Page 17 of Phoenix's Last Heist
“Oh, shut up,” I cry, fumbling with the buttons on my pants. I need to feel him inside me—need it like I need my next breath. “Don’t talk to me unless your words are filthy ones.”
An alarm shatters the soft, slick sounds of the laboratory, shaking us both from our foolish, frustrated pursuit of sexual release. I shout a long string of obscenities at the interruption, and the pleasure that vaporizes before either one of us can climax.
“Shit! Ada, ventilate the laboratory on the second deck. What the hell is the siren all about?”
Orion pulls away like he’s been stung, then glowers at me as if the whole thing is my fault. Considering how out of control my emotions are, perhaps it is.
I thought you’d want to know, we’ve arrived at Amphitreas, Ada replies.Port authorities from Turquin are requesting landing codes and they seem rather impatient about it.
6
orion
The Best Laid Plans
Stars,I hate her.
What I don’t say out loud—what I can’t quite admit—is worse: I don’t think Iactuallyhate her at all, and realizing that makes my chest tighten with frustration. This is not good.
All week I managed to avoid her by holing up in the dilapidated excuse for a laboratory, but even digging my fingers into the dirt pods of the dusty biosphere hasn’t managed to quell the heat prickling beneath my skin every time we pass each other in the corridor. I can’t stop noticing how her presence makes me alert, uncomfortable, and strangely aware of every little detail about her. After our third day together, I started to wonder if I’d bitten off more than I could chew. I’ve never had to hide from anyone before, and here I am, cowering like some damn adolescent half embarrassed by the attention my body insists on giving her.
Now that my fears have been proven valid, I feel a grim sense of resignation. She obviously isn’t above using her abilities to manipulate me to get what she wants—but I’m not sure if that’sthe Solar Mother idol, amnesty from the Feds, or her freedom from Brill.
I ignore the emptiness of my arms, the tingling in my lips, and the slickness of her desire still coating my fingers.Don’t trust it, she said. Easier to believe when my heart isn’t pounding a tattoo of heady lust in my veins.
Where are my ancestors’ voices now? I need them whispering in my ears, reminding me that this woman is a criminal with a built-in biological weapon and she’ll throw me to a pack of hungry lupitians at the first opportunity. But instead there’s only this uneasy curiosity, a quiet fascination that I can’t fully name. She’s not someone I want to consider jumping into bed with, especially when all evidence points to the frequent and forgettable nature of her partners. I’m better than a one night stand.But what a night it would be…
“Ha!Landing codes? Funny way of saying ‘bribe’ if you ask me,” Lyra grumbles, taking a step back and straightening the mess of her hair—the messImade of her hair.My mess.I desperately try to ignore the primal satisfaction that ignites at that sight.
“Okay, well, it’s too bad mylastjob left me with more bruises than credits to spare. Ada, do we have anything we could give them?”
She straightens her pants and flicks a nervous glance at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen something like regret and shame on her face, which cuts me more than I want to admit.
“You don’t have enough for a bribe?” I ask, my voice still rough. A pang of guilt twists in my chest as I watch her try to sweet-talk her way out of this.
Lyra’s brows lift. “Now, how would a backwater boy scout know about such things?”
“I don’t know what a ‘boy scout’ is, so I’ll assume it’s another Earth thing. As to the backwater comment, I’ll have you knowXylothia is renowned for its forests and for the storied history of my ancestors. The Xylothian Protectorate?—”
“Bo-ring,” Lyra says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t care about your grandaddy monks.” I can see the tension in her shoulders, the silent calculation as she searches for another angle.
“Well, if you’d stop interrupting me, I could explain that I’ve come across my fair share of feckless pirates and they’re always after a bribe,” I snap.
“Sure, something you’re much too upstanding to even consider,” she chuckles, turning to go.
“If you mean I’m too honorable to take money for the sale of my principles, you’re correct,” I say, following her from the lab, which has grown hot and uncomfortable after our ill-advised kiss. Guilt starts to flare, and I can’t stop thinking about how my interference has put her in this awkward, exposed position, forcing her to improvise with nothing to offer.
Lyra stomps down the corridor and throws herself into the captain’s chair in the cockpit, mumbling the entire time. I hover behind her, noting the tension in her jaw, the flicker of panic in her eyes as Ada beeps warnings about the harbor’s sensors.
“Ada, patch them through. Dig through your hard drive for some old landing codes we could try to pass off instead. Better that than nothing,” Lyra says. Her fingers hover over the controls, betraying her worry—she has nothing, nothing to smooth over this situation.
Static crackles for a moment, then a garbled voice echoes through the ship’s speakers.
“This is Turquin Harbor Patrol,” the voice says. “State your business and provide your landing codes.”
“This is the passenger transportAldrin-136requesting permission to land to refuel and resupply,” Lyra tries. Her hands fidget on the console as if she could conjure the creditsshe doesn’t have, and I catch myself tightening my fists at the reminder that I’m the reason she doesn’t have credits to spare.
“Landing codes?” the harbor patrol repeats.
