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D orane LeGaugh was rarely—if ever—tongue-tied. He had talked his way out of a thousand bad deals, a hundred life-or-death situations, and at least dozen ill-advised entanglements with women who had tried to kill him.

But this?

This was different.

His fingers curled reflexively as Mei’s slender, gloved hand slid the tracking device back toward him. His gaze focused on the tiny silver disk and her slender fingers.

He should just take it, pocket the damn thing, flashed her one of his usual, lazy smirks, and go back to pretending he was in control of this situation.

Instead, he covered her hand, his skin pressing against the soft material of her glove, the warmth of her fingers barely muted beneath it. A tingling sensation ran up his arm—like a live wire had been pressed directly against his skin.

She didn’t pull away.

Dorane swallowed when she turned her hand until her open palm pressed against his, the movement so effortless, so trusting, that it sent a sharp, unfamiliar ache curling in his chest.

His gaze flicked to their joined hands, his fingers still loosely wrapped around hers.

“You should keep this on you,” she murmured, her voice a husky whisper beneath the low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses around them. “For safety’s sake.”

Dorane resisted the almost overwhelming urge to pull her glove off. He wanted to see her fingers. He wanted to see all of her.

Instead, he looked up.

And was lost.

Her dark eyes were liquid pools, pulling him deeper, swallowing him whole. They were soft but sharp—holding a quiet, devastating intensity that sent a rush of heat through his veins. Black lashes framed them, thick and impossibly long. His gaze drifted lower, catching on the faint dusting of dots across the bridge of her nose.

Freckles.

He didn’t know why that detail made something inside him tighten, but it did.

Then there were her lips.

Curved in an amused smile—at his expense, no doubt. She was enjoying this.

She tugged lightly on her hand.

He reluctantly released it, feeling her fingers curl just enough to slide the tracking device back into his palm before she sat back. The absence of her warmth was immediate. He gave her a rueful, bemused smile when he noticed the quiet satisfaction in her eyes.

Dorane dragged in a breath, shaking his head as if to clear it before shifting his gaze toward Jammer.

Jammer was gawking at him from across the bar, his drink halfway to his mouth, his brow furrowed like he had just watched Dorane spontaneously combust.

Jammer mouthed three words that summed up Dorane’s current predicament perfectly:

What the fuck?

Dorane fought back a groan, raking a hand through his curls before pocketing the tracking device. He caught the subtle shift in Mei’s expression—approval.

That damn glint in her eyes of approval sent a shaft of emotion coursing through him. It made something warm settle low in his stomach, something dangerously close to pride .

He let out a dry chuckle and shook his head. He was so screwed. He cleared his throat and sat back, hoping it would help him clear his head.

“Well,” he said, forcing himself back onto familiar ground—words, wit, charm, control. “Since we’re playing nice and handing out gifts, maybe you can answer a few questions for me.”

Mei lifted a delicate brow. “Only a few?”

He chuckled and found himself leaning forward again. Resting his arms against the table, it was like he couldn’t resist closing the distance between them.

“I’ll try to keep it to less than a hundred. How did you end up on Cryon II? Where are you staying? Where exactly did you come from?” He hesitated only a fraction before adding, “Are you attached to anyone?”

Mei laughed softly, and the sound sent heat curling up his spine. The glow of the bar lights caught the faintest flush on her cheeks, subtle but unmistakable. He watched, utterly enthralled, as she tilted her head, considering him with open amusement.

“Which one would you like answered first?” she asked teasingly.

Without hesitation, he said, “The last one.”

Mei’s lips curved , but instead of answering, she reached over and claimed his drink, turning the glass in her fingers as if debating how much she wanted to tell him.

“I was smuggled onto Cryon II by a freighter that had picked up my escape pod,” she said, bypassing his last question entirely.

Damn.

Dorane’s brows lifted. “The pods the Legion has been scouring the galaxy for?”

She bowed her head in agreement. “My pod was mixed with other space debris and picked up as junk. Lucky for me, it worked out—for the most part.”

He frowned. “What happened?”

Dorane wondered if he was going to have to have someone killed. Asta said she was bored. She would probably do it for free if he asked her nicely.

“A few weeks into the journey, one of the crew members figured out that they had collected something of value,” she murmured before taking a small sip of his drink.

Dorane was entranced by the way she moved, the way she spoke—controlled but natural, guarded but open. He was also very aware that she had placed her lips directly over where he had taken a sip. The realization caused heat to flow from his head to his groin fast enough to disorient him.

I am definitely in deep, deep trouble, he mused.

“I haven’t heard anything about another pod being discovered, especially one on Cryon II.”

Mei gave him an innocent smile and ran her tongue along her bottom lip to catch a droplet of liquor. His eyes followed the movement.

