Page 39 of Alien Mercenary’s Wife (Lathar Mercenaries: Warborne #7)

H er left leg seized without warning, muscles locking tight as her implant misfired again. Reese bit back a curse. Fucking neural tech. Without Tal's stimulator, her body was shutting down faster than she'd expected.

The restraints cut into her wrists with every bump in the road, the transport's metal bench digging into her thighs.

Mason slumped beside her, breath coming in short, labored gasps.

One look at the bruises covering her face and arms told Reese everything she needed to know. Shit, they'd really worked her over.

The transport felt like a metal coffin.

Across from them, the two guards couldn't have given less of a shit about their prisoners. Enhanced bulk took up most of the cramped space, their military-grade gear marking them as corporate security. Not regular rent-a-cops—these were the kind who disappeared problems permanently.

"How long to the facility?" one guard asked.

"Twenty minutes. Less if traffic stays clear."

Twenty minutes until whatever disposal site the corporation used for their 'inconvenient problems.' She'd seen the files, knew exactly how this worked.

Corporate detention facilities didn't keep records.

People went in, didn't come out. Not unless it was face-down in some forgotten alley with a bullet in the skull.

Reese tested her restraints with subtle movements.

Quality steel cuffs. Both guards carried neural disruptors—high-end models that could fry what was left of her implants with a single shot.

Even if she could somehow get free, even if her useless legs suddenly decided to work, she was outgunned and outnumbered.

Her left hand cramped viciously, fingers curling into a claw. She refused to show pain, not giving these fuckers the satisfaction.

Everything she'd fought for was ending in the back of a corporate transport. The lawsuit, the evidence, the hope that someone might finally pay for murdering her squad—all of it reduced to another convenient accident. Another veteran who couldn't handle civilian life.

Hughes would never know what happened to her. Ryans and the handful of survivors still fighting their own losing battles against corporate lawyers and government indifference—they'd wait for her check-ins that would never come. Wonder if she'd run. Or been silenced.

Eventually, they'd stop wondering.

The thought of T'Raal hit like a combat stim crash. He'd been waiting outside the courthouse when they'd taken her, probably still standing there wondering where she'd gone. He'd blame himself for not protecting her, carry that weight like he carried everything else—silently, completely.

She loved him. Fuck, she loved him so much it hurt. And now he'd never know. Never know that for the first time in her life, someone had made her feel like she mattered.

The transport hit a pothole, jarring her damaged spine. Pain exploded through her nervous system, white-hot agony that made her vision swim. When it cleared, she realized the guards were watching her.

"Neural interface breakdown," the first guard said in a bored tone. "Seen it before. Gets worse under stress."

"How much worse?" his partner asked.

"Complete paralysis within hours. Then respiratory failure." He shrugged. "Saves us the trouble."

They knew. Of course they knew. The company knew exactly what their tech did to people like her. They'd been monitoring her condition since the arrest, waiting for natural deterioration to eliminate their problem without requiring active intervention.

She forced slow breaths despite the panic clawing at her chest. Respiratory failure. How long? Hours? Minutes? The cramping in her left hand was spreading up her arm, her whole nervous system shutting down piece by piece.

She was going to die. Not in combat, not protecting something that mattered, but as collateral damage. Another inconvenient veteran disposed of by the machine she'd served faithfully for years.

The transport's engine note changed as they slowed. Through the small window, she caught glimpses of industrial wasteland—abandoned warehouses, empty lots, the kind of forgotten spaces where screams wouldn't carry and bodies disappeared without questions.

Her neural implants sparked, sending electrical fire through pathways that were shutting down.

She gritted her teeth, refusing to cry out as everything inside her failed.

At least she'd go down fighting, even if the fight was just refusing to give these bastards the satisfaction of hearing her break.

The guards checked their weapons, preparing for arrival. Standard procedure.

She tested her restraints one more time, knowing it was pointless but unable to stop herself. The steel didn't give. Her legs remained useless. Her left arm was cramping so badly she couldn't feel her fingers.

But she was still breathing. Still thinking. Still?—

The transport lurched to a sudden stop.

Both guards went rigid, hands moving to weapons. One tapped the comm unit behind his ear.

"Control, this is Transport Seven. We've stopped. Repeat, we have stopped. Unknown cause."

Static answered him. Shouting outside made both guards exchange looks of concern. Something was going on out there.

Metal screamed as the transport's roof buckled inward, reinforced steel warping under massive pressure. The impact knocked one guard off-balance, his professional composure fracturing as the entire vehicle shuddered. The second guard braced against the wall, eyes darting upward.

Darkness started to edge across Reese's vision as she slumped to the side against Mason.

The transport shuddered again, rocking the transport. Reese wrapped her arms around Mason, who groaned softly, trying to keep them both on the bench. The last thing they needed was to be underfoot during… whatever this was.

Footsteps echoed overhead. Heavy. Controlled.

"Control, we have multiple contacts," one guard snapped into his comm. "Repeat, multiple?—"

"Driver's not responding," the second guard muttered, checking his weapon's charge. "We're on our own."

