Chapter 1

1: There’s a Place

The city of Palos, on the rim planet of Beldra

Mariel was not going to be happy.

There was still blood under her fingernails, but Anicka Dekker had lost her knife in the fight and didn’t have anything sharp enough left in her pack to dig it out. She didn’t have much left in her pack, period, except a dry pair of pants, some credits, and her journal. The son of a bitch had made sure she was as crippled as possible. Anicka had had no choice but to kill him ahead of schedule.

She only wished she could kill him again. Just out of spite. She rarely developed feelings regarding her assignments—good or bad—but Omer Mahle had rubbed her the wrong way ever since she’d witnessed him selling off the pair of young girls to the meanest space trawler in this sector. She’d almost stepped in at that point. Only the facts that he was surrounded by his entire coterie and she still had to get a local crew had stopped her.

That local crew had proven absolutely useless in the long run. As always, she’d been on her own. But the job was done; Omer was floating up the Cully River on his way to the planet’s biggest ocean, and Mariel would just have to be happy the assignment got finished at all. STRIKE hadn’t been implicated in any way. All Anicka had to do was stay underground until the rendezvous in three days.

Which was why she was marching through Palos in the dead of night, heading straight for a bar she’d found right after landing planetside. It was in the same neighborhood she’d witnessed Omer’s human trafficking, but his coterie was on the other side of town tonight. She would be able to get a well-deserved drink, then find a place to bunker down anonymously until Mariel arrived. And if she got lucky, she wouldn’t have to spend it alone. These particular patrons didn’t care about blood under the fingernails. Most of them would probably consider it a bonus.

The bar was simply known as the Hole. The door was different than it had been the first time Anicka had seen the building—this one painted a dull green—and one of the front windows was boarded over. She ignored both and dug her credits out of her pack. She wanted them on her body in case somebody decided to relieve her of the last of her belongings, though anybody who tried was likely to lose at least one internal organ.

There were other women inside, but they were bargirls and whores. The meanest-looking bargirls Anicka had ever seen. They wound around the men, expertly avoiding the leering smiles, the wolf whistles, and the groping fingers. Even when a massive hand closed around a breast or pushed under a blouse, they didn’t blink or spill a drop of the ale and wood alcohol they served to the howling patrons. The distinction between the bargirls and whores was easy. The latter didn’t avoid the disgusting pigs pawing at them.

Only one man ignored the fray. He sat at the far corner of the bar, hunched over a huge mug of ale, his eyes on the door. He noticed her at the same moment she saw him, and their eyes locked. His were a steel gray. They reminded her of twin moons. His face was impassive, a small webbing of scars spread over his cheeks and brow. Despite that, Anicka found she couldn’t look away from him. He boldly held her gaze for several beats before quirking his eyebrow.

She bit back her smile. She liked this one’s style. Unafraid, unbending. He wasn’t part of Omer’s coterie either. That was a face she’d remember.

With her head held high, she zigzagged through the patrons for an empty place at the bar, two-thirds down. More than one head turned to follow her, but nobody made an overture. She reached the counter and leaned against its edge, waiting for the bartender to come to her.

“Give me what he’s drinking,” she said, jerking her chin toward the scarred stranger.

The bartender’s brows shot up, clearly surprised. He didn’t question her though. In a place like this, he’d obviously learned not to.

As he set the ale in front of her, the unmistakable clink of silver against wood caught her attention. “I’ll cover that,” the man said, though he clearly wasn’t addressing her.

Anicka pulled out an equal credit and tossed it in front of the bartender. “Nobody pays for my drinks but me.” She turned an amused eye to her would-be benefactor. “You just bought yourself the drink you’re keeping me company with.”

“Who says I want to keep you company? I like to do my drinking alone.”

“And you wanted to buy my drink because…?”

“Seemed like the polite thing to do since you’re the only lady in here.”

She glanced around at the other women. “That’s not a real stretch. But the sad thing is, that’s the nicest thing anybody’s said to me all day.”

“Really? Sounds like you’re spending time with the wrong sort of people.”

An image of Omer’s mangled face filled her head. With a grimace, she muttered, “Tell me about it.” She downed half the ale in a long swallow, bracing against the bitter sting of the alcohol at the back of her throat. The fire burned a path down her gullet, bypassing her stomach to go straight through her veins. The best part was the way it erased the picture from her brain, leaving her satisfyingly empty of it once again. “Well, if you don’t want to be one of the right sort of people, that’s your choice. But thanks for the smile anyway.”

“You’re probably not going to find the right sort of people in here, you know. This isn’t even the best place to get a drink.”

“It was good enough for you.”

He laughed softly and raised his glass her direction. “Fair enough. I like to come here to let off a bit of steam. There’s always a few good fights to be found around here.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” She carried her mug down to the end of the bar, nudging the little guy who occupied the nearest stool to the stranger. He took one look at her and slid off so fast, she would’ve sworn he left skid marks on his ass. She took his place and turned her back to the rest of the bar. “So did you already have your fight, or are you still spoiling for one?”

“No, no fights.” He took a deep swallow from his mug. “So I’m still spoiling for something. What about you?”

Her gaze strayed to the broad chest she hadn’t been able to fully appreciate from across the room. He was powerfully built, and the worn jacket he wore did nothing to hide it. The threadbare shirt he had on underneath was stretched tight, but his stomach was flat. Even his hands were big, calloused and strong. Fighting hands. He hadn’t been kidding about that.