Page 38 of Pact with the Alien Devil

“Iria, wait—” Korvan called after me, but I was already gone.

I sprinted toward the exit, weaving through the panicked club patrons with ease. The bass thudded through the floor, vibrating up my legs as I ran. The exit door swung shut, and I shouldered it open with a grunt.

This was my chance to end it—to stop running, to stop being used. I wasn’t going to let him get away.

The service corridor stretched ahead, cold and sterile compared to the pulsing nightclub behind me. My boots barely made a sound on the metal grating. Seven years on Thodos Station had taught me every shortcut, every maintenance tunnel, every ventilation shaft. If Miggs thought he could outrun me here, he was dead wrong.

I heard his footsteps turn left at the junction ahead. Rookie move. He’d hit the main corridor that way, with all its security checkpoints. I veered right instead, ducking into a narrow accesstunnel used by maintenance droids. The walls closed in around me, my shoulders nearly brushing both sides.

This would cut a full thirty seconds off the pursuit, if I hurried.

My lungs burned as I pushed myself faster, the weight of my blaster slapping against my thigh with each stride. I burst out the other end of the maintenance tunnel to catch Miggs rounding the corner ahead.

“Stop right there!” I shouted, but he only ran faster.

I took aim with my blaster, but there were too many bystanders—dock workers, cargo haulers, and station residents going about their business. I cursed and kept running.

Miggs glanced back, his face contorting in panic when he realized I’d somehow gotten ahead of his planned route. He slammed his hand against a panel on the wall.

The blast door ahead began to lower.

I pushed myself harder, diving into a slide that took me under the descending metal barrier just before it sealed with a pneumatic hiss.

Rolling to my feet, I noticed something blinking on the floor ahead.

Trip mine.

I froze mid-step, barely preventing my boot from triggering the sensor. The red light pulsed innocently, but I knew it would take out half the corridor if tripped.

“Dirty bastard,” I muttered, carefully stepping over it.

He’d already taken so much from me—my reputation, my safety, my freedom. I wasn’t letting him take anything else.

I spotted another mine ahead. And another. He’d littered the path with them. Smart. The corridor led to the cargo bays, where he probably had an escape ship waiting. I needed to find another way.

I backtracked to a small access panel I’d passed moments earlier. Kneeling, I pried it open with my knife and crawled inside. The ventilation shaft was cramped and dusty, sending me into a coughing fit as I dragged myself forward on elbows and knees.

“Come on, come on,” I whispered to myself, pushing through the claustrophobic space. The metal was cold beneath my palms, and the shaft rang with hollow sounds as I moved. I counted the intersections—one, two, three—before taking a right turn that should lead me to the cargo bay entrance.

He’d disabled the security cameras—another sign this had been thoroughly planned. I followed at a distance, keeping to the shadows between cargo containers.

The bay’s massive doors stood at the far end, a stolen shuttle prepped and waiting with its ramp extended. Miggs was really going to get away.

Not if I could help it.

I raised my blaster and fired, catching him in the shoulder. He staggered but kept running.

“Miggs!” I shouted. “It’s over!”

He ducked behind a stack of crates, and I lost sight of him. Advancing cautiously, I scanned the area, blaster at the ready.

The whisper of movement to my left was my only warning.

Two mercenaries stepped out from behind a cargo container, weapons aimed at my chest. Then two more appeared to my right. Professional goons, not the usual station muscle—these were imported talent.

“Drop it,” one of them ordered.

I hesitated, calculating my odds. Four against one. Not good.

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