Page 49 of Stalker

The pain in her voice mirrors my own. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her, feeling the smooth scales beneath her uniform. She stiffens for a moment before melting into the embrace. Her tears fall hot against my neck as mine soak into her shirt.

"I'll help you find her," I whisper. "I'll help you save them all. Every woman my father has hurt."

Because that's what honor means - not revenge, but justice. Not destruction, but healing. Bruticus taught me that, even if he didn't know it.

"We'll make this right," I say, holding Vorpa tighter. "Together."

CHAPTER 19

BRUTICUS

The chauffeur never sees me coming. My arm locks around his throat, pressing on the carotid arteries until he slumps forward. I drag his unconscious body behind a storage crate and strip off his uniform.

The fabric stretches tight across my shoulders. Human clothes never fit right, but it will do. I slide into the driver's seat, adjusting the mirror until I can see the rear passenger area clearly.

My pulse quickens at the sound of footsteps. Commander Daniels strides through the garage door, datapad in hand. He doesn't look up as he slides into the back seat.

"To the Men's Club, and be quick about it. This whole situation with the Reaper has me stressed."

"Right away, sir." The words taste like ash in my mouth. My bone spurs slice through the thin material of the gloves as my fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

The hover limo glides smoothly out of the garage. I merge into the flowing river of aerial traffic, weaving between the seven tiers of lanes that crisscross the station. Behind me, Daniels taps away at his datapad, completely unaware of who sits mere feet away.

The bone spurs in my arms push against the uniform's fabric, eager to taste blood. Soon.

I bank left at the next junction, away from the bustling entertainment district. Daniels remains absorbed in his compad, the blue glow reflecting off his weathered face. The Men's Club could be anywhere - not that it matters. My destination lies in the opposite direction.

The hover limo swoops past abandoned construction sites and empty cargo bays. Metal struts and exposed beams stretch toward the station's distant ceiling like skeletal fingers. Perfect.

Dry dock seven looms ahead, a cavernous space large enough to house small freighters. The entry portal stands open, ready to swallow us whole. I guide the vehicle inside, past stacks of shipping containers and derelict repair equipment.

The limo's landing struts touch down with a soft thud. The engine's hum dies away, leaving only the hollow echo of distant machinery.

"What's the meaning of this? This isn't the Men's Club." Daniels finally looks up from his compad, his expression shifting from annoyance to confusion.

I twist around in the driver's seat, letting him get a good look at my face. My bone spurs tear through what remains of the uniform's sleeves. A predatory grin splits my features, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

"Hello, Commander. Your daughter calls me Daddy, too."

Daniels lunges for the door handle. The limo rocks as he yanks it open, then freezes. His face drains of color as he peers down at the concrete floor thirty feet below.

"You'll never get away with murder, Reaper scum."

"Murder?" The word rolls off my tongue. "No. I'm not going to kill you."

"Then what's all this theatrics for?"

My claws tap against the steering wheel. "I love your daughter. Maryse means everything to me."

"Stay away from her, you monster-"

"Shut up." The bone spurs in my arms extend with a soft snick. "I won't kill you because it would break her heart. But I also can't let you continue your criminal empire. The slaves. The deaths at Rakura IV. All of it ends today."

His weathered face hardens. "You have no proof."

"Detective Vorpa probably can get some, especially with your cooperation. I've thought long and hard about this, Commander. There's only one solution that keeps you alive and brings justice."

"And what's that?"

---