“Let’s just say Grak and the pod decided to make an unplanned voyage to Turbinta. I’ve heard it is quite the vacation spot,” she said.

“Turbinta? Why would— Oh, a joke. You’re joking,” he said, once again flustered because his mind was on her tongue and lips and not on his question.

“Yes about it being a vacation spot, no about Grak and my escape pod heading there. I was told by a reliable source that the Legion would not care to search there,” she said.

“Yeah. It’s a shithole,” he agreed. “Where are you staying?”

Mei lifted a shoulder. “I have a safe place.”

That answer did not sit well with him. Her idea of safe might not be the same as his. Shields, reinforced structures, the highest level of tech… that was safe.

Dorane exhaled through his nose. “And where, exactly, is ‘a safe place’?”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Somewhere on Cryon II?”

Gods, she was dangerous.

“That narrows it down by about seventy-two levels,” he growled.

Mei smiled but didn’t respond. He wasn’t letting that go, but he let it slide—for now.

He tapped a finger against the table. “And what about fighting? I’ve seen you move, I’ve seen you kill. Who trained you?”

For the first time, Mei’s amusement dimmed. A shadow crossed her expression, something old, weary. Dorane immediately regretted the question, but she answered anyway.

“I was trained by the best teachers my planet had,” she said simply. “From the time I could walk. I think if I had been born here, you would consider me a Turbinta.”

There was no pride in her voice. No bravado. Just fact.

Dorane’s chest tightened. He had known too many people who carried that kind of weight. He had, too, until he learned to let it go.

He changed tactics.

“Where did you come from, then?”

Mei hesitated for a heartbeat before answering. “A world very far from here.”

“That’s vague.”

“It’s true.”

Dorane huffed a soft laugh. “Is everything about you going to be a mystery?”

Mei’s smile softened, her dark eyes gleaming with something unspoken.

“Would you be disappointed if it wasn’t?” she murmured, picking up his glass again and sipping it.

That damn tingle ran up his spine again as he watched the tip of her pink tongue swipe at a droplet on the rim of the glass before she locked her lips over the imprint of his lips. His body was instantly hard.

How could such a simple act be so arousing?

Dorane shook his head, more at himself than anything. “You know, for someone who’s spent the last week tracking me like a bounty, you’re awfully reluctant to share details about yourself.”

Mei’s soft laugh sent a flush to his ears. “Where’s the fun in giving you everything at once? Besides, it is not me that you have to worry about. It is the orange and black lizard man.”

“You know about Zoak?” he hissed, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes. He’s been following you and I’ve been following him,” she said, her expression as serene as if they were discussing the weather instead of a brutal assassin with an agenda to kill not only him—but the beautiful, fragile alien woman sitting across from him.

Shit a Torrian viper’s nest! Life is getting too fucking interesting now!

Mei was playing with fire and she knew it. She just didn’t care.

From a distance, she’d thought her attraction to Dorane was manageable—a curiosity, a quiet pull, nothing more. But up close? This was different. This was consuming.

She hadn’t planned on flirting with him. Hell, she had never flirted in her life. She wasn’t the type. It had never appealed to her. If she wanted a man, she told him. Simple. Direct. Efficient. No need for coy glances, subtle touches, or veiled innuendos.

Yet now?—

Her gaze flickered to the rim of his glass, at the faint trace of his lips still imprinted against the crystal. The moment she’d noticed it, something inside her had tightened. The desire to take a sip had been overwhelming.

She hadn’t calculated the move. Hadn’t planned it. She had simply reached for the glass, turned it, and drank from the same spot. The moment she did, her world shifted.

Dorane’s pupils dilated. A slow, dark hunger swept through his eyes, and his expression became intense. He had noticed. The power of seduction swept through her—not as a weapon, not as a tactic, but as something raw, unbidden, and deliciously dangerous.

A thrill shivered through her, curling deep in her stomach. The realization that she had such an effect on the man sitting across from her was heady. She forced her eyes to lower to the glass, her fingers curling around it. She couldn’t afford to be distracted.

The flirting, if that’s what it was, had been a mistake. She had unconsciously tried to steer him away from his questions, but she wasn’t na?ve enough to lie to herself. The truth was she didn’t want him to know everything just yet. Until she knew whether he would help her or not, the less he knew, the better.

That was why she had mentioned Zoak.

It had been a way to redirect him, to pull them both back to the real danger waiting in the shadows. She could feel it—lurking, watching. She had seen what happened when people let their guard down. Her father had taught her that lesson in the most brutal way possible.

She wouldn’t make that mistake.

Dorane’s sharp gaze narrowed as he leaned forward, the easy charm from moments ago shifting into something far deadlier.

“How long have you known about Zoak?”

