Page 1 of Ruin (Villains for Hire)

T he first rule of being an assassin was to avoid unnecessary killing while on an assignment.

But damn if he wasn’t real tempted to unnecessarily murder the fuck outta the drunk Urian who’d just drenched him in some particularly foul-smelling brew.

That it’d happened because the male was preoccupied chasing and, unless he was mistaken, trying to eat one of the small, quadruped, very much sapient Tiktiks , made the urge that much harder to fight.

It wasn’t that Ruin particularly liked Tiktiks, but he had a thing about eating sapient beings.

Pulling in a slow, calming breath, he removed his hand from one of his hidden blades and settled for discreetly kicking one of the Urian’s many frail ankles, then deftly sidestepped as he promptly collapsed into a squealing pile on the ground.

Unsurprisingly, no one in the crowded thoroughfare tried to help him.

Lips curling in satisfaction, Ruin continued onward, navigating through the press of bodies.

This level of Skeldra Spaceport was a maze of towering, dilapidated buildings connected by criss-crossing wires, dark alleyways, and even darker souls. The flickering glow of neon signs, advertising wares and services most planets deemed illegal, cast it all in garish light.

Despite being excessively familiar with such places, Ruin still felt a twinge of disgust at the depravity surrounding him. The air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, smoke from a variety of substances, and a pervasive odor of decay from being located right above the bio-energy convertors.

It teemed with beings of every imaginable size, shape, and color, making the expansive corridors feel cramped. The ceaseless din of overlapping conversations, yelling merchants, and music set his teeth on edge.

Finally reaching his destination, he stepped past the tattered curtain and into the bar. Shadows cloaked every corner. The air reeked of sweat, cheap alcohol, and desperation.

Assessing the patrons as he strode between tables, Ruin picked a booth in the back where he'd be cloaked in darkness and waited for his contact.

A few minutes later, he spotted his informant enter—a Rodian male with a greasy coat and beady eyes.

Sliding into the booth opposite him, the male offered a sideways tilt of his head—both a greeting and an acknowledgement of Ruin’s dominance, as was customary among Rodians.

Responding with the expected reply, Ruin bared fang and laid his right hand, palm up, on the table.

Niceties done, he prompted, “Talk.”

The Rodian leaned in conspiratorially. "Your target—Gaius from the Onyx Corp? Got a real nice setup waitin' for 'im on Level 18. He's scheduled to dock in four day’s time to meet some trader."

Narrowing his eyes, he analyzed every twitch and micro-expression to ensure the male spoke truthfully as he provided details about Gaius' security team, his private ship, and expected length of stay.

"That all?" he rumbled once the Rodian fell silent.

The informant nodded rapidly. "Everythin’ I know. I don't cross no Lurian assassins."

With a dubious grunt, Ruin slid a cred-stick across the chipped surface of the table. The Rodian snatched it up, tucked it somewhere outta sight, then quickly exited the bar.

Ruin waited a few minutes, then started to stand, ready to get the fuck off this level and away from its stench, when a commotion at the entrance of the bar caught his attention and froze him in place.

A slick-skinned Mogovian swayed in, mottled tentacles slithering across the filthy floor. Following behind the male was an entourage of half a dozen. Lackeys, by the look of them. Couple bodyguards armed with fairly new bio-plasma pistols.

But it was the figure bringing up the rear that held all his attention.

Female, and human, unless he was mistaken. A rare sight on the Outer Rim .

Ruin's gaze remained locked on the petite female being roughly hauled in on a leash held by one of the Mogovian's tentacles, struggling to keep up with his uneven gait.

Her clothes were tattered rags, exposing the bruises and scars marring her pale flesh. Her face was streaked with grime and her long, pale blonde hair hung in matted strands, obscuring her features.

Despite her pitiful condition, she moved with a quiet grace. Soft green eyes gleamed behind the curtain of her hair, and a small, dreamy smile curled her lips, as though she were seeing something other than the shitty bar.

As the Mogovian swayed to a stop at a table in the center, he yanked hard on the leash, sending the female falling to her knees. Her wince was there and gone before Ruin was even sure he'd witnessed it. But it was enough to erase that dreamy look, instantly bringing her back to the present and the miserable circumstances in which she found herself.

An ugly chuckle escaped the Mogovian’s hidden mouth as one of his tentacles snaked out to stroke her matted blonde hair in a mockery of affection.

Throughout it all, she held her head defiantly high as she was forced to sit there on the dirty floor.

Ruin curled his hands into fists beneath the table. He fucking loathed slavery—the stolen lives, the broken spirits, the utter lack of honor. Dealing death was one thing, but subjugating and degrading another sapient being like this?

It turned his fucking stomach.

He may be a murderer—what most would call a criminal and a villain.

But even villains had their morals.

Just then, the female looked his way. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses faded into the background as their gazes met and held for the endless span of a heartbeat.

