Page 15 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone

“Feisty,” he drawled. “I like that. But you don’t have to play tough with me, sweetheart. I see you underneath all that posturing.”

She released his wrist with a shove that sent him back half a step. Fire blazed in those sexy, brown eyes.

“The only thing you see, Corso, is your own reflection. Now get the hell out of my workspace before I dock you a day’s pay for interfering with critical repairs.”

The memory burned. The humiliation of it. Her absolute certainty that she was beyond him. That she didn’t need him. That she was somehow … superior.

But she isn’t, he thought, pushing off the mirror, his reflection distorting as he moved.

The Xena was proof. Proof that even the most exotic, the most desired creatures, understood their true place. Understood the natural order.

Díaz would learn. One day, he would crack that stubborn pride. He would show her what she’d been missing. What she’d been denying herself.

He reached the heavy blast door leading to the main cargo bay and keyed the access code. The massive door rumbled aside with a hydraulic sigh, revealing the cavernous space beyond. Rows of secured cargo containers lined the decking, bathed inthe harsh, white glare of overhead work lights. His eyes scanned immediately, searching for the specific container.

His gaze swept past pallets of salvaged tech, crates of illicit pharmaceuticals, barrels of unrefined ore. Where was it? Near the back, where they’d stowed the high-value items. He strode forward, boots ringing on the deck, the delicious anticipation growing stronger.

There. Section Gamma-7. The designated spot.

A crate sat there. A standard, unremarkable cargo crate – dark metal, totally mundane. But inside …

Nick’s lips curled in a smile. His pants suddenly fit uncomfortably.

He closed the remaining distance slowly, savoring the wait, letting the darkest thoughts build in the back of his mind. He stretched out a hand. The metal was cool to his touch, nothing like the blazing heat in his loins. With careful deliberation, he pulled the latch, broke the pressure seal.

A heavy, familiar scent hissed from the edges. It was organic, heady, rich. He pulled the hatch fully aside as he drank it in.

And found himself staring at crates of coffee beans.

He blinked in confusion. Fuckingcoffee?

The realization slammed into him. Not the Xena. Coffee. Illegal, yes. Valuable, marginally.

But utterly, insultinglycommon. Worthless compared to the fortune he’d been promised. Compared to the power he’d anticipated wielding.

A low growl started deep in his chest. It built, fueled by disbelief, then outrage, then a cold, consuming fury.

Maltese.

That fat, double-crossing sack of shit. He’d switched the cargo. He’d sent the Xena somewhere else. Probably to another buyer. A higher bidder. No wonder he’d instructed Nick not totouch the merchandise. Couldn’t have him finding out he’d been played for a fool.

He spun around, his vision tinged with red. His fist slammed against the nearest bulkhead, the impact vibrating up his arm.

“MALTESE!” The name ripped from his throat, a raw snarl that bounced off the cargo containers.

That bloated leech. That backstabbing weasel. He’d dared. He’d dared to screw over Nick Corso. To steal from him. To humiliate him. After all the business he’d thrown Maltese’s way? After the risks he’d taken?

The cold fury crystallized into something harder, sharper: vengeance, pure and simple.

Maltese thought he was clever. He thought wrong.

Corso turned on his heel, striding back towards the bay entrance. His movements were rigid, controlled, every step radiating suppressed violence. He stabbed the comm button on his wrist unit.

“James.” His voice was a snarl, devoid of its usual smooth menace. Pure, icy command.

“Captain?” Hadley James’s voice came back instantly, alert. She’d heard the fury.

“Reverse course. Now. Maximum thrust. Set coordinates for Waystation Alora.”