Romancing the Alpha: An Action-Adventure Romance Boxed Set (26 page)

She looked around the captain’s two-room suite, searching for anything that might be useful. She could reach precious little. If she dropped to the floor and stretched out with her legs, her toes could brush a dresser. It was bolted to the floor, so she could not have kicked it over and knocked out the drawers, even if she’d had more reach. Besides, three terrariums sat on the top, holding occupants that she probably didn’t want to upset. Thanks to logs and rocks and fake plants, she couldn’t see anything moving inside of them, but she guessed the captain kept a few interesting pets. Snakes, lizards, or spiders, perhaps. If the latter, Marat would be glad he hadn’t come along.

“Lucky him.”

The outer door of the suite slid open, and a dark arachnid in one of the terrariums crawled out from under a leaf and across its log. It paused, probably waiting for its master to come feed it. Ying wasn’t a spider expert, though she had worked with some of their venoms to make poisons, but it was a species originally from Grenavine, and she recognized it as a sub-Brohamian web-slinger. It was, indeed, venomous, and unlike the harmless tarantula that had sauntered through the maintenance shaft, its bite could affect humans. It did not usually kill its target, but it could paralyze a small animal and slow a human down, as well. Ying had the sick feeling that Wolf might use it as part of his torture scenarios.

“Are you ready for me, girl?” came the captain’s voice as he stepped into the doorway of the inner room.

He was already unfastening his belt.

Aware of how little time she had, Ying wished she had tried harder to come up with a plan. Unless she could talk Wolf into sticking his arm into that terrarium and getting bitten, she had no idea what to do. Even if both of her hands had been free, she doubted she could fight off the man. Back in the auction room, when he’d been having his androids hold the slaves still, Ying had hoped he might not be much of a fighter, but he had been quick and deadly out by the airlock. She could usually fight off the average man, but he’d clearly had combat training, just like the Mandrake Company mercenaries. Ying gritted her teeth, remembering the way Hazel had flattened her. This night had not been kind to her ego.

“So ready,” she forced herself to say as he removed his boots. “Come over here and release me so we can have some fun.”

“Release you? I was planning to tie more of you down. So we can focus on important things.” He tossed a boot across the room.

Ying settled into a loose-kneed crouch. Even if she couldn’t hope to win, she would fight him with all of her strength. She couldn’t do anything less. Sometimes, if one fought and clawed and bit, one found an opportunity that wouldn’t have come to passive victims.

“But first,” Wolf said, “why don’t you tell me if Sergeant Hazel knew about the poison you tried to smuggle in here, presumably to use on me?” He asked the question casually, tossing his other boot as he did so, but his eyes gleamed with intensity as they watched her.

“Who?” Ying had trouble enough without causing the mercenaries to be blamed.

“The well-armed woman who deposited you on my doorstep. Handsome, muscled, fond of touching her weapons. I would have gladly invited her in if she’d shown an interest—or had fewer friends who would notice her missing.” He smiled, showing both rows of teeth.

“I’m not enough for you?” Ying looked him up and down, in part to distract him from his line of questioning, but also because she wanted to assess where he might be keeping the key to her cuffs. There should be some kind of electronic fob. Perhaps in his trouser pockets? Or that pouch on his belt? His vest, open to show dense muscles and a carpet of chest hair, lacked pockets. No need to stick her hands in there. Thankfully. She had called Marat furry, but surely this oaf was more deserving of that description.

“Oh, you’ll do for now.”

Wolf advanced toward Ying, stroking his hand along the bedspread as he approached. Even though she knew he would expect an attack, Ying did not hesitate to provide it. As soon as he came close enough, she drove a side kick toward his groin. Expecting him to block it, she didn’t fully commit, instead snapping the leg around to hook the back of his knee. He anticipated both attacks, his meaty thigh jerking up like a shield to deflect the blows.

Before Ying could try a third kick, Wolf lunged in, denying her the room to maneuver. She could have backed up a couple of steps, as far as she could go with her wrist fastened to the pole, but she lowered her other shoulder and rammed into him instead. His body was hard under his clothing, and the blow jarred her, but she didn’t hesitate to bring her knee up, trying to twist so she could strike him in the crotch.

