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CHAPTER 1

S asha

I wonder if my resting bitch face betrays how much I want to punch him.

Sargul smirks at me, his crooked teeth on full display as he leans on the chair he likes to call his throne.

What a joke.

This is no throne and Sargul is no king.

My eyes slide to the duffel bag on the floor, right next to my feet. It’s mine, filled with all the possessions I plan on taking with me.

At least, that was the plan.

“You can’t do this.” I cross my arms and lift my chin, trying not to feel like a naughty teenager caught in the act. “I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m a grown-ass woman and I do what I want. I don’t need your permission.”

“Is that what you’re doing now, telling me what I can and cannot do?” He leans in and his smile broadens, but a tic agitates the corner of his left eye and alarm bells ring in my brain. Not many people on Tartarus would recognize the signs that I’m getting under his skin, but I know him better than most.

Maybe better than anyone. After all, I’m his daughter. Or so he tells me.

“Why wouldn’t you let me leave, anyway?” I chirp, changing my tactic. This isn’t going the way I want it to go. “Don’t tell me you’re going to miss me or something?”

Sargul’s face falls flat as Naeve chuckles from her position at his back. The woman who climbed the dangerous ladder of Sargul’s network all the way to becoming the right hand of the most vicious smuggler in Tartarus is a force of nature. Standing six foot five inches tall and weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, she used to be one of the rare female gladiators before escaping her bonds and making her way to Tartarus. At least, that’s how the legend goes. Looking at her and seeing the sort of primal fear she inspires in the hearts of the crowd surrounding my adoptive father, I have no problem believing it. Not that Sargul needs anyone to rule over his ragtag group of thugs and thieves with an iron fist.

“Should I send you a postcard?” I keep going, knowing full well I’ll regret it, but unable to stop. I’m just done with all the pretending. “Maybe you’re going to tell me you love me and want to walk me down the aisle one day, fairytale style?”

Sargul slams his fist on the armrest of the heavy wooden chair in the middle of the room, the sound both incredibly loud and strangely hollow. Like the man whose anger begins to show around the edges like a dark cloud. Few people have seen this side of him and lived to tell the tale, but here I am.

And he can eat my dust if he thinks he can intimidate me into staying on this godforsaken sandpit of a planet.

“Careful, Mouse; you may be a grown-ass woman, but don’t think I’m past throwing you across my knees and spanking you into your right mind,” Naeve says, her face still lit with glee, but also with something else. Something I’d rather not linger on. Something like the pain of someone who knows you’ll betray them and can’t forgive you for it. “No one talks to Sargul this way in my presence.”

“Then maybe you should take a hike.” I can’t help it. I really can’t. Maybe I’m as stupid as my running mouth. “That way, I can call him an asshole without you being there like a freaking guard dog.”

Naeve’s bright blue eyes become dangerous and she takes a step forward, but Sargul lifts his left hand to stop her. She freezes instantly at his command, like the good soldier she is, but her face is twisted with anger. Sargul glares at me, his gaze dark and dangerous, his yellow irises turning a deeper shade of sickly mustard.

It’s a perfect show. Too bad there’s only three of us in here.

“I wouldn’t talk to Naeve that way, Mouse.” Sargul leans back in his chair, giving all the appearances of a relaxed lion, but his gaze is cold and simmering with anger. All of a sudden, I’m reminded of the reason he rules an entire army of violent men with a simple glare. Because behind an affable, almost cheerful facade, Sargul is as ruthless as the sand that saw him born in a gladiator school. “Now, to answer your question, I’m not granting your request because you simply don’t have enough to pay for your passage out of Valcan. Not yet, at least.”

My breathing hitches faster and I have to push saliva down my suddenly closed throat. This is what I feared. He’s trying to hustle me.

“But I do,” I insist, this time making sure my voice is low and even. The time for bravado is gone. I’m never going to have my way by bucking and kicking like a toddler. “We had a deal. You’re the one who always says a thief is only as good as his word.”

Another tic agitates the corner of Sargul’s eye and he glances sideways when Naeve grunts, her dark gaze still on me. Sargul is a thief and a thug, a violent man by all accounts, but he also runs his gang with a tool even more effective than any sword.

Sargul says what he means, and he means what he says. His men can count on it. His enemies can, too.

