Page 104 of Star Claimed Omega
Chapter 17
SOLEIL
Soleil jolted awake with a harsh pant, her chest rising in frantic jerks.
A wash of pre-dawn light filtered through the shutters, but the peace was obliterated by the searing pain blooming under her skin.
Her wrists burned.
Nada, they blazed.
She clamped a hand over her mouth to silence the cry clawing up her throat, then peeled herself with care from Santi’s sleeping form.
His arm had been curled around her waist, his breath warm against her spine.
She moved with agonizing quietness, swallowing every wince, until she was out of the bed and on her feet.
The moment she crossed the threshold of the bedroom, her stride broke into a sprint.
She scarcely made it to the living room before the embedded cuff in her wrists hissed and clicked, emerging with a shimmer of nanites and burning under her skin.
A holo-feed ignited in front of her, casting a harsh glow across the room.
Vern’s face loomed into view.
‘Scarletta,’ he snarled, his tone sending a jolt of terror through her. ‘The freakin’ chute maps are a bust, we need codes to the Cold Facility, freakin’ shield harmonics.’
She shook her head, glancing toward the hallway in dread. ‘Fokk you,’ she whispered. ‘Calling me at this time of night -.’
‘You’re giving usfokkall,’ he snapped. ‘Signet is stirring up our shit, and we’re getting shackled left, right, and freakin’ up our asses. You need to get more detailed prison schematics and codes now.’
His eyes narrowed, then darted beyond her as if something had caught his attention.
He leaned forward in the holo. ‘Where thefokkare you?’ he growled. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be holed up in some stanky ass hovel? Looks like you’re in a godsdamn palace.’
Panic seized her throat. She twisted her body to the side, trying to obscure the room behind her. ‘It’s temporary,’ she murmured, ‘just somewhere, safe.’
His eyes glittered. ‘Step aside.’
‘Vern -.’
‘Move, Scarletta.’
She flinched, her bare feet shifting two steps to the right.
The camera swung just enough to catch the edge of the room and the damning image on the mantle.
A framed holo-photo of Signet’s core leadership.
Boaz. Kaal. Santi. Xander.
Vern leaned back with a whistle, slow and razor-edged.
‘Fokkin’ hell,’ he breathed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re playing house with one of the Signet golden boys.’
She stiffened, lips trembling.
He grinned, a vile and broad slash of his mouth. ‘Boaz?Nada, you’re not into the bear types. Kaal? You like ‘em quiet and lethal? Or, is it Santi? Mm, the charming psycho with that devil-wolf in his chest.’
