He was no different. His gaze stayed firmly on her the entire time the drinks were being prepared.

He hadn’t felt this tightly wound, his control at the breaking point, for a long, long time. The mission was always in his mind, but he knew the real source of his tension, and she was sitting between two overly-friendly smugglers, gleaming brightly.

The price of the whiskeys amounted to nothing less than extortion, but he paid it and walked the drinks back to the booth. When he returned, he sent Leyon a look so cutting, the smuggler leapt up and made room for him next to Mara.

“Your Deianeiran whiskey, Mistress.” He set it down in front of her before sliding in close enough so their legs pressed against each other. Just for good measure, he put a proprietary hand on her bare thigh, well in view of the smugglers. Partly it was for show, but mostly it was for himself, and he felt no shame—only pleasure—in stroking her silky, warm flesh.

She started to speak, but her voice came out a husky rasp, so she took a sip of her drink. “Let’s cut past the gossip, boys. I’m here for profit, not friendship.”

“There’s a shipment of stolen plasma rifles that needs a pilot for transport,” Bern offered.

Kell could only wonder from whom the rifles had been stolen.

Mara, however, looked unimpressed. “What else?”

“Three tons of sherica looking for a buyer,” said Leyron.

That amount of sherica could power a fleet of PRAXIS patrol cutters—and Kell couldn’t do anything to keep it out of their hands if someone wanted to provide it to them.

“That’s all small shit.” Mara sighed. “I’m looking for genuine profit. Really top-of-the-line tech to move.” She glanced over at Kell, her expression sultry. “Had my eye on a lunar villa for a while.

Someplace nice and private.”

He slid his hand further up her thigh until it brushed the hem of her very short skirt. She trembled slightly beneath his fingers. He rationalized that a pleasure slave wouldn’t be very interested in black market tech, but would certainly care about keeping his mistress physically gratified.

If Mara’s accelerated breathing was any indicator, she was indeed physically gratified.

“You want a big score then you can’t do better than what Gavra’s offering,” said Leyron.

“Make it interesting,” Mara drawled.

“Listen to this.” Bern started to edge closer to Mara, but a warning glance from Kell kept the smuggler from getting too close. “Gavra got hold of a genuine 8th Wing Wraith ship. And the pilot.”

Mara winced slightly, and Kell belatedly realized he’d gripped her thigh too tight. After he loosened his hold, he gave her an apologetic caress, all the while forcing his expression to neutrality.

“She’s going to have an auction,” Bern continued. “Doesn’t care if the storm’s cleared or not.

The tech and the pilot are too hot to hold.”

“Why not just sell them both to PRAXIS?” Mara frowned. “They’d be the biggest buyer.”

“Gavra’s twitchy,” said Leyron. “Doesn’t want to deal with PRAXIS directly.”

She nodded. “That leaves the lion’s share of the profit to whomever buys the ship and the pilot.”

“Might be able to negotiate a separate deal for the pilot,” Bern leered. “Heard she’s a tight piece of ass. Ow!” He rubbed his knee and glared at Kell. “You fucking kicked me. Almost hit my goods.”

Kell’s expression didn’t change. “I get jumpy if I sit still too long.”

“Where’s the auction?” Mara asked quickly before Kell and the smuggler started trading punches.

“Gavra’s being cagy about the whole situation,” said Leyron. “She’s posting the location here at the club, tomorrow morning.”

As Bern and Leyron speculated who would be attending the auction, Kell and Mara shared a quick, meaningful look. His heart beat a little faster. His muscles tensed. Before they could move on to the next stage of their mission, they needed to survive a night in this wild, dangerous city. Yet nothing was as wild and dangerous as the desire smoldering between them. One stray spark, and everything—including Kell and Mara themselves—would turn to ash.

She needed to get Kell out of the club. He looked like a man on the verge of turning dangerous. A simmering, dark intensity charged the air around him. As soon as they had learned about the auction, he hummed with tension beside her. Pressed close to him in the booth, she knew every shift of his body, every tightening of his muscles, and the sensation resonated in her own.

After a little more smuggler and scavenger shop talk, she managed to shoo away Bern and Leyron. The two men sent her one last look, fraught with longing and disbelief that she’d bought herself a pleasure slave, before they melted back into the seething crowd.

“We have to discuss strategy,” As Kell spoke, his breath curled warmly against her neck.

“Not here.” She slid out of the booth, and he followed. Normally, she enjoyed coming to Kura’s,

but today the atmosphere felt both oppressive and empty, as if everyone here was trying desperately to pretend they were having a good time, but not fully succeeding. The word she heard most often at Kura’s was profit.

No one ever talked of home, or fighting for a cause they believed in. Not like Kell.

She cast a quick look behind her. He moved through the crowd like a shadow knife, carving his way. People skittered from his path. Even here, in the thieves’ den, he commanded respect and generated a fair amount of fear.

And no wonder. He’d literally fought his way off a ruined planet. From a street brawler to an expert pilot in the 8th Wing’s most elite squadron. He made himself into the man he was now through his own force of will.

It was a stunning revelation, and yet, somehow, it all made perfect sense. Everything she’d seen of him indicated that he was a man who took nothing for granted, who forged his way through the galaxy using his strength and brains.

Damn him for making her want him even more.

She and Kell had almost reached the elevator bay to take them back down to street level, when a man stepped in front of him. The man had a blocky body but small eyes. She didn’t recognize him but scavengers came and went all the time.

Kell glowered at the man, but either the stranger could not or refused to take the hint. He stood in Kell’s path.

“Don’t I know you?” the man asked.

“No,” came the low, quick answer.

The man frowned. “Could’ve sworn we met somewhere. You seem familiar.”

But Kell was already shouldering past him. “I’m just a pleasure slave.”

The notion that Kell could be “just” anything was almost laughable. Still, the block man didn’t try to stop him as he and Mara got onto the elevator.

They did not speak, not for the ride down, nor did either of them say a word until they were spat back out onto the crowded, gritty street.

“No one is selling Lieutenant Jur.” He glared at the street as if it was somehow responsible for his comrade’s capture. “And no one gets their hands on that Wraith.”

“We’ll find out the location of the auction tomorrow, then make our move.”

Until then, she needed rest. The taxing day had left her feeling strangely raw.

In short order, she found them a nearby lodging that looked relatively decent. As she and Kell approached the desk, the manager smirked at them.

“A room for you and your pleasure slave?” the manager cackled.

She nearly rolled her eyes. Of course, word about her would spread through the streets of Beskidt By faster than an olej spill. Gossip and rumor were prime sources of information here, everyone wanting to know everyone else’s business to find an exploitable angle.

“There’s extra cred for you if it has a nice, big shower.” She fixed the manager with a piercing glower. “A real shower, with water. Not a UV stall.” She had enough of that on her ship, and, though she loved being on the Arcadia, some planet-bound delights were too good and rare to pass up.