Maybe it was his eyes. They were grainy, the lids heavy from sleep. He blinked several times to try to clear his vision. To his right, he spotted the bright-red hatch release. He rolled to his side, tucking his legs up as far as possible within the chamber’s tight confines. He stretched his arms out, arched his back and strained toward the button.
Almost.
He tried again and this time, he managed to hit the edge of the button. It was enough. The hatch opened, hissing as the airlock released. The acrid scent of smoke assailed him. He sat up, ripping the needle from his arm and detangling himself from all the electrode wires.
The ship was on fire.
Emergency strobes flashed and somewhere outside the room a siren blared. The smoke carried a bitter note of burnt plastic. The hibernation chambers should have released on their own during an emergency, waking their human occupants. Life support had turned on, they must be close to Asteria, but then why didn’t the hibernation chambers open on their own?
Christ, he needed to get the hell off this ship. When they’d brought him aboard, he’d made note of the escape pods. There was one down the hall from this room.
He swung his legs over the side and dizziness assailed him. Weakened from hibernation, his stomach ached from lack of normal food. He stood up, fighting off sickness, easing his weight onto legs that hadn’t been used in a long while. His cuffs made moving difficult, forcing him to hunch over while he shuffled along on trembling legs.
The smoke grew thicker in the room and the lights blinked out, leaving the emergency strobes to light the way. Survival instinct urged him to the escape pod, but his gaze lit on the second hibernation chamber and he hesitated.
Go on, Payne, leave the Parnell woman and get the hell out of here.
God knew what kind of terror she’d bring to the unfortunate souls of Asteria. Why was she even here? Seemed pretty damned convenient she happened to occupy the same room as him. Did Randolph send her on some kind of mission to ensure his delivery to Asteria? He took another step toward the door, but paused, indecision plaguing him. You never let harm befall a woman . . . unless she’s trying to kill you. His father’s words echoed in his mind, driving a foul curse between his teeth. She hadn’t tried to kill him. Yet.
Damn it, he couldn’t leave her. Not after she saved him. Hell, maybe she’d be good leverage when it was time to go home. Randolph Parnell wouldn’t want his fiancée harmed. She might keep him from being blown out of the sky upon his return to Earth.
He pulled the emergency release for her chamber. She was sound asleep, her black-dyed locks spread out around her. She wore nothing but panties and a skimpy tank which left little to the imagination and holy hell, she was a beautiful woman. He sat on the edge, pulling his legs up so he had enough chain to reach into the pod. He strained against his restraints, easing the needle from her arm and detangled her from the electrode wires.
Only after a lot of uncomfortable, awkward maneuvering did he happen to see the keys. They appeared identical to those the Blue Helmets carried. How did she come to have them? He leaned forward until he’d sprawled across the width of her chamber—thighs over one edge, shoulders over the other—bowing his back until he managed to reach them. Going through, one by one, he found a small cuff key, released himself from his bonds, and stuffed the keys and the cuffs into one of his leg pockets.
He stretched his back and rubbed his chaffed wrists. Ah, yes. That was better.
The smoke grew thicker, changing from white, wispy clouds to a dense gray fog. Breathing became more difficult and he lifted the hem of his shirt to cover his nose and mouth. Why the hell wasn’t the woman waking up on her own? He leaned into the pod and patted her cheek.
She jerked awake with a gasp, those lavender eyes staring at him with incomprehension, then widening in horror. “You.”
Yeah, him. Damn society misses couldn’t even be appreciative when a base-born rescued them. “Gotta get out.” He spoke through clenched teeth, the barbs locking his jaw shut ripping into his inner cheeks and tongue making each word agonizing.
Her gaze darted around the room. “What did you do?”
He lowered his shirt and pulled a face. Seriously? He’d been asleep like everyone else.
Pink stained her cheeks. “Sorry.”
