Page 29 of Sol Survivor

“Her name?”Drafe released the male and raised his gaze to study her face.Hence the scars.Each was a badge of honor, proving her ability to survive.

“Victoria Harper,” Tyler said, shuffling out of reach.

Drafe grunted.The poor male didn’t know how fast or lethal a Qaldreth could be.“Return me to my ship,” he said, striding from the room.“Send me the data you have on her.”

“Why?”Tyler’s fear irritated Drafe, burning his nostrils with its acrid stench.

He sliced Tyler a warning glance.“I intend to finish what she started.”

Chapter Eleven

Year: 2219

Lunar Base

Viccouldn’twalkstraight,as if her knees had liquified, and her lips tingled in unison with her taut nipples.Drafe.His voice had rumbled, growled, reminiscent of a grizzly’s chuff.It had brushed over her skin, raising the hairs all over her body.

The moment her gaze settled on him, her heart rate spiked.His intense focus snagged hers, and when he rose, the physique of a warrior in molded metallic scales had snatched her breath.His presence dominated, demanding attention and admiration.His graceful yet efficient movements aroused her instincts, flooding adrenaline through her body—warning of a predator.Playing with him meant teasing the tiger, and the appeal of it delighted her.

Drafe.He had darker-than-midnight skin, yellow-brown eyes, and his cologne smelled of fire and something addictive.His lips were dry, his taste salty, making her mouth water.She’d kissed a stranger.Every muscle and nerve thrummed with pulsing energy as if she was empowered, invincible, and yet, he’d left her aching for more.No wonder Ande did this often.

Farg, Ande.She’d forgotten about her friend.Stopping to collect her carry-all from the locker, she scanned the details he’d sent her.Position: security officer.Ship: theMula Pesadadocked in bay 39E.The contact: Themba Masuku.

Darting through the crowds, she headed for the lower level ’39.’The display vids listed the ships and their docks above the elevators, making it easy to find.In the steel tin, the stench of sweat assaulted her, but she held firm, watching the red numbers count down the levels.Each stop swapped the travelers for workers and crowded her deeper into the corner.

When the elevator stopped on her level, she squeezed past a few ‘affectionate’ men, repaying their fondles with sharp jabs of an elbow and one knee to the groin before stepping onto the causeway.She grimaced, twitching her nose against the myriad of smells, and ignored the cursing coming from the elevator behind her.

Weaving through the workers to reach the balustrade, she raised her gaze to the rows upon rows of ships going left, right, then up, and down.Their sizes and abilities varied from the massive hauler dominating the bays, to the loaders, cruisers, couriers, and military shuttles.

Since theMula Pesadawasn’t easy to miss, she headed left down the causeway, dodging scurrying workers while admiring the shapes and colors of the ships.The military was solid black, with mounted cannons stating their purpose more than the shimmering letters marking their designation.

Against this, lay the hauler.There was no rhyme or reason to its design—an elongated rectangle, with pieces jutting off as if they’d used metal scraps to fuse holes.The front end of the ship had a little curve to it, but the back end was open-aired and box-like, a warehouse for ice.

She kept away from the railing, not wanting an eager worker to knock her over with his pallet rig.It meant meandering around the food stalls and spice dealers, crossing alleys, and dodging filth swept into the corners.

“I swear, I don’t have it.I promise.”A man’s sobbing plea pierced the din of blurred announcements, hawkers selling their wares, and the greeting cries between workers.

She paused mid-stride and peered into the long alleyway.A blast of air stinking of rotting waste blew her hair back when she faced the group of men.One pressed a skinny runt to the soot-and-poster-lined steel walls.

“You don’t?Well, that’s a shame.”The tallest man chuckled, a mane of brown hair haloing his head.He folded his bulging arms across his massive chest, his forearm catching his stitched name tag—Nikko.He’d spread his legs in a stance that was far from casual.

“I love breaking knees, Webb,” Nikko continued, a smirk twitching the scar above his eye.

With his skin drenched in sweat and moisture pooled on his lip, the weaselly man squirmed before the snap of his finger drew a scream.

Her lips curled in distaste at the unmatched fight with Webb the weakest.A quick scan of the other men crowding the alley had her arching a brow.A woman stood to the side, her hands clasped behind her, legs spread wide in a military stance.One side of her hair was shorn, revealing a beautiful skull.Her name in worn white lettering on her dark blue overalls declared her as Leah.Another stocky man hung back, leaning against the wall with his leg bent, his booted foot planted firmly.He toyed with a steel toothpick, rolling it across his bottom lip.The lettering on his uniform was illegible.

A slim teenage boy tapped on his smart band, stilled and met Nikko’s gaze.An almost imperceptible shake of the head doomed the weasel named Webb.

Vic’s shoulders slumped when her soft heart insisted she intrude.She held still, not wanting to get involved, but her conscience wouldn’t shut up.Air rushed along the back of her neck, raising the hairs and tightening every muscle in her body.

“Is this necessary?”She kept her steps light, having learned not to reveal her approach within the first year at Carne.

As one, they stared at her strolling along the alleyway toward them.Leah’s posture stiffened.Toothpick-man pushed off the wall, his hand resting on his hip above his blaster.Nikko unfolded his arms.Fury darkened his features as he shoved the boy behind him.Noble of him but unwarranted.

She unhooked her carry-all, hung it on a jutting drain pipe, and met Webb’s wide eyes.

“Sell your wares somewhere else,” Nikko grunted and ran a dismissive appraisal over her.

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