Page 14 of Trak (Virilian Mail Order Mates #1)

Ten

Virilians didn’t name their ships. For a long time, Virilians obtained vessels by means of piracy, bribery, and straight-up theft.

They had gotten in the habit of frequently switching ships by abandoning them or trading them for goods.

Not a legacy to be proud of, but Trak’s kind didn’t have the most reputable reputation to begin with.

That had also been a long time ago and Trak’s ship had been bought fair and square.

Showing Anna his ship and pointing out the rooms and features, filled him with an absurd sense of pride.

She didn’t say much as he led her through the cluttered maze that was his ship.

He wondered what she thought of it. It was not a stretch for him to imagine her here, snapping out orders and keeping his crew in line.

“And this,” he said, finally bringing her to the front deck, “is what you would call the cockpit.”

“Not exactly a cockpit.” Her gaze moved around the large, glassed-in space marked by consoles and chairs and a tremendous number of screens suspended from the ceiling.

Half of them were still scrolling data down their surfaces even though the ship was powered down.

His ship never fully rested. “This is more like a bridge.”

Trak frowned. “Aren’t bridges things built to span obstacles or waterways?”

“Yes.” She smiled in amusement. “I meant like a Star Trek bridge. Where Captain Kirk and Spock and all them run the Enterprise.”

Trak thought on this, letting the language program run through his head. A good deal of cultural and historical data was included in the chip he’d purchased, but it didn’t include whatever she was talking about. “Who is this Kirk person?”

“It’s a show,” she said, giggling. “A TV show. There were movies, too.” The smile faded. “My dad loved Star Trek.”

Okay, he knew what TV was, but he was far more interested in the complication brewing between her brows at the mention of her father. “Is your father dead?” It was a solid conclusion. She spoke about him in the past tense.

“No,” she said in a flat voice. “Or rather, he may as well be. He’s in jail. Will be, for the rest of his life.”

He hadn’t expected that. “What for?”

“Robbery.” She put on a brittle smile. “Fraud. Wire fraud. Tax evasion. Identity theft. Forgery. Extortion. Money laundering. Aggravated assault. I’m forgetting a few. Sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry. “He killed two people, too, but was never charged. I know he did it, though.”

He was curious how she knew. “My goodness.” He peered down at her, personally impressed. “What a colorful fellow.”

“My mom took off when I was five, so he ‘raised’ us.” She made little marks in the air with her fingers. “If you want to call it that. It was more like, he made us accessories to his crimes.”

“Us?” Trak knew he was wading into dark waters for her. He had no idea how to navigate them, but he barreled on, more intrigued than he should be. “Who else was there?”

“My brother,” she replied. Her voice softened at the words. “Jimmy is four years younger than me. I was our father’s favorite, unfortunately. He gave me more of an education.”

What a fascinating twist to the story of Anna Baker. “Your father taught you his trade?”

She nodded. “Thanks to him I’m a master at picking pockets and locks and I’m a good shot with a handgun.

I’ve never shot anyone,” she added quickly.

“The one decent thing my dad did was not implicate me in any of his crimes when they finally nabbed him.” Her hands had clenched together, making her knuckles white.

Trak was not gifted with subtlety, but even he knew this would likely be an inappropriate time to mention how useful those skills would be on any given space station in these outer quadrants.

And it made her infinitely more interesting, which was saying something since he already found her captivating.

Her resilience alone, after such a dark childhood, was an impressive feat.

“Well.” She fidgeted, stepping away from him. “That was more than you needed to know about my past.”

He watched the tense line of her back as she moved to the front of the “bridge.” “Actually, I wonder if I could ever hear enough. You are a true fascination, Anna.” He hadn’t planned to word it quite like that.

It was smart to take the same no-attachment policy that Virilians had for their ships and apply it to this female.

It didn’t matter how interesting she was.

The best way to do that was to think of something else.

And the curvy outline of her body, silhouetted in the large window, did the trick nicely.

He approached her from behind, dropping a kiss on the side of her neck.

She leaned back against him with a sigh, sending silken red hair swishing over his skin.

Her body immediately softened beneath his touch.

It was almost instant—the shift of her body from tense to pliable.

He nipped the sensitive skin beneath her ear and smiled at the tiny gasp she let out.

It was a bit amazing that he could do this to her.

She turned in his arms. Those long, silky arms wound around his neck.

