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That's what freedom is, isn't it?

The freedom to live. The freedom to die. The freedom to do either, on your own terms.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts by the rumble as our Reaver begins to break the atmosphere. I stumble as the artificial gravity adjusts to compensate, and Hadrian catches me in his huge arms.

I'm pulled against his massive chest, and even over the roar of the ship plunging through the burning atmosphere – I hear Hadrian’s heartbeat.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

It's so slow.

So regular.

AndI'mgoing to be the reason it fucking stops.

But I won't let myself be a slave to any man – even these three gorgeous, towering warriors.

As I think that, the ship stabilizes. Daccia is piloting us expertly down to the smog-shrouded city below. I pull myself out of Hadrian's arms and press my face against the viewport.

Below sprawls the hellscape of an industrial city.

Skyscrapers loom above the clouds of black and yellow smoke, but it’s clear that most of the city inhabitants are living and working beneath that dense, choking shroud. In an age in which automation is so cheap and robotics are so accessible, the wages of a human worker have been driven so low that only those willing to work for less than the cost of maintaining robots and automation are hired.

I've seen the horrors produced by this kind of capitalism before. It never ends well. Some of those downtrodden workers will turn to theft to keep their bellies from gnawing with hunger.

Others to even worse crimes.

I truly believe that abiding by the standards of human morality is a luxury that requires at least the basic necessities of comfortable survival. When you're dying of hunger, you'll take from those weaker than you – it’s survival of the fittest.

I realize now thatthisis how I need to think. This is how I have to be, if I am ever going to survive out there in the cruel, uncaring universe all by myself.

I'm tired of being the one who gets everything taken from them. Whether it was those space-pirates taking my sister, or Spur taking the lion’s share of my hard-earned wages, I’ve always been the one left to survive on the scraps bigger, stronger men have left…

It's time for me to start getting whatIwant.

I demand: "Where are we staying?"

Hadrian cocks his head. "A surprisingly good hotel. Aurelian Credits go a long fucking way on a shithole planet like this. Thank the Gods for a base per diem!"

His tone is a little too haughty for my liking.

I sneer: "The reason your Aurelian Credits go so far is because most of this world is living in poverty – so the people who own the hotel we're staying in can actually make a profit."

Hadrian fixes me with those intense eyes, tinged with the deep, chestnut brown.

"Would you prefer to sleep in the slums, your ladyship?"

Ha! I've slept in the slums before. I’m not too good to do it again.

However, I would very muchnotprefer those slums to a soft, downy bed – even if I don’t get the self-righteous satisfaction from it.

I break eye contact with Hadrian, but I'm seething inside. There's something about Hadrian in particular that constantly gets on my nerves – in the same way a girlish crush somehow always gets under your skin. Yet the most infuriating thing about Hadrian is that he has a point. I'm glad to finally be in a position I whichIcan be the one enjoying a small luxury – like a comfortable bed – instead of always being jealous of those who have more than me.

Hadrian’s comments also raise the issue of money. They stole me away from Spur’s joint in barely a bra and panties.