His hands came down onto her shoulders like vises, and he deflected her attack once again. She kept her head down, using it to cover the way she slid her free hand into his pocket. She did not have a pickpocket’s deft touch—and it was hard to be deft while trading blows with someone—but she hoped he would think it all part of her attack.

As she tried to find her way to the bottom of his pocket, he hefted her from her feet and slammed her back against the pole. Not finding the key she hoped for, she withdrew her hand. Though he had her pinned and was closing the space between them, she threw her elbow at his solar plexus, again wanting him to think she had attacks on her mind and nothing else. Not that she wouldn’t mind doing some damage to him.

Her elbow struck him a glancing blow, but all he did was chuckle and step closer. He buried his face in her neck, and she winced, expecting him to bite her again. He grasped her breast, instead, crushing it like a cargo loader rolling over an egg. She gritted her teeth, trying to twist away enough that she could snake her free hand around his waist to check his other pocket. She grabbed his crotch on the way, since that was the closer and easier target. Not surprisingly, the sick bastard was already aroused. She squeezed, intending to dig her fingers in as hard as she could, but he backhanded her so hard that her head struck the pole and stars lit her vision.

“Ship’s rules,” Wolf growled, his voice hoarse with lust. “You play nice with my toys.”

Though pain assaulted her, she used the slight separation between them to finish the move she hadn’t been able to manage earlier, slipping her hand around his waist and to that far pocket. She tried to stomp on his foot with her heel to distract him.

“Treating you the same way you’re treating me, you ugly bastard.”

“I’m the captain.” He ground against her, grabbing her around the back and jerking her close. “You’ll treat me like a king. Now get down on your knees, slave.” He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, fingers digging in painfully. “Before we get started, I’ll show you what to do with that particular toy.”

Ying planted her feet firmly on the floor, resisting the downward pressure and squirming against him, trying to keep him from noticing her hand. Her fingers had brushed something metallic in his pocket.

Wolf smashed his mouth against hers, his fingers digging into her neck harder, daring her to resist. Though she wanted to show him nothing but toughness and defiance, the pain made tears spring to her eyes despite her best efforts to deny them. Wolf bit down, slicing through her bottom lip and groaning into her throat as he tasted her blood.

A comm whistled, but he did not seem to hear it. Ying tried to pull her head back, to escape his cruel grip and his crueler teeth, but the pole and his hand around her neck kept her in place.

The comm whistled again, and he growled and pulled back. He released her and stomped to the dresser, hitting a button next to one of the terrariums. “What?”

“We’re having a problem, Captain.”

“Yeah? Deal with it.”

“There’s an alarm that’s going off in engineering, saying we have a fire somewhere on the ship. We can’t find anything, but some firefighters are here from the station. They say they can see our ship venting smoke, and that if we can’t put it out, we’ll have to leave the dock.”

Ying was careful to keep her expression blank, but her mind was racing. Firefighters? It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Had Marat found a way to escape Striker and come to help her? As much as she didn’t want to have to rely on anyone, she would be idiotic to refuse help at this instant.

Wolf gritted his teeth, and for a second, Ying thought he would ignore his man and continue what he had been doing. Instead, he grabbed his boots and stalked out of the room. After the door slid shut, a faint thunk reached her ear. A lock engaging?

Ying looked down at her free hand, which was balled into a fist. She uncurled her fingers carefully so she would not drop what she had dug out of his pocket. She feared she had gotten nothing except a tin of quick-chew or gum, but two tiny lights blinked on the end of the compact oval shape, and a clip hung from the end, so it could be secured to a belt.

She smiled slowly, ignoring the blood dripping from her lip. She didn’t know if the key to the cuffs would let her escape his room, but she vowed to be ready for him when he returned.

• • • • •

Striker hustled to the corner and elbowed Marat. “You know how you said androids were good at resisting bullets and lasers?”

“Yes,” Marat murmured, barely hearing him. His attention was focused on the six men crouched in the defensive alcoves built into the sides of the straight corridor that lay around the corner. The corridor led to the bridge, to engineering, and eventually to the crew cabins—the
captain’s
cabin—where he assumed Ying had been imprisoned. He knew the layout of the ship well enough to know it was the only route that led to their destination from here.

