Page 8 of Stealing Mercury
Samantha huffed her disgust, wondering if he had any intention of dealing fairly. He struck her as a man who’d have no twinge of conscious over dealing from the bottom of the deck. He might keep adding on conditions until there was no way for her to succeed. “Risking my life isn’t enough?”
“Now, Sam. We aren’t going to let our pilot die. The worst you’ll get is a few scratches. Maybe a broken bone.”
Resler got up and shoved his empty tray into the disposal. “She’s right. They could snap her neck.”
“If they did,” said Drake, “that certainly wouldn’t benefitme.”
So, they were back to that—what was in it for him. “What do you want?”
“Just your company at meals, daily. Seems fair.” His smile was friendly and open, as if he wasn’t bargaining over whether three men would go hungry.
Samantha bit her lip to contain her own less charitable smile.
Drake raised his eyebrows.
“Do you realize,” she said, “that you just put eating a meal with you on a par with risking death?”
He scowled, twisting his lips in a cruel mockery of his earlier expression. “Let’s add a time limit. Say, five minutes.”
She sighed. If this was the only alternative to letting them go without food, what choice did she have? “All right. I’ll do it.”
Resler chuckled as he headed for the door. “This should be good. I’ll get the stun-sticks.”
Stars, she hadn’t meant to give them any excuse to hurt their prisoners. “That won’t be—”
“We won’t use them,” said Drake. “Unless it’s the only way to get you out of there.” He nodded to Resler. “Meet us in the cargo-hold.” He waved a hand at the door. “After you, Sam.”
He was uncharacteristically quiet on the short walk through the pale blue corridors. She knew the color was supposed to be relaxing. A lot of ships used it. Maybe it helped the normal crew get along better on the long journeys, but it did nothing for the coil of tension constricting her chest. Samantha entered the code, gave the door a solid push, and led Drake into the hold.
Cargo crates stamped with the red Roma logo and locked in place with gravity clamps lined the wall to the left. To her right, nothing stood between them and the bare metal of the loading doors and the hatch leading to the emergency cargo-drop. In front of them, the three cages formed a barbaric row about five meters away. Mercury and Carnage were lying quietly, but their eyes tracked her. In the center cage, Diablo paced in small, three-step laps. As Resler came in behind them and handed Drake a stun-stick, the Arena Dog stopped and faced them, hands wrapping around the bars. The other two didn’t even stir.
How had she forgotten how beautiful they were? She didn’t realize she was staring until Diablo’s low growl drew her gaze to his eyes. Red fire flashed in the depths.
He spoke in a voice full of teeth. “Come to taunt us?”
The question startled her. Not the question so much as his speaking at all. They’d been so silent, not even talking to each other.
“No.” She looked to Drake who nodded.
“Five minutes,” he said.
She stepped forward and held out the protein bar where they could all see. “I brought ration bars.” She smiled, but she knew her nerves showed in the tightness of her lips.
Diablo was directly in front of her. His whole body had gone on high alert the moment she’d stepped forward. His eyes stalked her, his body twitched in readiness, drawing her attention to his sleek muscles. She wanted to stroke a hand across his skin to ease his hurts, but the memory of his claws swiping at her face kept her from walking toward him. Instead, she kept well out of his reach and headed for Mercury—the man who’d touched her with sensual promise.
He lay still on his side like a sculpture, all defined muscle and the sharp relief of golden skin stretched tight over cheek bones, ribs, hips. He looked relaxed at first glance, but his muscles were taut and his storm cloud eyes followed her, alert.
She kneeled in front of his cage and held out the ration bar.
He didn’t move.
She huffed out a breath. “I need you to take it.”
His eyelids lowered and opened in a slow-motion blink. His gaze shifted past her to the men at the door, stun-sticks in hand.
Samantha lowered her voice. “They aren’t going to hurt you. Please. Take it.”
His nose flared and his eyes traced her face as gently as the soft press of lips. For one pregnant moment, she thought he’d reach for it. Instead, he rolled over, turning his back. The thick, white scars marring the muscular expanse lashed at her determination. Why did she think a man who’d been treated so cruelly could trust her offer?
