Page 57

Men poured through the hole in the hull, fast and practised, spreading into the bay before she could take another breath.

One of them broke away from the others, and he was on her before she could turn. A gloved hand closed around her upper arm, dragging her backward. Screaming, she twisted and threw her weight sideways, but he was bigger and armored and apparently had no issue with hurting people.

Rude.

His grip slipped just enough so she drove her knee up as hard as she could.

The bastard made a strangled noise and folded around the hit. She nearly yanked free, but he recovered quicker than she expected, catching her around the waist and taking her down hard.

Her shoulder cracked against the deck, air punching out of her lungs. Before she could react, he had her pinned, a knife jammed up beneath her jaw.

Blythe glared up into his helmeted face.

“Go on, do it,” she snarled. “Damage the merchandise and just see what Joe does to you.”

12

“Joe wants you breathing.” The man above Blythe gave a low, nasty laugh, knife pressing just enough to make the point. “He didn’t say nothing about comfortable.”

He hauled her upright by the front of her coveralls and her shoulder screamed. She gritted her teeth and stumbled as he shoved her into engineering.

The rest of the crew had already been rounded up. Stevie stood near the ruined loading ramp controls with Hope and Callie behind her, her body angled so she was blocking these assholes’ view of Callie. Layla stood with Myla, blood on her lower lip and fury in her eyes. Two men bracketed the pair, rifles aimed low but ready, and all their attention on Layla.

Her stomach turned cold.

They’d recognized Layla and Stevie as the biggest threats. And she could tell by the easy way they moved they’d done this before.

The cutter hole still glowed at the edges and she clenched her hands. Fuckers had cut open her ship.

One of the boarders shoved her hard between the shoulder blades. “Hands where I can see them.”

“Get fucked.”

Stevie shot her a look as the rifle muzzle dug into her spine, so she swallowed the rest and held her hands up.

There were more of them. Behind her, boots thudded through the corridors and doors banged. Her quarters. The galley. The medical cupboard. Every stupid little corner of the ship being turned upside down while she stood there unable to do a damned thing.

And any second, they’d find Rann. Not like a guy that big could hide anywhere.

The image of him being hauled through the doorway with blood on his face, hands tied behind his back. Or worse. He’d told them to make chokepoints, then stayed in the cockpit to try and stop them locking onto the ship. Which meant, when they found him, he wasn’t going to come easily.

Idiot handsome bastard was going to get himself bloody well killed.

A group of men came back through the engineering door. The last of them shook his head at the one holding Blythe.

“Clear,” he said. “Nothing.”

The older man stepped forward. He had gray threaded through his dark hair and a thick scar dragged straight across his throat, pale and ugly against his skin. His gaze moved over the women one at a time, stopping on Stevie.

He frowned. “What about the cockpit?”

“Got in,” another man said. “Empty.”

The scarred man slid him a glance. “Empty? What do you mean empty? I thought someone was locked in there.”

“Nah. The bulkhead was locked from the outside,” the other man said, then snorted. “Stupid bitches thought that would keep us out.”

A few of them laughed.