Pirate: Space Gypsy Chronicles, #1 (18 page)

Rising from the table, Luca smiled and performed a short bow in her direction before striding away.

She swallowed her current bite of something sweet and juicy before saying, “I don’t think I trust that man.”

“You shouldn’t because I don’t.”

“But he’s your cousin.”

“Familial relationships don’t keep you safe. Come now. We must make haste.”

“What happened to letting me eat?”

“Eat later. We need to leave. Now.”

“But you said we had like thirty minutes.” For some reason, despite knowing the galactic standard for time was different, she couldn’t change almost thirty years of learning.

“Only because I am hoping to stall him.” He rose from his seat and dragged her with him. She reached to grab a handful of something crunchy that reminded her of beef jerky with a soft center.

“Do you think he’s going to try and steal your ship?”

“Among other things.”

Rafe weaved through the tables, leading her away from the entrance into the restaurant. With his hand laced through hers, he tugged her through a section of wall that turned out to be a clever hologram that hid the patrons’ dining area from the kitchen.

Smells assailed her, some making her taste buds tingle, others making her nose wrinkle. She especially didn’t want to know what was in the pot with the hair-like tendrils waving from the bubbling liquid.

No one, and by no one she meant the odd creatures working the various prep stations, paid them any mind as Rafe dragged her to the back of the kitchen and out another door.

They emerged into an alley, which made no sense because she could have sworn they weren’t at ground level. Then again, as Rafe kept reminding her, real estate on the space station came at a premium. Who was to say they didn’t stack alleys atop each other?

Still holding her hand, Rafe ran down the narrow length, the stone underfoot smooth yet slick in spots, as puddles and slime smeared the surface.

They reached the end and emerged onto a street, a seemingly empty street. For some reason, this bothered her.

“Should it be this quiet?” she asked in a whisper. She might as well have shouted since it echoed loudly in the empty space.

“No, it shouldn’t be,” Rafe muttered. “Everyone is lying low.”

“What does it mean?” She tucked behind him as he hugged the wall, his gaze darting all around for signs of danger. He moved slowly, gun in one hand, raised and ready. Not a good sign.

“It means we are probably looking at an ambush.”

That sounded bad. So why was he grinning? “Shouldn’t we go back to the hotel then? I thought you said they were safe places.”

He took a scant second to cast her a look of amusement. “First rule of being a pirate. Forget about playing it safe.”

“I’m not a pirate, though.”

“Sorry, wench, but you are guilty by association.”

“What’s the second rule?” she asked, more to distract herself from the tense situation.

“Stay alive.”

As he said this, he raised his gun and fired. She couldn’t have said at what, though. A flash replied, hitting the plastered and crumbling wall above her head. Chunks and dust sifted down. She squeaked and crouched low, not that it would help. She felt very exposed in this alley, and apparently Rafe thought so too. He fired at a door across from them, the handle melting before his laser blast. He ran at the door, tugging her behind him. She didn’t need any urging as streaking missiles came from a few directions, one whizzing by her face so close she felt a kiss of heat. It almost took care of her very fine mustache.

“They’re trying to kill us!” she yelled as he barreled through the door he’d unlocked.

“Not really,” he said, dragging her through a room piled high with boxes. “Those blasts are meant to stun. Whoever set this trap wants us alive.”

That didn’t exactly reassure. “Who is after us?”

“I have my suspicions.”

Someone appeared in the doorway of the storage room they’d invaded, chittering loudly. Emma had only a moment to gape at the true Martian in living green color, antennas and all, before Rafe shoved his way past him and darted through the shop filled with…

Her eyes widened. “It’s a dildo store!”

“We call them penile enhancement emporiums.”

Whatever he called them mattered less than the gargantuan penis thicker than her thigh. “Who has a pie big enough for that?” she exclaimed as they ran past.

“If we live, then maybe someday I’ll show you. They’re a unique species in that they self-inseminate but require a partner to do so.”

Shoving at the beads covering the front door of the shop, Rafe burst onto the street and took a moment to glance in all directions. There was actual foot—and tentacle—traffic here, traffic that paid them no mind until the lasers blasts started.

“This way,” he yelled, and they were off again, running and dodging the slow aliens, who regretted not clearing a path when they got caught in shots meant for them. Only once did Emma peek behind her, spotting the snoring carcasses of at least a half-dozen folk.

The good news was friends of those fallen took exception to the faulty blasts and went after those shooting.

They reached the stone arch leading out of the hollow asteroid area and to the outer docking ring. Rafe didn’t slow. He ran headlong into it, only to halt halfway, throwing an arm out to stop Emma when she would have gone bolting past.

