Born of Fire

  But that was something he'd never admit to. In the end, he got what he deserved, too.

  No good deed goes unpunished.

  I'm coming back for you, you little bastard. And when I do, you'll suffer like no one ever has. So help me, gods. I should have let your mother drown you when you were an infant. See what mercy gets you? A bastard seed who betrays you to the grave. May the gods make you suffer every day you live and may each one be more painful than the one before it.

  Those had been the last words his father had ever spoken to him. To this day, they warmed the cockles of his heart.

  And it proved the one point Syn had lived his life by ever since.

  Everyone betrayed.

  He'd sold out his father and his son had turned his back on him. And just like he'd done to his own worthless father, his son called the authorities any time he tried to visit.

  Poetic justice really.

  "Syn?" she asked insistently. "Why did you turn your father in?"

  "I told you. It seemed like a good idea at the time." Shahara shook her head, unwilling to accept that. He was hiding something more, but it was obvious he didn't trust her with it. And why should he? She hadn't been exactly trustworthy where he was concerned.

  So she changed the subject to something less volatile and to the only thing that could save her life. "Fine. Let's assume you're telling the truth about all this. Why didn't the Merjacks kill you? If you're the only person alive who knows what they did, why would they take the chance on you telling someone else your story?"

  "Because they couldn't find the chip. That's the only reason they haven't killed me . . . yet. After all, who's going to believe me? A lying, sack-of-shit convict whose father's memory can still make seasoned assassins piss in their pants?"

  Confused, she tried to make sense of it. "I don't understand. If you're dead, why would it matter where it is?"

  "Anyone could find it and expose them," he said as if he were talking to a small child. "I'm actually surprised no one has found it yet. It would have been real easy to locate. We're just lucky they haven't."

  "Then why haven't you gone back for it and exposed them for the murderers they are?"

  "Because until you showed your pretty little neck in my home, they've mostly left me alone. I mean, sure they tried seriously to find me for a couple of years after I escaped prison, but I changed my name and they eventually went away. I was practicing the live-and-let-live social policy of survival."

  "But if they killed someone, how could you not--"

  "Look," he snarled, cutting her off. "Better him than me. Believe me, I'm sure Fretaugh had skeletons aplenty in his closet none of us know about and I don't have your wonderful little sense of justice. That's one luxury I've never been able to afford. The only law I answer to is the law of survival. And that law says for me to keep my ass as far from Ritadaria as I can."

  She clenched her teeth in frustration. She'd never understood people like him. People who could turn a blind eye to corruption, to crime.

  If what he said was true, how could he just let criminals get away with . . .

  Oh, he was a criminal. No wonder he lacked her morals. If he'd had them, he would never have done all the things he'd done. And that was something she'd have to come to terms with for the next few days until they located the chip.

  "So where are we going?"

  He opened one eye and pierced her with a glare from it. "You're not about to let me rest, are you?"

  "Well, I would like to know where it is I'm heading. Seeing as how I am a part of all this . . . now."

  "Fine," he said in a voice as equally aggravated as hers. "First we need to get a ship to tel-ass out of here. Then we need to find some place to stay for a night until I can protect myself, and unfortunately you, from the bastards after us."

  "And then?"

  "Then we go to Ritadaria and find that damned chip."

  She frowned in disbelief. "I thought you were practicing the live-and-let-live law of social survival stuff."

  "Yeah, well, screw it. I was never all that bright anyway."

  Damning himself for stupidity, Syn closed his eye and took as deep a breath as he dared. He ached from one throbbing molecule to the next and all he could think about was the betrayal that had caused each fierce blow.

  She'd done this to him.

  He'd been living a quiet life with only a few inconveniences as certain morons came after him. But no one had ever found his address before. He'd been very careful about it.

  Until now.

  Now he was once again a hunted animal with nowhere to call safe and no one to turn to. No one except the person who'd put him in danger.

  Trust no one at your back unless you want them to bury a knife in it.

  And he'd actually pulled her to safety with him. What the hell had he been thinking?

  That Caillen would be upset if he let her get hurt. Of course, not nearly as upset as Syn would be if he died over it . . .

  He must surely have brain damage.

  Where had he picked up a conscience? And when? He'd always lived his life alone, without encumbrances.

  No good deed goes unpunished--that was the one mantra he believed in above all others.

  Now he was going to pay the price for his sudden tender heart because, no matter how much he might want to strangle Shahara, he knew he couldn't let her go to prison for helping him.

  Even if she did deserve to find out firsthand what it was like to live in hell. And no doubt when all of this was said and done, he'd be back in prison and she'd be free. It was just the way things went.

  "Hello?" she said poking him once more in the side.

  He stifled the urge to strike out. "What?"

  "Why are we going to Ritadaria?"

  Crossing his arms to protect his damaged ribs from her finger, he sank lower in his seat. "Maybe I'm tired of running. Maybe I'm still a fool for a pretty face. Ah, hell, maybe I'm just tired of living and I really don't care if they do catch me anymore."

  Shahara sat back. What could one say to that? She certainly had no response.

  Suddenly, the shuttle stopped. As the door swung open, she saw the small, city spaceport just a short distance away.

