by Alison Aimes
But when they took off, when they had to flee to save themselves or be overrun, she’d be left alone, one against a thousand.
She took a step back. She’d never survive. She’d—
“Look over there.” Valdus’s steady voice whispered against her cheek, checking her near flight. “There it is, just across this small space. Your ore. After traveling a universe and overcoming so much, it’s finally within your grasp. All you have to do is cross this room to get it.”
She knew what he was doing—and still it worked. Her heart steadying as determination seized hold. So much of her precious ore. Finally. All for the taking.
“Right.” Ax clutched tight, she kept her eyes on the prize, running her gaze along the thick veins of iridescent silver that crisscrossed the rocky wall, their color eerily reminiscent of the flecks in a certain man’s arctic eyes. She swallowed hard. “It’s even more beautiful than I thought it would be.”
“Remember, these inmates are disorganized and more afraid of us than we are of them. They may make noise, but they won’t risk their lives by taking us on. They know by now it won’t end well for them.”
She drew another deep breath. “Thank you.” Their eyes locked, her anger and distrust fading as hope surged. “Whatever happens next, this moment is something I had begun to doubt would ever happen.”
“Give us the woman and we’ll give you ten kitloms for the next weighing.” The sharp cry drew her attention from the man at her side.
“I’ll give you eleven.” Another red-caked creature dropped from a nearby ledge, his hungry stare making her skin crawl. “Hollisworth’s breeder bitch has a lot to answer for.”
Valdus’s roar shook the room. “Anyone who tries to take her will be dead within a heartbeat. Your jailer might have promised a pardon, but what good is it if you never live to collect it?”
The screams died down.
He backed up the threat with a single hand signal. In the next heartbeat, the ring of men around her moved forward, the soldiers in front using their bodies as a battering ram, leaving the other miners no choice but to scramble backward or be trampled.
The river of glittering ore in the rocky wall beckoned.
A faint whirring caught her attention and she looked up. Floating above was a single drone.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Hollisworth was watching. She sidled closer to Valdus.
Who’d raised two fingers at the droid’s screen and shoved them in the air, a silent insult.
One she’d often imagined sending her husband’s way.
His teammates roared.
She hid a smile, suddenly calmer than she had been since she’d entered the space.
As if executing a dance they’d done a hundred times, one set of Valdus’s men spread out on either side of her and their Commander, facing the glowing ore. Another set lined up at their backs, turning to face away, their weapons raised, an intimidating blockade.
It was an impressive display.
“Thank you.” The statement came from the man standing to her left.
It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her.
Starting, she looked over and up. Like the rest of the team, he was tall and huge—and faceless, his features hidden behind that creepy metal mask.
But a flash of vivid green eyes peeked out from the slits of the faceplate along with the hint of a strong jaw—and a thick, raised scar across his throat that stretched like a smile as he spoke. “None of us had the chance to say it before, when the Commander was explaining the new plan, so I wanted to now. I’m Griffin and I wanted to thank you personally for saving us.” His hand tightened around the handle of his ax, the emotion in his voice startling after Valdus’s steady, cool tones and Ryker’s sharp hostility. “I…I thought it was all over when that tracker kicked in, and then you turned things around. Like some kind of guardian angel. Risking yourself. For strangers—non-Council strangers, at that.” He turned to face her more fully. “We owe you a debt.”
The man on the other side of him nodded, crowding closer, the reddish-brown bristles curling over the chin of his metal plate indicating a beard beneath. “Grif is right. I’m Darvish.” He slapped his fist against his chest, straight over an intricate tattoo dominated by thorns. “We’re in this together now. Breeder and Resistance. Council and non-Council. None of that matters anymore.”
It was jarring—and nice—to suddenly see these men not just as faceless, intimidating forms, but individuals. Individuals with their own distinct personalities. Individuals who were counting on her as much as she was them.
“It’s us against them,” agreed the man just past Darvish, the collection of strange metal tools and weapons hanging from his belt jangling as he tipped an imaginary hat. “I’m Bain, the resident madman inventor and medic, winging it without an actual lick of experience, I might add. And I know that Council scum is your husband, but the Commander is going to kick his—oufff.”
“Shut it, Bain.” The red-haired Darvish elbowed the medic, cutting him off.
“I, for one, would have liked to hear the rest of that sentence.” Ryker had somehow, without her noticing, moved closer.
She bared her teeth at him.
“You need anything at all, you just call my name.” Ignoring Ryker, green-eyed Griffin picked up the thread of the conversation without missing a beat, his gaze flickering past her before he hurried to add, “After the Commander’s name, of course.”
Heat danced across her throat and chest.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you all. It means a lot to me to hear that.” Acceptance. Being part of a team. She’d experienced a glimpse of what that was like with Bella and the other scientists, but she’d been mostly on the outside, an observer more than a participant, hiding who she truly was.
“I promise I’m going to do everything in my power to disable the tracker and give us a chance to even the odds. That man may be my husband,” her gaze shifted to the medic Bain who was still rubbing his stomach, “but he’s also my greatest enemy, and I have no hesitation about bringing him down.”