The reason was quickly clear. Paschatta, boobs hanging low, blocked the route, hands on her hips.

“Leaving so soon? But you’ve yet to truly enjoy our hospitality. Come with me quietly and maybe I won’t let my boys hurt you.” The crone cackled. Shadows converged behind her, big hulking figures. By boys, Paschatta meant giant, tusked demons, at least that was how they appeared. Leathery skin. Elongated heads. And horns, curling out from their jaws and on top of their heads.

“Out of the way,” Rafe warned, raising his weapon.

“You wouldn’t dare shoot at a priestess of the Holy Tabernacle of Fornication.”

“Then you don’t know me very well.” Rafe aimed higher and shot at the arch itself.

For a moment, Emma thought nothing would happen. Surely the rock was too tough for his laser blast. The so-called priestess in front of them cackled. “I think you missed, pirate prince.”

“I never miss,” said Rafe. His confidence showed in his easy bearing.

The lights in the tunnel flicked from clear to red, and a siren sounded.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

It was Paschatta who answered. “Fool. Do you really think calling the station guards will save you? I own the guard.”

The echo of boots clomping arrived from behind and even ahead as soldiers came pouring into the tunnel. Rafe, who had tucked his gun away into his holster, pointed at the crone and her minions and said, “They did it.”

“I did no such thing.” But her protests were ignored as the soldiers converged on Paschatta and her thugs. Problem was they also seemed intent on nabbing Emma and Rafe too.

“Now what, smart guy?”

“Now, I show you why I’m so good at what I do. Get on my back and hold on tight, wench.”

Usually she would have asked why, but there was no time. He half turned, and she jumped on, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. She’d no sooner gotten into position when Rafe ran straight at the wall of the tunnel, which made no sense to her. She didn’t spot any secret door.

What made even less sense was when he started running up the wall, defying the laws of gravity. Again.

What was he, some kind of superhero? If they got out of this alive, she was making him a fucking cape. Right after she screwed him silly for saving them.

F
or some reason
, as Rafe trotted across the top part of the tunnel’s arch, a song he’d heard on Earth came to mind, Lionel Richie’s “Dancing on the Ceiling.” Now, he should note, he didn’t dance on the ceiling—he ran—but still, if he were a man to sing, he might have burst into song—mostly to throw off his attackers.

Some might wonder how Rafe achieved such a feat. To that he replied, accessorizing.

There were certain things a pirate invested in. He invested in a good intelligence network. He procured a good ship, AKA stolen, and kept it in tiptop shape. A privateer also made sure he possessed the best communication technology that he could embed in his body. But all those things were useless if a man, wanted in several galaxies, with a bounty on his head, couldn’t get out of sticky situations. Such as now.

In front of him was impassable, a dense layer of guards blocking his way to freedom. Behind him was not an option. That left only one way to go. Up. And he wore just the boots to do it.

With a click of his heels, he activated certain properties that allowed his boots to cling to the rocky surface of the tunnel. While his feet stuck to the rock and let him climb, gravity did its best to pull, especially his extra burden. But Emma wasn’t about to let go. She clung tight, lest she fall atop the milling bodies below.

Many of them peered upward and gaped stupidly, the space station grunts hired for their size and not their mental acuity. His move confused those sent to capture him, and the guards muttered among themselves. If they fired their projectile weapons, they risked destabilizing the very stone arch they wished to protect, and their swords couldn’t reach.

Rafe didn’t suffer the same angst. He really couldn’t give a damn what happened to the rock. With his gun set to stun, he eliminated a few threats in order to muddle matters further.

Against his ear, soft breath tickled as Emma asked, “How are you doing this? Are you like part spider or something?”

“No. I stuck to more compatible mods. This, dear wench, is all thanks to the boots.” He fired at a fellow who aimed his weapon their way. Cheeky bastard.

Apparently, she didn’t grasp the severity of their situation, as she felt a need to talk. “Boots? But we’re not on your ship, so how are they working?”

“These rocky walls have enough metal in them that once I activate the magnetic properties of my boots, I get enough force to stick.” But that didn’t mean they were out of the meteor field. Reaching the end of the tunnel alive and intact was well and good, but there were still soldiers there waiting for them. Once he got them back on the ground, what would happen then?

Divine intervention if he was lucky.

Instead, he got family.

A familiar voice shouted, “Over here, cousin. Let me give you a hand.”

Past the ring of guard, with a sword in hand, stood Luca. No point in wondering how he got ahead of him. The man had obviously lied in the restaurant. Luca waved his blade and smiled, probably because the guards ignored him. They were after a bigger prize.

