Page 27 of Viken Command

7

Whitney

I had to know the truth. The disk had revealed plenty. On Earth, I’d been the stupid ostrich and stuck my head in the sand, not believing what had been right in front of me. I’d heard the stories, the news reports, even the police. I’d been questioned within an inch of my life to see if I’d had any knowledge of what my father and brother had done. Yet, I’d still doubted the cops, the FBI. I had been in hardcore denial because I hadn’t wanted to know the truth.

How could the people I loved be so bad? How could they have no empathy, no feeling for others? How did they live with themselves? How could I even be in the same family with heartless criminals who’d stolen so much from so many?

It had taken me a while to come to terms with reality. The truth, which was that people lied. That people I cared about—and who I’d thought cared about me—lied. People were devious, uncaring. They’d had an agenda that involved me, that used me. Many, many times, my father had used me as a pawn, a front. When the FBI had shown up with a list of names, I’d cried for days after I realized that my father had used my friends from school to gain access to their families’ fortunes. Every birthday party and special occasion had been about getting my friends to invite their parents so my father and brother could scam them out of more money.

I’d been popular at school. I was always charming. I smiled when I didn’t feel like it. I put on an excellent show no matter how bad I felt. My mother had taught me that. Hell, she’d insisted. No daughter of hers was going to be perceived as weak. My eighteenth birthday I’d had the flu, had to run up to my room to vomit too many times to count. She’d frowned, handed me mouthwash, and told me to get my ass back to the party so my family, little did I know, could bilk the guests.

I’d thought those days were over. I’d thought I finally had people—mates—who cared about me. Me. Not the Mason name, or making more money, or using me to lure my rich friends into investing in companies that didn’t even exist.

I’d been the dupe once.

I wouldn’t do it again.

All the signs were there. Even light-years away, it was the same fucking MO.

Lies. Secrets. One of them was always off doing something. Alarr, Oran, and Teig had all been attentive. Protective. Thoughtful. Generous. But that didn’t mean they were genuinely kind. It didn’t mean they cared. It meant they had something to hide. Their cocks didn’t need to be in love with me to get hard. They’d fucked me into submission. Literally. It had never been a formal claiming like Leah had told me about. No wonder they’d made excuses not to take me together. It had all been just fucking. Pleasure for them, distraction for me.

And the disk, the images it displayed… I had to know the truth. I had to see their faces as they told it to me. I needed to hear the words from them, see it with my own eyes.

I wouldn’t bury my head this time. As Warden Egara had told me, I had thirty days. I sighed with relief. If Alarr, Oran and Teig were as corrupt as I now believed, I had to know it for a fact. To know with complete certainty. Right now. I didn’t care that my hair was a mess. I didn’t care that I had no underwear. I didn’t care that Oran’s shirt was the only thing I really had to wear. Okay, I cared about that, because it only reminded me of their devious cruelty.

My father and brother had fucked me over. But they hadn’t fucked me to fuck me over.

What Alarr, Oran and Teig did… were still doing, was worse. So much worse. The disk in my hand was like a dagger in my chest. I could barely breathe. Everything was too tight. Too wracked with pain to function. I knew I was walking like a marionette with a diabolical puppet master yanking the strings without thought or order. It didn’t matter. I was my mother’s daughter. I could do this. I would face this head-on.

I left the hut, head held high, and with a small smile on my face. My father had written the book on hiding illegal shit in plain sight. Once I got the truth, I would go to one of the transport centers and head to Viken United, to Queen Leah, and give her the disk. I had to get out of here before my mates found out what I knew.

I slowed down, the smile on my face so fierce it made my cheeks burn, but I held it. To everyone who saw me, I was nothing more than a well-satisfied mate out for a stroll. Being sneaky and hiding behind bushes would only draw attention.

I cut across the main area where the various fuck huts were—yeah, that’s what they were, where mates went to get it on in various ways—to one of the eating areas. There, I walked past the open kitchens toward what looked like a more functional, less decorated area. I had no idea where I was going, but if they were trading weapons, it wasn’t where any of the guests were. They wouldn’t be out in the main areas. Snakes hid under rocks.

Even though it was late in the evening, the staff were working. Pots and pans clattered. The scent of the delicious food my mates had fed me filled the air.

I couldn’t think of eating now. I was nauseated at the truth I knew was coming. I felt it in my gut.

The pathway lights disappeared, yet the path continued. I followed it as it meandered into the thick jungle. Here, the foliage wasn’t groomed but lush and loomed overhead.

Ahead, I heard voices. Slowing, I stepped off the trail and moved into the wilds of Viken, hoping the thick leaves would hide me well enough. I knew of the S-Gen machines but wasn’t skilled enough to make anything with one yet. How did one order up black pants, turtleneck, and watch cap in plus size?

Ahead and to the left, I made out the exterior of the transport building. I recognized it from my arrival.

God, had it only been yesterday? It felt like a week, I’d been on a rollercoaster ever since my arrival.

Voices came from up ahead. Male voices. Shit. I didn’t want to get caught. They’d probably call one of my mates to come get me. I had no idea who to trust and who not to. How many of the security team were in on the weapons trade? Half? More? No one could run an operation like that alone. There had to be layers of command, just like a gang or drug lord would have. Moving deeper into the foliage, I moved slow as cold molasses, careful not to make a single sound, grateful that my skin was dark, and Oran’s shirt was a deep black. I would be a shadow, if that. Invisible.

I moved closer. Close enough to recognize a voice. Oran. “There’s enough here to destroy every support ship in a Battlegroup.”

Pressing against the thick trunk of a tree, I peeked around it. He stood in front of a large crate, the lid leaning against the side of it. The crate was like the one I’d seen in the images on the disk. In his hand was a weapon just like the ones worn by the queen’s security detail. She’d spoken of the additional guards she needed because of those who didn’t like the royal family, but the threat to her came from Vikens upset about Viken problems.

Oran spoke of the Coalition Fleet. I’d read that their military forces were organized into Battlegroups run by different Prillon commanders. The Coalition was the reason I was here. They had the Interstellar Brides Program and also recruited soldiers from all the participating planets. Together, they fought the Hive. The warriors in those Battlegroups were protecting Earth and all the other planets.

It might have been Oran’s voice I heard, but he wasn’t alone. With him were Teig and Alarr. All three of them were here. Working together. Which made sense. They couldn’t have a mate and keep their illegal gun runs a secret from each other. They all had to know, so when one of them made excuses for not claiming their mate…

My throat swelled closed and tears burned my eyes, but I refused to sob or raise a hand to wipe the acid from my cheeks. Let it burn. Let it fucking burn and remind me why I had to get to that transport station and turn them in. They were bad guys. Good in bed, but that was all. I’d only known them for one damn day. I’d forget them in another. I would. I was strong. Stronger than their lies. Their goddamn lies.

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