Mei lifted the glass, running her fingertip along the rim before answering. “Since the first attack with your cyborg friend a week ago.”

Dorane’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I noticed him watching you,” she continued, keeping her voice steady. “At first, I thought he was another hired gun. Just one of the many eager to collect the bounty. But he was… different.”

“How?” Dorane asked, his tone deceptively calm.

Mei met his gaze. “He’s patient.”

Dorane’s lips pressed into a thin line. Patient killers are the most dangerous kind.

Mei set the glass down and folded her hands. “I started tracking him, but it wasn’t easy. He’s good. Very good. He moves through this moon base like he built it. I suspect he has been here a while, scoping things out. He’s been watching you in your office, following you whenever you leave your headquarters. The last few attacks? They weren’t just random bounty hunters.” She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “He was behind at least two of them.”

Dorane cursed under his breath, his fingers flexing against the table, and then he glanced over his shoulder at the bar and gave a silent signal to Jammer.

“He’s been studying you, Dorane.” Mei’s voice dropped lower. “He’s learning the way you fight. He’s learning your defenses, your movements. He’s waiting. You aren’t the only one he’s following either.”

A muscle ticked in Dorane’s jaw, but his voice was even when he spoke. “Who else?”

Mei hesitated. “The man sitting at the bar and the cat-lady.”

That was the breaking point. She saw it—the sharp flicker of rage that flared behind his controlled expression. Dorane was too seasoned to react carelessly. Instead, he inhaled slowly and exhaled through his nose, pressing his fingers into the table as if grounding himself.

Mei continued. “I stopped at least one attempt on each of them.”

His gaze snapped back to hers.

“One on Asta. One on Jammer,” she clarified.

Dorane’s expression darkened, but his voice remained quiet. “Where?”

“The first time was in the upper levels, near the refueling stations. The next was near mechanical.”

Dorane cursed again, this time in Urvanian. “ Son of a ? —”

Mei lowered her voice, leaning in slightly. “I think he’s testing your security. I lost him in the lower levels beneath us. I don’t know if he’s waiting to make his move or if he’s just enjoying the hunt.”

Dorane drummed his fingers once against the tabletop before going completely still. His hazel eyes broadcasted his thoughts.

He was pissed. Not at her, but at the implications. At the violation of his space, of his people.

Mei held her breath as he slowly shifted, lifting his hand. A second later, a shadow loomed over the table.

Jammer.

The massive Zurkaan slid into the seat beside Dorane. Mei lifted a slender hand and pulled the hood of her cloak lower before casually lifting the side of her scarf up to conceal her lower face. Jammer’s eyes were sharp as they flicked toward her. Though his face was relaxed, she could tell he was assessing her.

“What’s up?” Jammer asked, his tone deceptively light.

Dorane slowly related what Mei had just told him—including the attempts on his and Asta’s lives. Jammer exhaled through his nose, then turned to Mei. For a long moment, he simply studied her. She felt his gaze sweep over the small details—the hood, the scarf, the only part of her face visible: her eyes.

Then his lips curved into a small, wry grin.

“You remind me of someone,” he murmured. “There’s a guy up at headquarters. Same color eyes almost. Same look.”

Mei stilled. Jammer continued, oblivious to the way her pulse had just shot into her throat.

“He calls himself Ashton Haze. He has darker skin,” he said casually. “You know him?”

Mei’s heart stopped. She stiffened, hope cascading through her as she whipped her gaze to Dorane. The noise of the bar, the tension of the conversation, the assassin lurking in the shadows—it all disappeared. The air in her lungs froze as she waited for his confirmation.

Ash? Ash was here?

Dorane, sensing her sudden shift, bowed his head. A crooked, apologetic smile curved his lips.

“I should have mentioned that when I realized who you were, I guess. He and his Turbinta girlfriend, Kella, are guests at my headquarters.”

“You guess ?” she murmured, shaking her head at him in disbelief.

Mei’s mind raced. How had she missed him? She had been watching, tracking movements, listening for names whispered in the shadows. She exhaled shakily, barely aware of her fingers loosening their grip on her scarf. The fabric slipped away as if on its own, baring the lower half of her face as she sat back.

Relief flashed through her with an intensity that was almost a physical pain. Ash—her friend, her family , one of the few people she had trusted in the darkness—had been within reach, and she hadn’t even known.

Both men tensed at the same time. Dorane’s lazy crooked smile faded into something more complex as he studied her stunned expression and the flare of hope in her eyes that caused them to shine a touch too bright in the dim lighting. Jammer’s expression turned from casual to shocked as he caught his first look at her unshielded face.

She locked gazes with Dorane, her voice quiet but steady.

“And the others? What about them?”

Silence stretched between them. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, her next words barely audible.

“What about… Sergi?”