She’d never realized how badly she craved being a valued member of something bigger than herself until now.
She only hoped she could deliver.
A burst of noise, sharper even than the siren blare, erupted.
It must have been some kind of final warning because it ended all conversation. Griffin and the others turned to face the walls, their axes raised as their expressions hardened once more.
Gears ground as metal sheets slid from an opening in the ceiling.
“We use this to transport the ore.” Stretching upward, Valdus unhooked the sheet from the wall, every tantalizing muscle in his stomach flexing as he moved.
Her belly fluttered—and there was no heat to blame.
She wrenched her gaze away. Only to jump as the sheet clanged to the ground by his boots. He then snagged another, his voice low. “This one’s for the ore Hollisworth will never have.” He placed it by her feet.
This was happening. She was on her way to making her serum.
“You’ll wear this.” A thick strap of leather slid over the back of her head, catching on her hair.
She reached up, the thin metal sharp beneath her fingertips. It was Valdus’s faceplate.
“No,” she protested. “What will you wear?”
His thumb traced the curve of her jaw. “Protecting those emerald eyes—and the clever brain behind them—comes first.”
Her heart skipped. Clever brain?
It was hard to believe this was the same man she’d once feared. Once thought was impossibly cold and merciless.
She opened her mouth to say something. Anything.
A high-pitched whistle stabbed her eardrums and shattered the moment.
The burning beneath her skin kicked up another notch.
Shift time had begun.
“Watch yourself.” Valdus’s deep voice cut through her thoughts. “The flying debris can b
e sharp.” He slapped down her faceplate and hefted the ax once more. “You focus on collecting the ore you’ll need for the serum. I’ll make sure we both make quota.”
Muscles bunching, every carved, magnificent inch of him was on display as he brought his ax down hard.
She stared in awe. Unleashed danger, honed power, and fluid grace. If Hollisworth played fair, it wouldn’t even be a contest. Valdus would destroy him with one hand tied behind his back.
But her husband made his own rules.
A large slab of ore dislodged from the wall and tumbled onto the metal sheet, smaller rocks pinging in every direction.
All around her, others had begun hacking in earnest.
“Any time now, breeder.” An ax struck close to where she stood. Red rock flew, small bits pinging into her faceplate.
It was Ryker. “Those trackers won’t neutralize themselves.”
“Dragath hell, Ryker,” Valdus’s voice was a near growl as he slid past her and shoved the man hard. “Stick to your own side.”
“Just trying to offer up some motivation.” All false innocence, her least favorite teammate stumbled back.
“She doesn’t need your brand of pep talk. None of us do.” Valdus loomed closer, pitching his voice so low she suspected he was trying to ensure he was heard only by the man at his side. She caught every interesting word, nonetheless. “Stop trying to piss me off. She’s not Saralynee. This is not five years ago. And some of us really do want to get the hell out of here.”
“And then what?” hissed the other man. “You think there’s some kind of magic happy-ever-after waiting for you up there? With her? You should have learned from me. That doesn’t exist.”
“What happened wasn’t your fault.” The anger in her ex-captor’s voice had been replaced by regret. “And you could still find a way to honor them, even be happy, if you just let yourself move on—"
“I’ve got to work.” Ryker stomped farther down the line.
Curiosity surging, she lifted her ax and let the image of Ryker’s smirk propel her first strike.
Pain ricocheted up her spine. The red rock was even harder than it looked.
But so what? She struck again. Closer to the glowing vein of ore trapped within. By the time the shift ended, she was going to have a pile big enough to bury Ryker and his doubts under. With enough left over to free her and the rest of Valdus’s men forever.
That was enough of a happy-ever-after for her.
23
Eyes bleary, Ava heaved the pickax downward, reverberations sending another wave of pain shimmering through her blistered hands and down her biceps and spine. Exhaustion had set in long ago. She was still waiting for the numbness to follow. If only to get some relief from the searing burn beneath her skin that grew with every breath. Damn tracker.
She couldn’t comprehend how Valdus and his men had survived this for two years.
Sweat soaked what was left of her uniform.
By her side, his chiseled body slick with sweat and grime, Valdus worked far more efficiently, the rivulets of perspiration tracking down his body, making his skin glow like marble. His ax moving in grim rhythm with the other men, their grunts and labored breathing echoing off the low cavern walls in time with the clatter of large chunks of falling rock.
The mountain of ore at each of their feet growing larger by the second.
She risked a glance down at her own metal sheet. Her pile was still the size of a large handful. Not nearly enough for the serum.
She hacked harder.
“Drink this.” A skin sloshing with liquid appeared under her nose.
She hadn’t realized Valdus had stopped working.
“I’m fine.” She swung again. She’d stopped being thirsty a while ago. “I’ll get some later.”
He caught the handle in midair. “Drink. Now.”
Her exhale was hard and fast. “Fine.” She shoved up her faceplate and grabbed the container. The splash of liquid had a sour, metallic tang, but she’d never tasted anything better.
“We don’t have enough, do we?”
His expression gave nothing away. “We will.”