  Stepping out onto the busy street, she glanced around at the various spacecraft docked in neat isolation channels that lined both sides of the port. All of the ships were small to medium in size with only a handful used for anything other than shuttles to larger crafts docked in a hangar that orbited the planet--large-bulk craft that weighed too much to ever be landed on a planet's surface.

  She frowned. "Why are we here?"

  He sighed as he stopped by her side and looked at her as if she were dense. "I told you, we need a ship."

  "We have no money to buy passage."

  "Must you always get caught up in the details?"

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. "Look, I've already broken more laws in the last two days than I've ever broken in my entire life. I'm not a criminal. I can't do what you do."

  He sneered at her. "How nice for you. I'm so glad your precious morality was never compromised. Some of us weren't so lucky." He pulled his arm free of her grasp and gave her a look that froze her all the way to her toes. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a ship to commandeer. Make sure you stay right by my side so that none of the cameras pick you up and transmit our location to our friends."

  He took a step away from her, then paused and turned around with an amused smile. "Or stay here and give the Rits my best, won't you?"

  Shahara growled low in her throat. She was going to kill this man. No doubt about it.

  But first, she had to get away from the people who were tracking them and complete this godforsaken mission.

  Trailing along after him, she crossed the bay. She couldn't believe the open way he walked about, as if he were on honest business.

  How could anyone be so sure of himself? Especially since he was about to steal a ship?

  No wond
er he never got caught.

  He paused several times, looking at various ship markings, before he finally decided on one. He gave her a smug, taunting grin. "This one will do nicely, don't you think?"

  She clenched her teeth to prevent herself from speaking the lecture that blistered her tongue. He wouldn't listen anyway. Why bother?

  Besides, she admitted, it was a beautiful ship. Painted red and gold, it was of the largest of the rounded Fropane class. A freighter of renowned maneuverability and speed. Her brother had always dreamed of owning one. But they were for rich shippers. Not destitute pilots like Caillen who couldn't even afford a place to live.

  One of the bay's attendants approached them. "May I help you, Frion?"

  Syn inclined his head toward the ship. "Where's her manifest and log?"

  "They're recording them now."

  "Has she been fueled?"

  "Yes, sir. They did that first."

  "Good. Open her up."

  Without question, the man complied. Shahara frowned. It was that simple to steal ship?

  Who knew?

  Now that she thought about it, no one had ever questioned her when she'd docked her fighter here. Of course, no one in their right mind would ever want to take that rust heap.

  Maybe it was just that Syn's voice held such authority to it, his presence so much power, that no one dared to question his commands.

  Still . . .

  Like a graceful dancer, the hatch lowered. Automatically, the ramp extended itself for them. Thick, dark green carpet lined the walkway and Shahara fought the urge to take off her worn boots before she damaged the pristine fabric.

  Syn took her elbow and led her up the ramp.

  "Is there anything else you need, Frion?" the attendant asked.

  Pausing, Syn looked back at him. "Yeah, tell Eamon there's a shipment due in later tonight. He can take that flight or a passenger shuttle. Whatever he prefers. Just have him bill it to the account."

  "Yes, sir."

  Her jaw dropped. "You know the ship's owner?"

  He laughed coldly as he walked past her. "I am the ship's owner. Eamon is just the captain assigned to her."

  Following him up the ramp, she had a strong urge to kick him. He'd been playing with her all this time? "What do you mean you own this ship?"

  He pushed the controls to retract the ramp. "I own one hundred and six of them to be precise. Contrary to your information, I happen to be a shipper, not a thief."

  "You mean your flat and everything you own is--"

  "Paid for by honest coin." He started past her but she stopped him.

  "I don't understand."

  "No, you don't. And that's your problem. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a flight to plan. We have to get clearance before the Rits get smart enough to lock down this port. I can't afford to shoot my way out of a port we use all the time for my real business."

  Dumbfounded, she stood in the narrow corridor while her mind whirled with this new information. Was he a doctor, a shipper, a thief, or a filch?

  Just who was this man?

  Unsure of what to think, she went to the bridge. Syn sat in the navigator's chair where he was pulling up course information and coordinates.

  Shahara headed for the captain's chair. No sooner had she seated herself than she noticed the cut above his eye had reopened.

  Absently, he brushed the blood aside while he scanned the electronic files.

  "Here," she said, pulling out her small handkerchief from the tiny pocket above her breast. "I can get it."

  She moved to his side.

  As she brushed the thin, worn linen over his brow, she could feel his warm breath fall against her throat where it tickled, raising chills the length of her arm, tightening her breasts. He looked up at her with an unfathomable stare. One that hypnotized her.

  Even with the bruises marring his face, she couldn't lose sight of his handsomeness. And as she watched him, his gaze darkened with some thought she couldn't name.

  The handkerchief fell from her hand and she touched his roughened whiskers. They made him appear so rugged and raw, a far cry from the clean-shaven man she'd met just days before. Now he really looked like a dangerous criminal. Like a man who could steal her most private thoughts.

  Her very soul.

