Page 13 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
That’s how it goes. Over and over.
A wiry Trelkan male actually climbs into his ship to avoid talking to me. A bounty hunter with three star decals on hispauldron offers me a drink, then turns ghost-white the second I name the enemy.
“Not worth it,” he mutters, more to himself than me. “Not for a colony no one’s even heard of. Not for any credits.”
I want to shake him. I want toscream.
I’m halfway to hoarse when I hear the laugh.
It’s low, mocking, too loud for the corridor we’re in. A gathering of mercs—real bottom-shelf types—huddled around a half-busted weapon crate, one of them making obscene gestures as he recounts some conquest.
That’s Krigg.
I recognize him from earlier. He’d been in the bar when Dayn caught me like a fairytale. I remember his leering face, the way he watched like he wanted to own me.
He’s still talking. Loud. Gross.
I don’t hesitate.
“You think it’s funny?” I bark, stomping up to him like I own the godsdamn place.
The group freezes. Krigg turns, teeth yellow and uneven. His armor's patched with tape and ego.
“Funny?” he echoes.
“You laughed when I asked for help. You think it’s a joke?”
He grins slow. “I think a tiny little human girl walking into our den asking for a war against the Vortaxians is the funniest damn thing I’ve seen in cycles.”
I square up. I’m not even at his shoulder, but I stare up at him like he’s already on his knees.
“You’re all cowards,” I say, voice flat. “Big guns, loud mouths, but when the time comes, you fold like cheap synthcloth. I hope you choke on your shame.”
Krigg’s face shifts. He smiles again—but there’s no humor in it now.
“You want to knowwhyno one’ll help you?” he growls. “Because we’veseenwhat the Vortaxians do. They don’t just kill you. They erase you. Your name, your bloodline, yourdata.Like you never breathed. You’re dead before you hit the floor. They don’t miss. They don’tfail.And no one wants to die for a colony that’ll be rubble in a week.”
I stare at him. I can feel the fury bubbling, scalding my tongue. “We’re not rubble. We’repeople.”
“You’re statistics. And that’s being generous.”
I see red.
“You’re a waste of oxygen,” I snap.
He snorts and grabs my arm.
I twist, but he’s faster than I expected. And meaner.
“Let me go?—”
“Nah. Let’s teach you what happens to loud little liars who cry wolf.”
And then I’m airborne again.
This time, I expect it.
My stomach lurches. My ears pop. I twist midair, trying to aim for something soft—but there’s nothing soft on this station. The metal wall rises up like judgment.
