Page 30 of Havik: Warlord Brides
“Come on. That’s a little funny,” she said.
The other man, the one who introduced himself as Ren, slowed his pace to walk beside her. “I found it amusing.”
Havik turned abruptly on his heel. “Do not speak to her,” he said, jabbing a finger into Ren’s chest. His bottom teeth, the tusks that jutted upward, were a stark white against the deep brick red of his skin. Irritation made his eyes darken, and Thalia very much never wanted to be on the receiving end of that glare.
Ren grinned up at Havik, his lock of white hair a slash across his face. “And why is that?”
“She is a thief and a liar.”
“Nothing more?”
Havik huffed, then spun away. The crowd scattered.
“I really hope his plan isn’t to toss me into a pit of pirates and hope one of them carries me off to their secret lair,” she muttered.
“Are you a thief?”
“Definitely, but only for survival reasons. No fun. Only profit.”
“And a liar?”
She dug her hands into the hoodie’s pockets. “It doesn’t matter what I say. You won’t believe me.”
“Come along. He is upset enough to leave port without us,” Ren said.
They pushed through the crowds and took a ramp down to the lower levels, to the actual docks.
Shiny examples of high-end personal transport mixed with the plain but functional aesthetic of cargo vessels. Thalia had never even been on a ship or off-planet—until recently, obviously—but she had been to the dockyards plenty of times. Nicky did most of his business in the backrooms of bars and warehouses.
Havik thumped his way up the ramp attached to a distressed matte black ship. Flecks of paint clung to the rivets and seams but otherwise it looked as if the paint had been scoured away. Divots caused by who-knows-what pitted the surface of the hull. Gravel? How did a spaceship get sprayed with gravel?
The ship appeared painfully flimsy. Thalia had lived with plenty of store-brand goods and hand-me-downs that were third-rate, or worse. She grew up with bargain shampoo, no-name shoes, and food perilously close to the expiration date. A sketchy ship that looked like it’d fall apart if it got wet was where she drew the line.
“Not happening,” she said.
“She’s a perfectly operational vessel,” Ren said.
“Oh, wow, that evokes no confidence in me at all. Perfectly operational. What about safe? I’d like to use a perfectly safe spaceship today.” She kept her tone light, jovial even, but inside, the warlord’s words kept repeating. Her pod had been recovered from the debris. She had drifted in the darkness of space with only a backup battery system to keep her alive. If any seal had been faulty, if the chamber had been damaged in the explosion…
A shudder rippled through her.
“Appearances are deceiving. This ship has traveled many lightyears with no distress,” Ren said. He gave a light squeeze to her shoulder, turning away when Havik barked something from deeper within the ship.
The overhead light flickered.
“I can fix that,” he promised, ambling away.
Three women died in damaged stasis chambers, which were little more than glorified coffins. Six women survived. All had been abducted. None knew what their abductors had planned. Luck had been on Thalia’s side—for once—when she clawed her way out of her frozen grave, a ravenous zombie demanding revenge.
She’d make them pay.
Her goody-two-shoes aliens were too law-abiding to understand their opponents. They approached every problem with a hammer—maybe a club was a better visual—even if the situation required nuance and subtlety. Nope. Mahdfel just kept swinging their club around, not making progress into anything but property damage.
Thalia understood who they hunted just fine. After all, bugs and worms clung to the underbelly of rocks on any planet. She’d find the aliens responsible for the auction, for smuggling not just her, but the other survivors, then she’d go back to Earth and see that justice finally found Nicky.
Havik
“Your cabin,” Havik said, sliding the door open with ease. He had spent hours lubricating the track for effortless opening and closing.