Griffin slid off the pod and grabbed her clothes, thrusting them into her hands. While she dressed, he snatched up her bag and—the damned thing was heavy as hell. Did she pack her whole closet? He grabbed up her shoes, took a med kit off the wall, and unlocked the door.
“Where’s the escape pod?” She held the sleeve of her sweater over her nose and mouth, muffling her words and leaving only those wide, lavender eyes visible.
He took hold of her hand and went out into the hall. No one was around; whether the other passengers had already fled, or still slept in their chambers he couldn’t say. Orange light flickered at the far end of the smoke-filled hallway. By some miracle, the escape pod was still there. They didn’t get move more than a couple steps before another door swung open and three Blue Helmets came barreling into the hall, halting on sight him.
“Freeze.”
Like hell. The fuckers weren’t armed—their side-arms were locked up in-flight. He released the woman and allowed instinct and years of training take over. He grabbed the two closest by their throats and knocked their heads together hard enough to crack helmets. As they crumpled to the ground, he kicked out at the last, slamming his foot down on the bastard’s knee. The Blue Helmet screamed as he dropped to the floor. Griffin grabbed him by the shirt, lifting him long enough to punch him in the throat. The Blue Helmet didn’t make a sound when he slumped down next to his comrades.
The bright orange light at the end of the hall grew brighter; flames licked up the side of the passageway.
Hell, should he try to find Peggy? Parnell had held his neighbor hostage during the trial, threatening him with her death should Griffin say anything he didn’t like. He wasn’t even sure she was on the ship, though, and they needed to get out of here quick. He turned to grab the woman.
She flinched away.
Christ. They didn’t have time for this shit. He scowled, motioning her closer.
She shook her head.
Griffin strode over and hauled her over his shoulder. She was fast becoming more irritation than she was worth. He opened the hatch and lowered her inside. The small one-person craft had a small space to store essentials and one seat with a three-pronged seatbelt.
He’d have to find a different pod for himself.
She stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes, stopping him from closing the hatch. “I don’t want to go alone. I don’t know what to do.”
Less than a minute ago she didn’t want anything to do with him.
Tears spiked her thick, dark lashes. “Please.”
Shit. He pushed her into the seat.
“Come with me.” She became as tenacious as an octopus after crab meat, her hands grabbing at his, while he tried to shake her off long enough to strap her in.
He slapped her hand.
She reared back with a shocked gasp.
He shook his head, securing the straps over her chest, latching them into the three-pronged buckle and pulling them tight. As he turned to leave, he heard the click of the belt.
The woman lunged forward, hitting the button to close the hatch, sealing them together inside.
Did she have any idea what she’d done? There was one seat. One seatbelt. And two of them in a small, cramped, very hard pod that was about to make a brutal emergency landing.
Jesus H. Christ, she was a lunatic.
She shrugged. “You don’t know if there are any more pods.”
He had no opportunity to respond. The vessel ejected from the ship, throwing them both to the floor.
Griffin checked the display panel while he got up: It showed the image of a pod with a little dotted line headed for Asteria. That line grew shorter by the second.
They had maybe fi
ve or six minutes before they landed.
He shoved her belongings and the med kit into the storage bin. Then stared at the flight seat.
“Can I help with something? What do we—?”
Griffin scowled her into silence. He was pretty damn sure she’d done quite enough.
They had two choices. Either he strapped her down, probably killing them both as his body was flung around the pod, or he took the seat and secured her to him, hoping to hell he could hold on to her during impact.
Damn it! He pulled her bag out, found a couple of sweaters and shoved the rest back in the storage bin. He took the seat, strapping himself in and motioning her to sit on his lap. She backed away. What was she thinking? He yanked her into his lap, grateful she was such a tiny bit of a thing. He tied the sweaters from her bag around her middle, and used the cuffs he’d kept to secure her to the seat. With a little luck the padding would prevent the chain from cutting through her when they landed and he wouldn’t emerge from the vessel covered in blood and regret.
