or weak. Her longer legs gave her the advantage, and she caught Ying quickly, bowling her to the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Marat yelled, charging after them.

  Ying had spun and was fighting with the ferocity of a cornered cat. Though he intended to help, Marat only made it two steps before an arm was flung across his chest and yanked him to a stop. Marat might not be a small man, but Striker was even bigger, with the overly muscled bulk of someone who spent countless hours a week throwing heavy weights around. Marat tried to drive his hip back so he could throw Striker over his shoulder, but he might as well have been trying to hurl a boulder around. Something hard, cold, and metallic pressed against Marat’s temple, and he froze.

  “Is that a pistol?” he asked, incredulous, but for the first time realizing how serious his situation was. Had Mandrake ordered him killed, rather than letting him start a fight with Wolf?

  Despite Ying’s ferocity, Hazel came out on top in their confrontation. She hauled Ying to her feet, locking her arms behind her back. Ying never stopped fighting, but Hazel was as immobile as a rock. Rocks and boulders, that’s what the Mandrake Company people were.

  “It’s a stunner,” Striker said, “but I’m not sure if I should tell you that, since you’re squirming like an oiled wench in a brothel.”

  In other circumstances, Marat might have asked exactly what Striker was doing in these dubious brothels of his, but all he wanted to do was distance himself from these two, to let Ying know that he was not on their side, at least not right now.

  “What are you going to do with us?” he asked, making his tone as frosty as he could.

  “Striker’s taking you back to the ship,” Hazel said coolly, not appearing ruffled by her brief skirmish. “I’m taking our friend here to Wolf’s doorstep.”

  “What? You can’t just hand her over to that monster.” Marat flexed his shoulders and tried to pull away from Striker, but the big sergeant still had a meaty arm wrapped around his chest, pinning one arm and almost pinning the other. He managed to get a hand up to grab the forearm holding the stunner, but Striker’s grip was immovable. “Not like that, not without any weapons or anyone to help her.”

  Neither of the sergeants softened.

  To his surprise, Ying had stopped struggling. “I will go,” she said. “You needn’t manhandle me to get me there.”

  “Ying.” Marat wanted to say something useful, but nothing came out.

  “This was always my plan,” Ying said. “I will find the weapons I need to kill him on his ship.”

  “Before he tortures you?” Marat demanded, his fingers balling as he imagined that bastard pawing over her.

  Ying said nothing, but determination filled her eyes as Hazel turned her and led her away.

  • • • • •

  Ying did not care for the way the mercenary woman grasped her arm, forcing her through the space station corridors with an iron grip, but she accepted her fate. Months ago, she had prepared herself to face Wolf without weapons, to improvise and find a way to kill him once she was on board his ship. For a while, she may have entertained the idea of having Marat at her side in some capacity, but it had been foolish to ever think that way. It was cowardly to let him risk himself for her, and she understood why the merce
nary captain had not wanted to get his people involved.

  Still, as they returned to the shops and eating areas of the station, most open despite the night hour, Ying caught sight of an automated apothecary kiosk that sold all manner of drugs from antihistamines and headache relief to stronger narcotics. Even if she was prepared to face Wolf naked, that didn’t mean she wanted to. It would be so much easier to kill him if she could take a few ingredients with her.

  “To that lift,” the mercenary—Hazel, that had been her name—said. She pushed Ying toward the end of the corridor. One lift ride and two levels up, and they would reach one of four docking bays on the station, the one where Wolf’s ship waited. Ying knew that well.

  “Wait,” Ying said.

  Hazel didn’t. She pushed again, the toe of her boot kicking the back of Ying’s bare heel, and forcing her to keep walking.

  “I intend to kill Wolf,” Ying said. “Trust me, I’m not looking to escape, but I would appreciate it if you would let me make a quick stop along the way.” She tilted her head toward the kiosk. “Let me take something useful that I could use on him.”

  “You come armed like an assassin, and he’ll be suspicious of the company,” Hazel said, but she did pause to look toward the kiosk.

