Page 93 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone

“Hyperspace signature resolved. Vessel identified. It’sStar Shrike.”

Oh, fucking shitballs. Nick Corso was here.

CHAPTER 33

The klaxons were still screamingwhen Carmen slammed through the bridge hatch. Red emergency lights painted Sark’s terrified, orange face. Letitia raced to the weapons console, despite it being useless. Norvik sat calmly at the comms station.

“Shut those damned alarms up,” she ordered. “Status.”

“Star Shrikeclosing to attack range,” Sark squeaked as the klaxon fell silent.

“They’re locking plasma cannon onto our thrusters, Captain,” Letitia said.

Mierda,what did she do now?Antilleswas defenseless here, and Zed was stuck in the satellite.

“Star Shrikeis signaling, Captain,” Norvik said.

Damn, the last thing she wanted to do was to talk to thatpendejo, listen to him gloat. But she supposed she had no choice. She needed to buy time.

“On-screen,” she instructed.

Norvik tapped controls, and a moment later, Nick Corso’s cruel face filled the screen. He leaned back in what looked like a plush command chair, a predatory smirk twisting his too-handsome features.

He looked like he’d aged ten years since she’d last seen him aboard Waystation Alora a few weeks ago – lines around the eyes, a hardness in his jaw. What the hell had happened to him in that time?

But the arrogance was the same. The contempt sliced into her like a plasma cutter, reopening the old wound ofThe Buccaneer, of W’Ooshlee dead on the deck while Corso watched with those cold, satisfied eyes.

“Díaz,” he drawled, his voice smooth as oil over gravel, amplified through the bridge speakers. “You have something that belongs to me.”

Belongs to him?

All the pieces fell quickly into place. Maltese hadn’t fucked them over, after all. He’d just fucked up. Corso had been contracted to curry Mila to wherever she was going, and Maltese’s peoplehad loaded her onto the wrong damned ship!

The thought of Mila in Nick Corso’s possession made her skin crawl. He’d never have been able to resist unleashing his depraved fantasies on her. What would he have done before delivery?

Rage, hot and blinding, surged through Carmen’s veins, momentarily eclipsing the dread for Zed, the bone-deep weariness. She stalked to the center of the bridge, planting herself squarely in front of the viewscreen, radiating defiance she didn’t entirely feel.

“Corso,” she spat, her voice a low growl. “I should have known your sick ass was involved in this. What’s the matter? Stealing from children not paying well enough?”

Corso chuckled, a dry, humorless sound.

“Still got that sharp tongue, huh? Always did cover the fear. You look tired, Díaz. Running ragged trying to keep that scrapheap flying? Or is it the alien snatch keeping you upnights?” His smirk widened, cruel and knowing. “Bet she’s got stamina. All that specialized training.”

She blushed reflexively and immediately hated herself for it. With an effort, she transformed the embarrassment into fuel for her contempt. She forced a sexy, knowing smile onto her face.

“Sorry, Corso,” she drawled. “I don’t kiss and tell. Guess you’ll never know.”

It was his turn to blush, but from anger not embarrassment. As usual with him, her verbal blow had landed. His eyes narrowed, the amused mask slipping for a fraction of a second, revealing the raw hatred beneath.

“Wrong, Díaz. You’re the one about to lose everything. Again.” He leaned forward, his gaze intense, drilling into her through the screen. “I want what’s mine. The Xena. Hand her over, nice and quiet, and maybe I let your pathetic crew limp away to die somewhere else.”

Hand her over. Like she was material goods. Like she wasn’t a person. Like she hadn’t saved their asses, fixed their thrusters, offered herself up as a solution while Carmen floundered.

“She’s not cargo, you slimy fuck,” Carmen snarled, taking a step closer to the screen as if she could reach through it and throttle him. “And she’s sure as hell not yours.”

Corso’s expression darkened, the veneer of smug superiority cracking. He might have her cornered, but his ego was as fragile as ever.

“Still playing the hero, Díaz? Still think rules don’t apply to you?” He shook his head, a mocking pity in his eyes that burned hotter than his hatred. “You always were delusional.