“They’re not so good at resisting fire and explosives.”

“Got any more explosives?” Marat tilted his head toward the corridor.

Before Striker could ready a grenade, a soft
tink-tink-plunk
sounded, something bouncing toward them. Marat’s instincts almost told him to look, but he caught himself at the same time as Striker growled, “Back up,” and grabbed his arm.

As they skittered backward, whatever the pirates had thrown exploded, and bluish-green smoke billowed around the corner. That hadn’t been a large enough boom to imply destruction had been the primary purpose of the bomb. Tear gas? Knockout gas? He held his breath, since he had already smelled smoke earlier and knew his suit wasn’t as self-contained as it should be.

Marat’s foot caught on one of the bodies, reminding him that he had killed people here and that these pirates would do the same if they got the chance. He did not like that they were being forced backward, but he didn’t know what else to do. They hadn’t found their way into the ship through subterfuge, as he had wanted, and they weren’t anywhere close to the cabins. Even with Striker’s arsenal, how could they plow their way through the entire crew?

A clatter arose behind them, coming from the airlock tube.

“Shit,” Striker growled. He spun in that direction and threw the grenade he had been readying. “Didn’t expect any to come in from the station behind us. Watch the—”

The roar of his grenade drowned out the words, but Marat had no trouble guessing them. He dropped to one knee beside the wall and faced the smoke, his pistol and the one he had taken from the dead pirate raised and ready. Even though they had put some space between themselves and the corner, the smoke wafted toward them, and Marat’s nostrils itched.

A blast door slammed shut at the mouth of the airlock tube, and an alarm started wailing. Laser fire screamed behind him, not just from Striker’s gun, but from someone else’s, too, someone who was approaching them from the other end of the corridor they were in.

“Good news and bad news,” Striker announced.

“Yeah?”

“Bad news is we’re surrounded, and I had to blow up the tube to keep people from coming in from that direction. So we can’t get out.”

“What’s the
good
news?”

“I’ve got lots of grenades left.” Striker flashed a grin that was visible even through the reflection of his faceplate.

Maniac. If he was considering surrendering, he didn’t mention it. Maybe because he had already come to the same conclusion Marat had, that surrender would only result in their executions. Marat grimaced. He had led his comrade into this, into certain death, and for what? Ying hadn’t even asked for his help.

Striker armed another grenade and hurled it toward the newcomers.

Two figures came around the corner, barely visible in the smoke. Marat did not hesitate to fire, but the laser beams splashed harmlessly off combat armor, the gleaming white metal far more sleek, modern, and impenetrable than his fire suit. He backed up until he almost bumped Striker and grabbed one of the grenades out of his bandolier. He threw it, but not before lasers streaked out of the smoke.

“Down,” Marat yelled, dropping to his belly.

Striker ignored him and continuing shooting at his adversaries. He took two crimson bolts in the back of his suit. It smoldered, but he didn’t cry out with pain.

Marat’s grenade went off, flinging shrapnel and some kind of droplets that sizzled when they struck the wall. The two figures in combat armor had ducked back around the corner before it exploded. He hoped they were catching some of that acid.

Marat tried to rise to his feet, but the heavy suit made the attempt cumbersome. He had only reached his knees when four more men in armor charged around the corner he was supposed to be guarding. He fired at them, but knew the lasers would do nothing to slow them down. Stopping them would take a weapon with a lot more punch. He glanced back, hoping to steal another grenade, but Striker had advanced several feet, shooting at a knot of men coming down the corridor from that direction.

The flamethrower lay on the ground behind him. Marat didn’t know if it was out of fuel, but had a vague notion that fire might scare the armored men more than lasers. He grabbed the weapon and lunged to his feet.

A laser bolt nailed him in the shoulder. It had plenty of bite even through the suit, and he gritted his teeth and braced himself to keep from being knocked back. Instead, he fired up the flamethrower and advanced toward the pirates. He boosted it to maximum and sent gouts of flames streaming at the armored men. They hesitated, but lasers still streaked through the fire at Marat.