  “Not if he’s dead. Besides, I don’t want a pistol or even a knife. Just a capsule full of powder.”

  “His people will search you, find it.”

  “Only if it’s an extremely thorough search.” Ying arched her eyebrows over her shoulder.

  “Ew.”

  Ying almost laughed, mostly because the childish word sounded so inappropriate coming out of such a tough woman’s mouth.

  “Does your captain have a reason to want to keep Wolf alive?” Ying tried to think of a way to sway the woman into helping, because unfortunately, she did need help. She had no money on her, so she would need to borrow some to make a purchase.

  “No, Wolf has rubbed him in the wrong way in the past.”

  “So give me the tools to make him go away.” Ying took some comfort in the fact that Hazel hadn’t resumed walking yet. “If I survive, I’ll pay you back. Maybe I’ll even sell Mandrake Company some of the medical equipment on the ship at a steep discount.”

  “Medical equipment?”

  “Marat seemed to think your captain might be interested in it.”

  “Marat, huh?” Hazel grumbled with disapproval.

  Ah, perhaps she should not have admitted to such familiarity. She had mostly started to think of Marat by first name because it had been shorter and easier to remember than his last.

  “He spoke of some girlfriend of the captain’s who might have a use for it,” Ying said, pushing on.

  “Do you really intend to kill him?” Hazel turned Ying around to look her in the face.

  Though she hated being manhandled, Ying resisted the urge to try to punch her and pull away. “That was always my goal. And it will happen whether you deliver me naked or not.”

  “Explain.”

  The mercenary had the clipped tone of someone used to giving orders, and Ying did not care for it, but she forced herself to do as told. If there was a chance, Hazel could be convinced to help...

  “He killed my father,” Ying said. “I will kill him.”

  For a long time, Hazel stared at her, her face as hard and unyielding as ever. As Ying was accepting that she wasn’t going to get help, not from the flinty mercenary, Hazel surprised her by pointing at the kiosk.

  “Go. Show me what to buy.”

  Ying rushed to the kiosk. With every passing minute, more people entered the shopping area, proof that a new day was coming. All it would take was security—or Wolf’s androids—to catch sight of her, and she would be dragged back to that ship by her fingernails.

  The kiosk didn’t sell anything that was designed to kill anyone—given the administration’s lack of policy on weapons and murders on the station, she didn’t know why not—so she selected three drugs that she could combine to make a deadly substance.

  Hazel swiped her finger along the chip sensors to pay for the packets. “You get caught with your drugs, and I don’t know a thing, got it? Neither does Mandrake Company.”

  “Mercenaries remain ignorant. Got it.”

  Hazel squinted at her. “I’m going to regret this, I can tell.”

  — SEVEN —

  Marat hated the idea of leaving Ying to face that pirate by herself. Even if that had been her plan all along, it had been flawed from the beginning. Who set themselves up to suffer first before finding an opening to exact revenge? Someone thinking with her feelings instead of her head.

  Yeah? Like you’re doing now?

  Marat scowled at the voice from the back of his mind, especially since it sounded a lot like Striker. That was the last person he wanted playing the role of his conscience.

  As Marat marched along, he eyed the sergeant out of the corner of his eye. Though Striker had put away his stun gun, it—and plenty of other weapons—remained close at hand. Marat might be able to trick Striker and then overpower him, but to what end? If he ran into the station and caught up with Hazel as she was handing Ying over to the pirates, how would that help? He would only get both of them killed. He needed more of a plan.

  Unfortunately, the only thing that popped into his mind was clubbing Striker and running. Would Mandrake bother coming after him if he disappeared into the bowels of the station again? Especially if he was bright and left his comm-patch and tablet behind, so he couldn’t be tracked again?

  Maybe not, but he found himself strangely reluctant to turn his back on the company. There was no job, no future waiting for him back at home, and he doubted Fleet would take him back after he had served as a mercenary. Even if he helped Ying kill Wolf, what guarantee did he have that Ying would want anything further to do with him? The universe felt like an empty place. As odd as it was to admit, Mandrake Company was the closest thing to a home he had at the moment.

