Page 12 of Alien Devil’s Prey (Vinduthi Stolen Brides #1)

T he Rustbucket hung in space like a mechanical tumor, cobbled together from derelict ships and salvaged station modules. It had no official designation, no registered ownership, and absolutely no pretense of legitimacy. Which made it perfect for our purposes.

"Welcome to the armpit of the galaxy," I said as we approached the docking bay. "Try not to touch anything you don't have to."

Talon studied the station through the viewport, his eyes tracking weapon emplacements and potential escape routes. "How many people know about this place?"

"Thousands. But they all have reasons to keep quiet." I guided the Drifter through the approach vector, avoiding the more obvious hazards. "The Rustbucket exists because it's useful to people who can't afford to be noticed. Everyone here has something to hide."

The docking fees were astronomical, the facilities were questionable, and the atmosphere was probably carcinogenic. But the forger I needed was here, and that made it worth the risk.

"Stay close once we're aboard," I continued, running through the docking checklist. "The Rustbucket has rules, but they're enforced by whoever has the biggest gun at any given moment."

"Understood."

We docked without incident, though I caught Talon noting the weapon emplacements that tracked our approach. The Rustbucket might be a haven for criminals, but it wasn't defenseless.

The interior was just as I remembered it—cramped corridors lined with improvised shops, the air thick with smoke and the smell of unwashed bodies. Vendors hawked everything from illegal cybernetics to stolen cargo manifests, their voices blending into a constant babble of commerce and desperation.

I led Talon through the maze, navigating by memory and instinct. The forger's shop was tucked away in a section that had once been a freighter's cargo hold, now subdivided into dozens of cramped stalls.

"Rina," I called out as we approached her booth. "I need a favor."

The woman who looked up from her workstation was elderly, gray-haired, with the kind of augmented eyes that marked her as someone who worked with delicate electronics. But her smile was genuine when she saw me.

"Tamsin Reeves. I was wondering when you'd show up again." Her gaze shifted to Talon, taking in his size and obvious lethality. Vinduthi didn’t usually hang out with random strangers. "Friend of yours?"

"Business partner." I stepped closer to the counter, lowering my voice. "I need new documentation for a cargo run, something that'll pass Kythara inspection. And a complete scrub of this ship's transponder codes. I need a new registration, clean and untraceable."

Rina's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "The Kythara don't take kindly to forged papers. Scrubbing a ship's identity... that's a deeper level of work. You sure about this?"

"I'm sure. And I'm paying well."

She quoted a price that would have made a legitimate merchant weep, but Talon shifted the transfer without blinking. . As the transaction completed, Rina leaned forward.

"A little bonus for a loyal customer," she said, her voice dropping.

"Word is a shipment of ex-military sensor masking gear just came in.

Top-grade stuff. A dealer named Korvax has it on the lower levels.

But the Syndicate is doing a full security sweep down there in the next hour—locking the whole sector down for inventory. "

I glanced at Talon. It was exactly the kind of equipment he'd said we needed. His expression was grim. He knew what this meant.

"The identity scrub and cargo manifests will take me at least an hour to finish," Rina said, already pulling up holographic displays. "And you'll need to authorize the cargo transfer from the depot on this level."

The choice was immediate and unavoidable. We had to split up.

"I'll go," Talon said, his voice a low rumble. "I know the hardware to look for."

"The lower levels are a maze," I warned. "And Korvax is a predator."

"So am I." He met my gaze, and an unspoken understanding passed between us. Trust. He handed me a credit chip. "Use this. Get the papers and the cargo. Meet me back at the ship."

He turned and disappeared into the throng without another word, leaving me with Rina. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach, but I pushed it down. He was right. This was the only way.

"What kind of cargo?" Rina asked, her attention already back on her console.

"Medical supplies," I said, forcing my focus back to the mission. "Emergency pharmaceuticals for an outbreak in the outer colonies."

"Destination?"

I gave her the coordinates for a system two jumps past The Maw. Close enough to justify our presence in the nebula, far enough to provide cover for our real objective.

While Rina worked, her fingers flying across her console, I made my way to the cargo depot. It was another chaotic hub of commerce, legitimate merchants selling surplus inventory to anyone with hard currency.

"Medical supplies," I explained to a harried-looking quartermaster, gesturing to crates of pharmaceuticals and diagnostic equipment. Enough to fill our hold, make our story convincing.

The purchase was straightforward, if expensive.

I arranged for the transfer to our docking bay, my mind only half on the transaction.

The whole time, I felt a prickling unease.

The Rustbucket was a dangerous place to be alone.

I saw a squad of Syndicate enforcers moving through a distant corridor and my blood ran cold, my first thought a panicked prayer that they weren't headed for the lower levels.

By the time I got back to Rina's, the new documentation chips were ready. "Her papers have fooled Imperial customs," I thought, trying to reassure myself. "Syndicate slavers shouldn't be a problem."

I made it back to the Drifter just as the last of the medical supply crates were being loaded. The cargo bay was full, our new identity as the merchant vessel Wandering Star was almost complete. All we needed was Talon and the gear he'd gone to retrieve.

I sealed the airlock and moved to the cockpit, running a pre-flight diagnostic to keep my hands busy.

Every passing minute stretched into an eternity.

The plan was solid, but plans had a way of falling apart on The Rustbucket.

All I could do was wait, and trust that the predator I'd allied myself with was as good at surviving as he was at fighting.