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She blinked. “What? Who? Who would want to buy me?”

“Maxim Martel.”

Her jaw dropped at the name. Martel. She knew the name. Everybody did. The sort of name people lowered their voices around, even in empty rooms.

“What? I’ve never even met Martel. Why would he want to buy me?”

Joe shrugged, casual as anything. “Fucked if I know. Who knows what goes through the minds of homicidal crime lords these days?”

She just stared at him, still struggling to process what he was saying. If Joe was the bogey-man, then Martel was the devil incarnate. And he’d bought her? Shit, she’d be dead before the end of the day.

“Martel wants you delivered as soon as possible,” he went on. “You, and a bunch of heavy-gravity goats. Which is why I’m making the run myself instead of handing you and the goats off to someone else.”

Heavy-gravity goats.

Her mind caught on the words and just... stopped. Because that made sense, didn’t it?

Her life had become such a spectacular mess that Maxim Martel wanted her delivered with some bloody goats.

Her life sucked. Completely and utterly sucked.

The guards hauled her down two more corridors, hands locked around her upper arm hard enough to bruise. She kept her feet under her out of spite and because falling would have made them happy.

She narrowed her eyes and threw her weight to the left when they wanted to turn right. Despite everything, the ship’s layout was beginning to take shape in her head. Cargo section aft. Crew quarters were somewhere central. Two turns left, one right. And there was a narrower corridor here. The deck vibration changed under her boots. Okay, that meant they were somewhere near engineering. One deck above, perhaps.

Not that it did her much good when she was chained up like this.

Her guards stopped outside a door that looked wildly out of place on an ugly ship like this. Dark wood paneling with brass trim. She doubted it was real brass, but whatever it was, was trying real hard.

One of the guards slapped his palm to the lock and shoved her through when it opened.

Stumbling, she caught herself on a thick carpet and snorted.

Carpet.

On a crime-boss’s ship.

The room was bigger than her entire quarters on the trader. A huge bed took up one wall, all polished black frame and gray blankets. There was a sitting area with soft chairs, a food dispenser built into a cabinet, and a bathroom door standing open at the far end. Somebody had put a vase of flowers on the table.

Flowers. Like this was a bloody hotel.

The guard behind her moved to close the door.

She spun, her fist already en-route to his throat. He twisted back fast, but she caught the underside of his jaw. His head snapped aside, and she went for his rifle⁠—

Then the butt of another weapon smashed into her face.

Pain exploded through her jaw. Her knees gave out, and the carpet rushed up to meet her. She hit it hard, cheek pressed into soft fibers while white stars burst behind her eyes.

Fuck.

Her ears rang and she tasted blood. Again.

Something landed beside her with a whisper of fabric.

“Put it on,” one of the guards growled.

She blinked until the room stopped tilting and grabbed for it. She had to turn it around and about a couple of times before she realized that it was a dress. Black and shiny, there was barely enough material to cover a decent-sized…well, anything. It had thin straps and a slit up one side that went all the way to the hip.