  They walked past a lift with a map of the public areas of the station bolted to the wall next to it. With all the different wheels and domes and levels, it almost looked like a schematic. That made Marat think of the countless schematics he had stored in his brain, not for space stations but for the various models of Fleet ships. He remembered the Mercy well, the Fleet medical cruiser he had served upon. Even if Wolf had modified his craft heavily, Marat knew he could find his way around if he could get inside. He also knew the infrastructure front-to-back, including the fire suppression systems.

  With that thought, an idea flashed into his mind. But he and Striker were less than fifty meters from the airlock the Albatross was hooked up to. Once he was back on the ship, his odds of getting off again would be nil. He envisioned the captain standing there in his leather duster, his face as cool as chiseled granite as he glowered at Marat and asked him what idiocy he had been about.

  “Striker,” Marat said, coming to a stop.

  “What?” Striker asked warily, his hand resting on his stunner again.

  “Did the captain just say to bring me back, or did he mention the message I sent?”

  “What message?”

  Marat grimaced. What if the captain hadn’t even read it yet? Would it matter? Probably not. He, like Striker and Hazel, would see this as some kind of thinking-with-his-penis ridiculousness and judge him—and maybe punish him—appropriately.

  “About Ying’s cooking skills and the fact that she’s Grenavinian,” Marat said.

  “She’s Grenavinian?” Striker asked. “You sure she didn’t just tell you that? She doesn’t have green eyes, and she doesn’t look like she knows a plant from a gun.”

  “Not every Grenavinian has altered eyes. Sergeant Hazel doesn’t. And she knows a lot about plants, such as how to cook them. And how to poison people with them.”

  “Grenavinians are supposed to love nature and be peaceful, not run around poisoning people.”

  “The captain is from that planet, and he runs around shooting people.
”

  “Yeah, people like us, if we don’t get back.” Striker jerked his arm toward the airlock. “Come on.”

  “What did he say exactly?” Marat stood his ground. He was tempted to comm Mandrake, even if it was the middle of the night, and he was probably sleeping. How much more trouble could Marat get into right now?

  Striker spun back around, exasperation stamped on his face. “He didn’t say anything, you dense ox. That’s why we’re trying to get you back before he knows about everything and has a reason to come down on your ass.”

  Marat blinked. “I thought he sent you.”

  “No, I told Hazel what was going on, and she agreed to help me get you. Haven’t you figured it out yet? We look out for our own around here. We’re trying to keep you from getting kicked out of the company, or worse, and we don’t want the ship attacked because of some pointless squabble with a pirate known for underhanded fighting.”

  Another time, Marat might have found the sentiment noble, but nothing but irritation filled him now. He was being dragged back even though nobody had ordered them to do so?

  “What if I could get rid of Wolf without any threat to the company?” Marat asked.

  Striker squinted at him. “What’re you thinking?”

  “I know his ship. I know how to stop fires from breaking out on his ship. And I know how to start one and to make sure the suppression systems don’t come on line to stop it too.”

  Striker’s jaw shifted back and forth as he contemplated this. At least he hadn’t shot down the idea right away.

  “I know you’ve got that background,” Striker said, “but wouldn’t you have to be on his ship to do that?”

  “To start a fire, yes, but some of the old Fleet override codes might work, if he hasn’t thought to alter them.” Marat wasn’t sure how much to gamble on that—he would certainly think to change all of the codes if he stole a ship, but the factory stuff that was hardwired into the equipment wasn’t that easy to change. If Wolf didn’t have an expert on board, he might not have bothered. It wasn’t as if Marat could ignite a self-destruct sequence or anything like that. “I could probably set off a test cycle or an alarm that tells them there’s a fire somewhere in the ship. Looking for it would distract them and…” He was thinking as he spoke, the words coming out quickly as the idea formed. “And what if a couple of fellows from the station’s fire-fighting squad showed up, demanding to go aboard to check on the alarm, since the pirate’s ship is docked here?”