The distance counter on the wall ticked off the miles, the number growing smaller and smaller. They could die in the next few minutes, but that didn’t stop his dick from taking notice of the woman in his lap. She wriggled, trying to get comfortable and he almost moaned as that sweet little backside of hers snuggled up tight to his groin. He wrapped his arms around her, and crossed his legs over her extended ones.
The woman was chanting. Praying, rather. For herself most likely. Typical for a Parnell.
Her face nestled to his neck and her arms covered his. She laced her fingers with his. She must be scared as hell because society misses like her did not touch the riff-raff.
The pod jolted and bounced as they began their decent into Asteria’s atmosphere. The craft filled with the noise of a dozen trains barreling down on them and the temperature spiked.
On the monitor, flames surrounded the pod in the animated display, the little dotted line was almost gone now. The noise diminished.
Five dotted lines left.
She continued to pray, her voice rising and her fingers squeezing his.
Four lines left.
Now that he could hear her clearly, he was stunned.
Three left.
“Dearest goddess, keep us safe. Let no harm befall us. Dearest goddess . . . .”
Two.
She was praying for them.
Chapter 6
The lavender sky matched her eyes.
Griffin stumbled out of the escape pod, his boots sinking into soft, glittering black sand. His jaw throbbed something fierce and dried blood caked his nose. He must have hit something hard during the landing. Probably that crazed female’s thick head.
Where the hell was she? There was a beacon on the pod and he wanted to be hell and gone from here before Blue Helmets showed up to rescue the pod’s occupants. He scanned the barren landscape, seeing nothing but an endless sea of black sand. In the far distance, jagged mountains spiked up from the horizon, impossibly high and unwelcoming.
The sun here didn’t shine a warm, happy yellow, but glared a stark and cold white. Its light brightened Asteria with the same harsh illumination of a surgical lamp in an exam room.
He returned to the pod long enough to check for, and retrieve, the small cache of emergency supplies stocked in the compartment under the seat and stuff them into his pockets. It wasn’t much: a few packets of pain killers, some antiseptic swabs, two small, boxed waters, and four protein bars. The Parnell woman had taken her pack and the med-kit.
Damn her anyways. He needed that kit to get the wires out of his mouth. Hell, he supposed he needed her for the task, too. He’d passed out when they’d put the damn things in and he wasn’t so arrogant to assume he wouldn’t lose consciousness when they came out.
This time when he exited, he walked around the other side of the craft. Several tall, cylindrical, multi-colored buildings rose up in the distance from the barren landscape. The sun glinted off their flat metal roofs. That wasn’t a spaceport. It was an outpost. Those buildings were manned by . . . who? Blue Helmets? Locals? Criminals?
She must be headed there. He set out at a quick clip. The lunatic female probably thought she’d find civilization. Maybe she would. This is where the Parnells sent the poor, the ill, and the non-compliant. The outpost could be a town of normal, average citizens, trying to get by. His brother, Lucan, might even be there.
What concerned him was the fact they’d sent him here. He doubted he was the first convicted felon sent to Asteria, though the U.N. denied doing so. The prison he and Peggy had been housed in had been empty and the U.N. was publically opposed to the death penalty. All the criminals must have gone somewhere. He didn’t buy into the idea that crime had vanished with the implementation of Parnell’s vision.
He slowed at the edge of the settlement. The place appeared to be a ghost town at first glance; the whole area was eerily quiet. The buildings had been patched together with scrap from the earliest flights to Asteria. The nine silo-like buildings sported no windows. Why? Was the climate here so harsh? Did Asteria have predators aggressive enough to break through the glass? Or were these buildings left over from an era of atmosphere building?