Static burst across the comm channel, then a panicked voice. "—fuck's sake, they're Lathar! Multiple contacts, enhanced armor, weapons hot ? —"

The transmission dissolved into the whine of energy weapons and screaming.

Mason stirred beside her, breathing shallow. "What's happening?"

"Rescue," Reese managed in a whisper. Everything hurt like hell, but adrenaline kept her alert enough to understand what was happening. Just.

The back doors of the transport were ripped open. Metal shrieked as hinges snapped like gunshots, the doors torn completely off their mounts and flung aside like scrap.

Two massive figures filled the opening, silhouetted against harsh daylight. Reese's breath caught as T'Raal stepped into the transport, blood splattered across his clothes. Behind him came another Latharian, older but no less dangerous, lethality written in every line of his big body.

Even through her failing vision, the family resemblance was unmistakable.

The guards recovered from their shock, snapping their disruptors up toward the alien warriors. "Two Lathar against us?" the first guard snarled, finger tightening on his weapon's trigger. "You picked the wrong fight."

T'Raal smiled, and the expression sent ice racing down Reese's spine. She'd seen him angry before, but this was different. This was death wearing a familiar face.

"Oh, he's not Lathar," the older Latharian's lips curved into a dangerous smile. "He's worse. He's Warborne."

The guards fired, and she flinched, expecting to see both alien men collapse. There was no way the guards could miss at this distance.

But the Latharians moved faster than human reflexes. T'Raal twisted sideways, the shot missing his chest by millimeters. The older warrior simply wasn't where the guard had aimed.

Her eyes widened as massive combat robots dropped from the sky, their weapons systems thundering as they unleashed controlled destruction around them. Inside the transport, the fight was brutally personal.

T'Raal reached the first guard before the man could fire again, his hand closing around the guard's throat. The disruptor clattered to the floor as the big human was lifted off his feet, his feet kicking uselessly.

"You made a mistake." T'Raal's voice remained eerily calm as Reese heard bones crack. "You touched what's mine."

The second guard tried to swing his weapon toward the other Latharian, but he moved even faster than T'Raal had.

One massive hand closed around the guard's wrist, twisting sharply.

A crack like gunfire sounded, and the weapon fell, but the Latharian warrior wasn't done.

Hauling the guard toward him, he smashed his forehead into his victim's in a vicious headbutt that would have cracked reinforced steel. The guard dropped like a stone.

The entire fight lasted no more than ten seconds. When it ended, both guards were either dead or unconscious, the Latharians standing over them.

Reese tried to stand, but muscle spasms wracked her body, sending agony racing through her.

"Reese!" T'Raal was beside her in an instant, his big hands gentle as he helped her sit up. "I'm here. You're safe."

He barked an order over his shoulder, and the other Latharian appeared at his side.

"Let me take her," he said, moving toward Mason.

Reese blinked, trying to focus through the pain. The family resemblance was unmistakable. Same face, same moves. Definitely T'Raal's father. The Emperor himself.

"Her name is Charlotte," she managed a croak. "Charlotte Mason."

The Emperor's expression softened as he lifted Mason gently, cradling her against his chest like she was something precious.

"Come on, kelarris ," he murmured to Mason. "Let's get you out of here."

"How are you doing, princess?" T'Raal slid his arms around her, lifting her up.

Princess. Reese snorted despite the pain wracking her nervous system as T'Raal dropped from the back of the transport to the hard-packed dirt of the road. "Not a princess. And I'm toast. My nerves are shutting down."

"Let me be the judge of that."

The voice came from a third Latharian, who had appeared at the transport's rear opening. This one was younger than the Emperor and T'Raal, but not by much. Bright green eyes focused on her, and she caught the subtle family resemblance all three men bore.

Another member of the Imperial royal family. This was getting confusing. Fast.

She looked over his shoulder. The Emperor was already placing Mason on what looked like an alien medical stretcher. Reese watched him brush Mason's hair back from her face with tender care, and something in her chest tightened.

"Get her into the transport," the green-eyed Latharian ordered, looking Reese over quickly. "I want them both back on the station so I can start treatment. Now."

"It's okay, kelarris ," T'Raal said as he strode forward to put her on another stretcher. "Laarn is the Lord Healer, the absolute best doctor in the Empire. He's going to sort everything out."

Reese looked up at Laarn, noting the way his expression combined professional competence with genuine warmth. "Nothing but the best for my new cousin," he said, then looked at T'Raal with something approaching awe. "Thank you for trusting me, Your Majesty."

Your Majesty. Her breath caught on a gasp. He'd done it. Claimed the title he'd avoided his whole life.

Her heart squeezed in her chest. He'd done all this—become the prince he never wanted to be—for her.

God, she loved this impossible man.

The stretcher's canopy closed over her, medical systems engaging with a gentle hum. Her last clear vision was of more troops arriving, corporate security surrendering to Imperial forces, and a shuttle bearing the presidential seal touching down in the distance.

Then warmth spread through her limbs and consciousness faded, leaving her floating in peaceful darkness.