  She should be afraid of him and yet no part of her recoiled as she normally did when a man stood so close. He wasn't groping or pulling. He just sat there, looking up at her as if waiting for something.

  Suddenly she felt his hand at her waist. He trailed it up along her spine until he touched her cheek. Before she could react, he gently pulled her closer.

  "So pretty," he whispered an instant before he claimed her lips.

  Shahara trembled at the foreign sensation. His lips weren't demanding, they were asking. Gentle and kind, they teased her senses . . . whetted a hunger that she'd never known existed. Surrendering herself to her whirling emotions, she leaned into him and allowed him to pull her onto his lap.

  Again he whispered his language to her and her body arched for the kisses he began to rain down the column of her throat. Throbbing heat assailed her. She wanted more.

  Syn knew he should stop, but for his life he couldn't pull away. It had been way too long since he'd last held a woman. And this one stoked his passions to the highest level imaginable. She was so brazen and yet so timid.

  And her body tasted like honey and spice.

  He moaned as she ran her hands through his hair, stroking his scalp. Running his hands over her spine, he felt her move against him an instant before her knee brushed against his bruised ribs.

  Pain exploded, blotting out all the pleasure. He gasped in agony.

  She tensed a moment before she jumped away. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

  "Other than the fact that I feel like my rib just punctured a lung, sure, I'm all right." He leaned forward, trying to shift the pain.

  If he ever got his hands on Merjack . . .

  And speaking of, it was probably a good thing she'd accidentally done that. They needed to get out of here. Quickly.

  Hormones be damned.

  Pushing himself up, he took a shallow breath to steady himself. "If you want to punch in coordinates, I'll do the preliminaries and fire the engines."

  She nodded and took his vacated chair. Syn paused for a minute as he noted her reddened cheeks and swollen lips. His whiskers had burned a path all the way down her throat and, for some unknown reason, he liked that sight. Somehow it marked her as his.

  Don't even go there.

  What was wrong with him? He knew better than to put any claim on a woman. He could never depend on one. Women lied and they betrayed.

  The only one he could trust was himself.

  She's already looked at you like you were shit.

  Yeah, but she also let him kiss her. Usually when a woman learned the truth about his past, she ran.

  Don't. You're nothing to her and that's all you'll ever be.

  With that thought in mind, he took the captain's chair and prepared their launch.

  Just as he was about to press the launch code, Shahara reached out and touched his arm. "Look." She inclined her head toward the side window.

  Looking over, Syn saw the Rits coming in to question the flight staff. "Stay calm. They won't mark this ship. And we've already been cleared for the launch."

  "Are you sure they can't make us?"

  "The ship is registered under the name of Darling Cruel. They wouldn't dare push that button."

  Shahara took a deep breath. He was right. The Cruels were renowned for their political power and wealth. No one messed with them unless they had a death wish.

  Still, her heart didn't stop pounding until he put the throttle down and launched them.

  "If you own this ship, why is it registered to Darling?"

  He gave her a droll stare. "I couldn't very well run the business under my own name now, could I? Every half-wit moron in the galaxy would be after me."

&nbs
p; "Aren't you afraid the Cruels will find out and get angry?"

  His look was snotty and offensive. "Ryn and Darling are friends of mine and have been for a long time. It was actually Darling's idea that I register my business assets under his name."

  "Why would he take such a risk?"

  "What risk? Who in the universe would take his family on? For all they know, it is his business."

  She had to give him that. No one in their right mind would dare question one of the Cruels. "So how do you know him?"

  He sighed irritably. "I knocked on his door one day and said 'Hi, I'm here to rob you. Hope you don't mind. Oh and by the way, will you be my friend?' "

  "You don't have to be so sarcastic."

  He gave her a lethal glare. "I'm getting tired of answering your questions. I swear you must have been trained as an interrogator."

  "Well, excuse me for being curious. I don't have the benefit of knowing all about your family or friends. Caillen never mentioned you."

  "If you were trying to cut me with that remark, you missed. I made Caillen swear a long time ago that he'd never tell anyone he knew me. If anyone ever found out he was a friend of mine, his life wouldn't be worth any more than that plastic ring on your hand."

  Shahara clenched her right hand into a fist. In spite of the hard shell she kept on her emotions, tears welled up in her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she blinked them away, angered that he'd been able to stab her there. She knew her mother's wedding ring had no monetary value, but her mother had cherished it and to her it was priceless.

  How dare he insult it so.

  Syn saw the sadness that darkened her eyes and he was instantly contrite. "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

  In an effort to distract her from the pain his thoughtless words had caused, he quickly asked. "So tell me, how did you find my apartment? It's not registered under my name either."

  With a shake of her head, her eyes cleared. "I researched purchase orders." She cleared her throat, then spoke louder, "I knew you flew a black Pritan fighter that was only a year or two old."

  He sucked his breath in as he cursed himself for that oversight. "I purchased it under my name."

  She nodded. "I cross-referenced the fighter's serial numbers with a list of landing bays until I found the one where it was registered. Once I knew the location, it was merely a matter of asking people in the area if they knew anyone who answered to your description."

  Oh, I am an idiot . . .

  But he had to give her credit. No one else had thought of that.