He knocked on the first door and, when he received no answer, he slipped in. The place was sparse. It was a home of sorts, but more in line with a barracks than a residence. No art or knickknacks decorated the place. The only splashes of color were the battered squares of ship-siding that had been repurposed to create walls, floors, and stairs. He found a barrel serving as a nightstand on the second floor, and a makeshift hammock with a few rumpled blankets thrown across it. A crate that was off to the side held a holey pair of shoes and a few sets of shabby clothes. One was a prison-orange jumpsuit. Well, that answered one question: At least one man in this town was a felon.
Whoever lived here didn’t have much, but he had an old Lockheed Martin—had being the operative word, because now the weapon belonged to Griffin. He tucked the gun into his waistband at his back and slipped outside. As he entered the next building, somewhere nearby, a chorus of male voices rose in excited shouts.
Christ. He’d found the woman.
*****
Walking in here had been a colossal mistake.
Prudence had wanted to find help for Chief Payne. Unable to rouse him, and too weak to lift him, there hadn’t been any other option. She couldn’t leave him unconscious in the desert overnight, and she’d be damned if she’d stay out there alone with him.
But there was no help to be found here.
This building must be the cantina. Half a dozen round tables sat around the room. Men squatted on stools, barrels, and buckets and stood clustered in groups of two and three. A long counter made of the same sheet metal as the building ran the length of the back of the room and several bottles of what looked to be liquor were lined up at one end.
The dirty, shady-looking men filling the space hadn’t responded to her plea for help. They had stared. At her. By the look on their faces they hadn’t seen a new person in town in some time. Or, maybe it was females they hadn’t seen in ages.
Some aspect of their too-bright eyes made her edgy—made her hair stand on end as if she faced a ravenous pack of wolves instead of a group of human beings. Her heart rate increased as a healthy dose of adrenaline encouraged her to flee.
“Sorry, gentleman.” She forced a smile, gripped the strap of her pack tighter and backed toward the door. The biggest of the lot, an old, grizzly male moved to stand. “No, no. Please don’t get up.”
He didn’t grant her request.
And her exit was blocked.
She came up hard against someone, jumped, and spun around. Another male, this one with a deep scar cut into his cheek, stood between her and the door. Stumbling back, she bumped into another man. And ugh, they stank.
“Where’d you come from, darlin’?”
She turned on her heel to find the owner of that question. The older man. White streaked his ha
ir, silver gleamed off his front tooth and there was a distinct coldness to his blue eyes.
“I am in the wrong place.” She swallowed. “So sorry to disturb you nice gentlemen.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t use the word disturb, necessarily.” Silver Tooth’s grin broadened. “Though you are doing something profound to me.”
Laughter erupted in the tension.
“I’ll go.” She tried again for the door, but others had circled around and no one moved to get out of her way. Hungry eyes roamed over her. “Please.”
“Now, darlin’, as long as you’re not difficult, we’ll make sure you have a real nice time.”
Several murmurs of agreement rose from the crowd.
“You don’t . . . . You don’t want me.” She folded her arms around herself and shook her head. “I’m diseased. Contagious. That’s why they sent me here.”
His silver tooth flashed as he grinned. “You’re in good company.”
It took her a moment to understand his meaning. They didn’t care because they were already sick. Her stomach churned. Desperate to escape, she stomped on Scarface’s foot and when he moved, she ran past him. The door was in sight. Only a few more feet to freedom. She reached her arm out, ready to grasp and pull the handle once she reached it.
Someone grabbed hold of her hair and yanked her to a halt.
Prudence screamed. Pain lanced through her scalp and she pressed her hands to her head, trying to keep him from tearing her hair out.
The men seized her, holding her by the arms and legs. They lifted her in the air and her gut bottomed out. Oh, goddess, she was going to be sick.
Shouts of excitement rose as they carried her deeper into the room.
Prudence fought, kicking and scratching, trying to twist out of their relentless grips. All the while she prayed for divine intervention. She’d escaped playing whore to Randolph. She’d rather die than to play one for this lot. Her heart slammed in her chest as they hauled her onto one of the dirty tables and yanked her legs wide.
The Last Marine Page 4