Pale green and haunted, those eyes cut straight through him.

Within them glittered a silent plea, a wealth of pain, and a refusal to be crushed no matter how heavy the hopelessness bearing down on her became.

In that brief moment of connection, something shifted within him, some inexplicable possessiveness, a primal instinct he didn’t know he had, reverberated down to his fucking bones.

Ruin cursed under his breath, but he knew there was no going back.

He was gonna free her. Consequences be damned.

Lira tuned out the grating voices of Vargot and his henchmen with an ease borne of much practice as she shuffled along dutifully behind them.

She focused on slowing her breathing, letting the pain from the chafing collar Vargot kept yanking on and the sting of the cuts scoring her bare feet fade into the back of her mind.

It was a skill she’d honed to near perfection—the ability to push through physical misery and let her imagination float off to somewhere happier, somewhere she was in control.

Seven years of being treated as little more than an animal had changed her, turned her into a timid thing. Quick to flinch. Afraid of the lash. But they hadn’t broken her spirit completely, and they never would.

Vargot had wiped her memory after he bought her, so she didn’t actually know what her life had been like before being his pet. Maybe she’d always been like this. Cringing, fearful, pliant, yet unbreakable.

Something small darted nearby, immediately grabbing her attention and wiping away those ugly thoughts. A smile blossomed as she watched the mangy little spacerat duck and dart between limbs.

Others treated them as vermin, but Lira thought they were cute and knew they were much smarter than people gave them credit for.

Drifting off again once it was out of sight, she floated in her mind. An unexpectedly hard yank on her leash had her falling painfully to her knees. She reluctantly refocused on her surroundings to find they were in a bar.

With only her eyes, she scanned the squalid establishment, sizing up the other people in there and noting the exits—just in case. Always, just in case.

And then she saw him .

Breath hitching, she stared at the massive, pale-skinned Lurian sitting alone in the corner, taking in every detail the dim lighting allowed.

Glowing yellow eyes regarded her avidly from beneath prominent brow ridges. Harsh, angular features were emphasized by the swirling, black, tribal tattoos on his face and hairless skull. Matte metal piercings decorated his sharply pointed ears from lobes to tips.

His dark cloak had fallen back, revealing broad, muscular shoulders. Her breath caught as she took in his shirtless torso. Hard and brawny, his form was marked with what looked like ritualistic scars and more of those intricate black tattoos. They were thicker on his body, heavier and more elaborate than those on his face and head.

A shiver ran down her spine, one that had nothing to do with fear.

There was something mesmerizing, almost magnetic, about this male.

An unmistakable aura of danger radiated from him, yet when she met his eyes again, there was a softness there. Hunger and an almost feral intensity, yes, but still, tenderness.

Gods, he was beautiful. Not in the traditional sense, not in the way most people defined it. No, his was the beauty of a wild thing—powerful, deadly, untamed.

His gaze flicked from her up to Vargot, lip curling in a silent snarl of disgust, giving her a glimpse of sharp double fangs. She watched, transfixed, as his hand strayed to the grip of the matte black gun holstered at his hip, pale fingers tracing it with a strange affection.

After no more than a second, he looked back down at her, utterly captivating her with those burning amber orbs. They bored into her in a way that should’ve terrified her, yet didn't.

Instead, she felt seen .

Between one breath and the next, Lira could’ve sworn she saw resolve setting in those eyes and hoped, gods she hoped… and then he stood.

Her pulse skyrocketed.

The Lurian's muscular form cut an imposing silhouette as he stalked across the dingy bar. From her place on the floor at Vargot’s tentacles, Lira stared, entranced by the fluid way he moved. She took in his massive size, letting her gaze crawl down his frame to the array of wicked blades sheathed at his muscular thighs.

As he drew closer and closer, she tensed more and more.

Was he really walking toward her? Did that resolve she’d seen have anything to do with her, or was this yet another moment where her mind was playing tricks?

She knew better than to hope, knew better than to think anyone would save her and, yet…

He didn’t stop. He didn’t save her. He didn’t even glance at her while he walked past her and out of the bar.

Lira watched him go, a smile on her lips even as her chest caved in on itself.

“Enjoyin’ the view, pet?” Vargot taunted, one of his slick tentacles curling around her throat. “That one’d sooner fuck you bloody as look at you twice.”

“Yes, Vargot,” she whispered, knowing it was what he wanted to hear.

With a grunt of disgust, he knocked back another swig of his fishy smelling drink and signaled his lackeys. “Let's get this next collection done. I got other shit needs tendin’.”

Lira stumbled along, shoved and jostled by Vargot and his bodyguards as they exited the hazy confines of the bar.

She barely paid attention, lost in reliving, memorizing, those few moments with the Lurian.

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t saved her.

She could fix that in her imagination.