Rafe knew better than to trust the man, and yet he needed him. In times of need, a pirate made use of everything he had, even his enemies.

“As soon as you hit the ground,” he muttered to Emma, “run to the ship’s docking arm as fast as you can. See if you can get inside. The
Annabelle
should already be prepping her engines.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. This is the kind of fracas pirates live for.” The stuff that made them into legends. “Get ready. I’m going to toss you down.”

“You’re going to whaaaaaaaaa…” As she questioned, he manhandled her off his back that he might have a better grip on her.

Given time was short, he wasted no time and launched Emma toward his cousin. It was quite entertaining to watch her arms and legs flailing in the air. Even more entertaining to see Luca stagger as Emma hit him. His wench wasn’t a petite lightweight thing.

Lots of curves to please a man.

As for Rafe, he performed a mighty leap over the heads of the guards, flipping in the air and almost landing clear. The two that softened his landing might have a headache once they woke up.

Rafe didn’t pause as his feet hit the ground. While his gun was low on charge, he nevertheless aimed it behind him as he ran, firing at those who thought to pursue. A general ruckus arose in the docking station, as those milling around took offense at the action.

Some of the visitors yelled at the guards for impeding their path. Others yelled because it was fun. A few even shouted bets. If he’d had time, Rafe would have wagered on himself.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed him gaining distance from his pursuers. Ahead, he noted Luca, with a hand wrapped around Emma’s wrist, yanking her toward the
Annabelle
’s docking door. It didn’t surprise Rafe that his cousin knew which direction to go. Any man worth his weight in credits would have researched every ship docked at the station. Especially since a certain cousin of his was scouting for a new ship.

He’s not getting my ship.

And, yes, Rafe could almost guarantee that was Luca’s plan. He knew the man. Knew him all too well. His cousin never did anything out of the kindness of his heart, and he didn’t give a damn about family, especially not someone cast out of the family. The fact that Luca had come to their aid was more than suspicious. The timing was suspect.

But for the moment, Rafe had to work with him, and once things settled down, if Luca tried to double-cross him, then he’d get to walk the plank, in space.

The way to his ship cleared as those in the halls wisely moved out of his way. No one wanted to seem to be abetting a wanted man—and no one wanted to get caught in a possible cross fire. Although, this close to the outer rim, only idiots would use anything deadlier than a knife for fear of ruining the integrity of the station.

What Rafe did find intriguing was the fact that the squad of soldiers still chased after him. Usually, once someone they’d deemed a troublemaker showed signs of leaving, they eased off. Arresting patrons, even misbehaving ones, was bad for business. The soldiers didn’t seem to care and appeared determined to run him down.

Then again, when was the last time a bounty this large had been offered?

The amount posted to capture him alive staggered. It was the news he’d left a warm bed to receive, his informant opting to relay the information in person.

“You’re a wanted man.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Rafe replied, hidden in the shadows.

“But this time the reward is the greatest seen since the hunt for the missing heir.”

Good to know someone placed a great deal of value on his head. A man liked to think he had worth.

A short while after this conversation, he’d run into his cousin Luca. Coincidence? Rafe didn’t believe in those.

His cousin would totally turn on him for credits. But in Luca’s defense, Rafe probably would have done the same. It was a ridiculous sum of money.

What confused him was Paschatta. She showed an interest in Rafe, but even more so in Emma. Why? Paschatta wasn’t the type to go out of her way to acquire a new slave. Slaves were plentiful in the galaxies, and there were more than enough families willing to sell daughters, sometimes even sons, if the price was right.

Emma was attractive. Exotic, yes. But this kind of attack in neutral territory seemed out of character.

The door to his ship was only paces away, but it seemed too far, especially since more soldiers appeared ahead of him, charging toward him from the other direction. Amidst the cacophony of pounding feet, one voice stood out, speaking in an alien language, and yet he understood it. What wasn’t there to understand when someone shouted, “Get him. And, remember, we need him alive!”

Bring it. He’d teach the space lugs why they should never mess with a pirate.
I’ll sign my victory in their blood.
A fine plan, except there wasn’t just him to think about. What of Emma? While he amused himself fighting, what would become of her?

He shouldn’t care. Emma’s wellbeing and survival weren’t his problem. Only one skin required his worry, and that was his own. However, if he could keep them both alive, then great. He’d yet to finish debauching her.

No dying until after I get between those thighs.
He’d earned his spot, and he wouldn’t let these misguided soldiers take it from him.

Luca waited for him by the docking tube door, stuck. The lock was programmed to open for only one person and one person alone—Rafe. Arriving at the portal, he slapped his hand on the scanner. The light flashed as the system read his palm print. The door did not budge.