Long, capable fingers slid into his hair and angled his mouth down to hers.

He closed his eyes on a groan and gave himself to the kiss.

His cock went rock hard. His mind inventoried the available surfaces to get Anna naked on.

This wasn’t the ideal place for a tryst, but he could make it work. Trak was nothing if not adaptable.

He bent her over a console—it belonged to Pizol, his first officer who thought he was an expert on females but sadly, was not. Trak found a certain amusement in that.

Noise sounded from a lower deck. Anna heard it too. They pulled their lips apart and froze.

“What’s that?” asked Anna.

The noise turned distinct. Footsteps, heavy ones, accompanied by low, guttural noises, vibrated through the metal floors.

“Someone who shouldn’t be here,” he muttered back.

“You’re a prince,” she whispered. “Don’t you have security?”

“Of course.” Moving with purpose, they snuck through the narrow corridors. “It’s just…sometimes unreliable.”

“I’m wearing five pounds of gold chain and you can’t afford reliable security?”

He flung out an arm and flattened them both against the wall as the footsteps approached.

“They seemed fine,” he hissed. Trak carefully opened a storage compartment and eased a small plasma pistol from it.

There wasn’t much power left in it—maybe enough for one shot.

Hopefully he wouldn’t have to use it. He jerked his head toward the sounds of intruders. “C’mon. Let’s greet our guests.”

He saw the flash in her eyes and her bottom lip clamped between her teeth. The female wasn’t scared at all. She either trusted him or thought this was a big game. Neither was a great way to go.

Anna stayed behind him as they quietly moved through corridors that he knew so well he could traverse them in his sleep.

He peeked around a corner to see four of the largest examples of the Belka-Tu alien race he’d ever seen.

They were easily eight feet tall, had green, bumpy skin, and smelled like last cycle’s rubbish bin.

They appeared to be going through storage ports and taking things out.

Searching for something. He raised the gun and stepped out quietly.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” he asked, then remembered he still had that damn English chip in his head.

Predictably, the Belka-Tus stopped and whipped their attention to him, but their expressions were blank.

Trak cursed and dug through his hair, finally removing the chip.

His mind slid back to the languages he knew.

These beings were most likely to use one of the Standard Quadrant tongues, so he used the one spoken on the Bott-L2 station.

“What are you doing on my ship?” he asked. “And how quickly can you get off of it?”

One of them, an exceptionally hideous specimen, stepped forward and shook his shaggy head, sending a long, knotted beard swaying back and forth. Metal emblems rattled from a sash around his neck. This was their leader, clearly, and he did not appear friendly.

“I am Giru Limpa, and I am owed credits.”

Trak raised a brow. This Belka-Tu didn’t have the best command of the standard language of this quadrant, leading him to think this group had journeyed pretty far from their territory.

“And who, precisely, owes you credits?” Trak felt Anna close behind him.

She was a wise female, remaining silent and still and watchful. “I have never done business with you.”

“One of your kind—a Virilian pirate named Pella Rin owes me fifteen thousand credits,” snarled Giru Limpa. “I will get my payment.”

Trak sighed, but inwardly tensed. Pella Rin was a pirate, as well as a straight-up moron.

He had been censured numerous times by members of the high Virilian hierarchy, so Trak had no reason to doubt the Belka-Tu’s claim.

The young, brash prince continuously made choices like this—making deals, taking off with the goods without paying.

In addition to being a horrible business practice, it was an excellent way to get yourself killed.

Or in this case, get completely unrelated people killed.

“Simple mistake,” said Trak lightly. “You have the wrong Virilian. I am not Pella Rin, but I would be happy to convey your message to him.”

Giru Limpa shook his shaggy head again, spraying spit while making a hissing sound. Behind him, he heard a “yuck” from Anna and controlled the grin that pulled at his cheeks.

“A debt owed from one is a debt owed from all. You will pay your countryman’s debt, Virilian, or I will carve it from your hide myself.”

That’s where Trak’s patience ended. “Sorry.” He aimed the plasma gun directly at Giru Limpa. “It don’t work that way, mate.”

One of the other Belka-Tus leaned over and whispered into his leader’s ear. Giru Limpa’s eyes went shrewd and sharp as they shifted from Trak to the female peeking out from behind him. “We will take the female,” he said. “And consider the debt settled.”