Page 8 of Pact with the Alien Devil

I tucked the communicator away. Raxin had been with the Fangs almost as long as I had. We’d fought side by side in dozens of operations. If there was anyone I trusted with security matters, it was him.

I released her hand and stood. “We leave within the hour. Gather whatever you need from your ship and meet me at docking bay sixteen.”

“That fast?”

“The sooner we begin, the sooner your month ends,” I pointed out.

She stood as well, her height not much higher than my chest. I towered over her, but she didn’t shrink away. “What about Miggs?”

“Alkard will deal with him.”

Something flickered across her face—concern, perhaps, though I couldn’t imagine why she’d care about a man who’d tried to kill her.

“And what does ‘deal with him’ mean, exactly?”

“Miggs attempted to steal from the Fangs. The response will be... appropriate.”

She swallowed. “Will he live?”

“That depends on how useful his information proves to be.” I studied her reaction. “Does it matter to you?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “But there’s a difference between signing up to be a courier and signing up to be party to murder.”

“You’re not responsible for Miggs’s fate. He chose his path when he drew his weapon.”

She nodded, though doubt remained in her eyes. Another surprise. Most smugglers I’d encountered cared little for anyone’s survival but their own.

“Docking bay sixteen,” I reminded her. “One hour. Bring only what you need.”

“What about the rest of my things?”

“They’ll be secured with your ship.”

She glanced at the doorway. “And I’m free to go? Just like that?”

“You’ve given your word,” I said simply. “I expect you’ll honor it.”

A flash of anger crossed her face. “What makes you so sure I won’t just fly my ship out of here the minute I’m back onboard?”

I allowed myself a small, tight smile. “Because you’re smarter than that.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

“Meaning the Fangs’ reach extends well beyond Thodos Station. You could run, but eventually, you would have to land somewhere. And when you did...”

“Right,” she muttered. “Honor and all that.”

“Precisely.” I gestured toward the door. “One hour, Iria Jann.”

She moved past me, her shoulder nearly brushing my chest in the confined space. A hint of her scent reached me—engineoil, leather, and something uniquely human. Again, that strange current flickered through me.

Inconvenient.

I watched her go, noting the straight line of her spine, the determined set of her shoulders. She didn’t look back as she left. Pride, most likely. Or perhaps she didn’t want me to see the calculation in her eyes.

Either way, I knew she would be at the docking bay. Humans like Iria Jann might strain against confinement, but they were survivors first and foremost. She would adapt. They always did.

I picked up the package from the table, feeling the faint hum of the technology inside. Alkard would be pleased. The tech was recovered, and we’d gained a skilled smuggler in the process.

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