What the fuck? He slapped his hand on the console again. A computerized voice said, “Access denied.”

Am I in the right place?
He read the designation above the door. It was his docking berth, but the scanner refused him entry. The fuckers had locked him out of his own ship.

The nerve.

Rafe slapped his wrist, keeping his gaze on the set of ground troops charging at them from both directions. “Annabelle, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Captain.” Her voice played via the embedded earpiece. Welcome to the cellphone of the future.

“The access door for the ship won’t open. I need you to hack into their system and perform an override.”

“I cannot open it, Captain. Not long after your command to fire the engines, the station’s mainframe severed my access. I cannot override any of their commands.” The sulky tone expressed her irritation at being bested.

What he found of more concern was she’d already tried. Considering no docked vessels were allowed to link to the station’s computers, he had to wonder that Annabelle, on her own, had decided to attempt it. Artificial intelligence or not, her autonomous actions were becoming more frequent and troublesome. But this was not a problem he could deal with now.

“Just shoot the fucking door,” yelled his cousin.

Shooting the door, however, would leave it open for pursuit, and of even more concern, it might break a seal and cause a leak. Given his other options—none, none, and none—he didn’t have much of a choice. He thumbed his laser to the highest setting and aimed it at the door.

A siren went off as he dared break the most important of rules—no use of firearms in the outer ring. Too bad. What were they going to do? Arrest him?

A hot beam shot out and hit the metal, quickly turning it red, but the door didn’t open. The metal proved too thick.

And then his gun fizzled as the last of its power ran out.

Fuck.

He tossed the useless weapon at the approaching guards and drew his long knife. Giving up wasn’t an option. He did, after all, still have his balls and pride.

“You can’t possibly fight them all,” sputtered Emma.

Did she cast aspersions on his skills? “I can too fight them. It’s the winning that’s in question.”

Luca jumped to his aid. “There is no doubt it will be a glorious battle. We shall not go down without the most fearsome of fights,” espoused Luca, a wicked dagger held in a reverse grip, point out. “We shall prove so wondrous they might even compose a ballad about us.”

“Ballads are for dead idiots.” Rafe bent his knees. “I don’t intend to die today.” Didn’t intend to, but things weren’t looking good.

If there are any gods listening, I could use a helping hand.

Only paces away from Rafe, the guards had lips peeled back over fangs, eyes bright with avarice.

He loosened his stance, ready for battle, when someone shouted, “Halt!”

At the command, a single word that reverberated all around, overpowering all noise, the guards stopped their mad approach. As if frozen, they stood as statues with blades extended and formed an impenetrable ring around them.

Luca placed his back against Rafe’s and muttered, “I’ll take the horde to the left. You take the horde to the right, and the girl can handle the leftovers.”

“The girl doesn’t have a weapon because someone wouldn’t give her one.” Despite the fear trembling her words, Emma remained sassy. He began to wonder if that was her mechanism for dealing with adversity. He just wished she wouldn’t sass him in front of other people. It made him look weak.

“Can we talk about the whole weapon thing another time?”

“When? In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re probably going to die in like the next two minutes.”

“Have faith.” Rafe did because he didn’t think the gods that looked over him were quite done with him yet.

The ranks of soldiers shifted, and a space appeared, through which a body stalked. Rafe didn’t know him, but he could guess by the deference shown.

The male moved with leonine grace, the gold in his eyes always shifting from bright and translucent to dark copper with a hint of burnished wild. His mane flowed dark and lush from his crown with a single braid on each side to keep it from spilling into his face. This particular specimen chose to cover his furry body, opting for a leather ensemble that Rafe would wager came from the skins of his enemies. The tips of his claws gleamed, dipped and tipped in metal for devastating effect when used for ripping at flesh. A Felyon, a species not often seen in space, as they usually preferred to live planetside, and here one had chosen to not only live on a station, but also take over management of it.

“You must be the owner.” Rafe smiled. “I must say your hospitality leaves much to be desired.”

The male stopped before him and towered by a few inches. “I am Freydrik the Mighty, king and ruler of this place.”

“Ra’fhai Aba’ddon.” He sketched a mocking bow. “Mind if I call you Freddy?”

“I do.” Glare. “So you are the one who has everyone in such a turmoil.” The leonine king tilted his head, and the golden stare took Rafe in, from the top of his head down to his toes. “Nice boots.”

Rafe extended his leg, heel down, toe pointed. “Custom made,” he boasted. “I can give you the name of my guy if you’d like. Or, if you’d prefer, give me your boot size and I’ll bring you a pair next time I come back this way.” Achieving that level of cool took practice, for most people. Rafe came by it naturally.