Somehow, even that small show of optimism had her feeling better.
“Your turn.” She held out the container.
There was a slight hesitation, as if he hadn’t expected the return offer, but then his hand came out. He threw back his head and drank.
Despite herself, she watched the sexy rise and dip of his throat with every long swallow. The tiny droplet that clung to his lower lip like an invitation.
Memories of that mouth on her skin played through her mind. Of his arm muscles flexing as he loomed over her, his hips thrusting deep. The sharp, sweet bite of pleasure and pain. Of need. Of freedom.
Their gazes locked.
The pull between them surging to the fore, their dirty secret.
Two enemies, captive and captor, who’d become so much more.
A shout broke out down the line.
By this time, she knew what was coming next.
A pained howl rent the air.
She hid a shudder.
“Ignore it.” Face hard, Valdus turned and began swinging his ax again.
Raising her weapon high, bicep trembling, she tried to follow his lead.
But guilt slithered around her chest, squeezing tight.
Valdus had said earlier that shift time was the safest time down here. The other inmates too busy scrambling to meet their quotas to focus on much else. But as she’d come to understand, safer didn’t mean totally safe. Grudges were still meted out, tools and ore stolen, sudden lusts and violence acted upon.
Another cry erupted. Past the wide shoulders of the men surrounding her, she caught a glimpse of a scuffle. Of three men forcing another to his knees before Valdus shifted closer, blocking her view. “Focus on the rock. On what it takes to keep yourself alive.”
She darted a quick glance his way.
His expression was still hard, his voice even.
Did he even care? Was it only his own men who elicited any kind of reaction?
If so, that didn’t bode well for her.
As quickly as it had begun, the squealing stopped, leaving behind an eerie silence.
“Stay alert.” As if it never had happened, Valdus spoke to his men. “There’s only a few more rotations left in the shift—and Hollisworth won’t allow it to pass without trying something.”
“You’re right,” cut in an unfamiliar voice from behind, “and I’m already here.”
“Draeke.” Every cell in Valdus’s body went on high alert as he swiveled around. “I wondered when Hollisworth’s leashed dog would show himself.”
“I prefer the title Enforcer. Now, give me the female.”
Ava’s breathing came quicker.
Valdus understood. The gang leader was straight out of one’s worst nightmare.
At least a half foot taller than Valdus himself, the beast of a man stood stark naked in the middle of the quarry, covered in crude tattoos that stretched from his shaved head to his mammoth legs. Each image a vivid, detailed rendering of violence that was said to be historical rather than imaginative. Coated in the red dust that clung to them all, he looked like the devil himself.
Which was fairly accurate, especially since Hollisworth had used the promise of extra rations and less shift work to turn the gang leader into his own homicidal marionette.
“Fuck off, Draeke. She’s mine.” He snagged Ava’s arm and pulled her behind him.
On cue, his men, even Ryker, closed in, tightening the wall of bodies between her and the gang leader. Their message clear: anyone coming for her would have to go through them.
Pride and gratitude hummed through his blood. There was no one better than his team.
“Give her to me and I’ll give you twenty kitloms for the next weighing.” Undeterred by his team’s show of strength, Draeke sidled closer, his black eyes glittering with lust.
“Not happening.”
Most were malnourished and more than a few sported the dark red rings around their chest that signaled the last stages of death from the red dust, but those in Draeke’s inner circle were formidable and could be a problem.
“Thirty.”
“No.” Valdus cocked his head trying to listen over the chant, trying to locate the annoying buzzing of the electronic drones. He couldn’t afford to forget Hollisworth was watching and waiting above.
But toward what end? If the Councilman allowed his lackey Draeke to try and take her by force, it would spark a mass riot—and even the droids wouldn’t be able to take down all the men before the mob reached her. Ava would never survive.
Valdus pressed her tighter against him.
“I’ve been sanctioned by our supreme Councilman to go as high as seventy-five kitloms,” snarled Draeke. “That’s my final offer.”
A gasp ran through the crowd. Seventy-five kitloms was an unbelievable deal. An amount that would take most men fifteen to sixteen hours of backbreaking mining to accumulate. To have that many kitloms free and clear would give his men several rotations, maybe even a lunar month, of easier work and a real chance for recuperation.
“She belongs to me and me alone.” Valdus raised his voice so it carried through the cavern and into the tunnels, but in truth his intended target was much closer.
He knew she doubted him. Judged him as cold and hard. Didn’t yet believe his promise to watch over her as he did his men.
But she would.
“Bullshit. Every man has his price.” Draeke snapped his fingers, his substantial bulk bunching as he moved. “In addition to the seventy-five kitloms, you can have these two. They’re newly broken-in and make a good deal even better.”
Two figures were pulled from the back of the crowd and shoved to their knees.
Horror slammed through Ava.
The men’s heads were bowed, but she recognized her teammate at once.
“Pratt!” Bruises covered his neck, arms, and torso.
This was her husband’s handiwork. She was sure. Even from afar, he’d fettered out her vulnerability and ordered his men do his dirty work. It wasn’t the first time he’d used someone else to keep her in line.