Once he pronounces someone dead, they’re dead. Once he makes a deal, a deal is made and nothing can make him renege on it.

At least, not until now.

“You’re right,” Sargul finally grits between his teeth, then clicks his tongue with an audible sound. “A deal is a deal, but I only agreed to allow you to leave on the condition you could pay a standard fare. The money you gave me isn’t standard fare, not anymore. I have the Empire breathing down my neck to the South and those sand-loving bastards squeezing me from the North. Every ship that sets out of Tartarus, I risk more and more. I have no choice but to raise my price.”

Sargul tilts his head sideways, glances at Naeve, then back at me.

“It’s nothing personal.” He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Strictly business.”

“But you’re asking double the original price,” I protest, but I see in his eyes that he’s not going to change his mind. “This isn’t fair.”

I should have left when I had the chance. I think, the bitterness of it stinging my tongue. I had the money a year ago, but I wanted more to make sure I could rebuild my life once I was out of Valcan. Who knows how long it will take now?

Rage boils in my veins and my stomach squeezes with acid. There’s nothing I can say that will make him change his mind and I’m well aware of it.

I shoot a glance at Naeve’s smug grin and feel it in my bones.

He was never going to let me leave, I realize, surprised at my own stupidity. He told me what I wanted to hear, but he was always going to hustle me.

But why? I’m a good thief, yes. I’m the best cat burglar in Tartarus, getting in and out of the most protected palaces without so much as triggering an alarm. But as good as I am, I’m not naive enough to think of myself as irreplaceable. Sargul must have another angle in mind. Another job, perhaps, one he wants me to do before leaving?

It’s worth a shot.

“Fine, then.” I cross my arms and shift my weight to my back leg. “I’ll earn what’s left. I’ll do your next heist. What’s the target?”

Sargul’s mouth lifts in a wide, toothy grin. His long canines extend, and I know right then and there that I made a mistake.

I walked right into his trap like it’s a walk in the park. I’ve been so stupid, trusting him. Again.

“The target is Ambassador Eirik,” Sargul says with such insufferable self-satisfaction, I close my hands into fists at my sides until my knuckles scream for relief.

Then time stands still as I process what Sargul told me. Who did he say the target was?

Ambassador Eirik. A hulking Huugwor warrior who can kill me with both hands tied behind his back and not break a sweat? Yeah, that’s who.

An icy hand reaches inside my chest and I realize I forgot to breathe as my lungs ache. I suddenly breathe in, allowing the air to come in all at once.

He thinks he’s got me all figured out. The thought shoots through my head as Sargul stares, smug and confident. No. I’m not going to back down. I’m getting out of Valcan or I’ll die trying.

“Sounds like a ball.” I try my best not to flinch at the idea of stealing from the deadliest, baddest creature in the entire city. “Give me the specs and consider it done.”

A long pause follows as Sargul watches me, then turns to Naeve. The older woman’s face is slack and her eyes wide as she looks at me, ignoring her boss. She opens her mouth as if she wants to speak, then closes it. A flicker of something looking suspiciously like panic goes over her features, but it’s gone too soon and her face takes on its usual cynical expression.

“Now, this isn’t just another heist, Mouse.” Sargul smiles, but the grin has an edge and his gaze is dead serious. I realize he doesn’t want me to take the job; he just wanted me to give up my dream of leaving Valcan.

This makes me want to do it all the more. One last heist and then I fly away from this rock of a planet, from Sargul and Naeve and all their bullshit for good. I’ll never even give it so much as a spare thought.

“There are laws in Tartarus when it comes to those who steal, but the Huugwor follows the laws of the desert…” Sargul continues in his reasonable, pleasant tone.

“I don’t care,” I cut him off. “I would steal a pearl stuck in the emperor’s asshole if it was enough to buy passage out of this dustbin.”

I lift my chin and sustain Sargul’s gaze even when my heart beats so hard against my ribs it hurts. I have a big mouth, but stealing from the Huugwor is the stupidest idea I ever had.

“You can’t be serious.” Sargul doesn’t even try to hide his surprise at my words. “You’re my best thief, but…”

“Are you giving me the job or not?” I cut him off again. “I want to leave Valcan and if it’s your last condition, then I’ll do it. Then you and I are done.”

You won’t get to keep me here. I won’t let you.

A long moment passes as Sargul and I hold each other’s gazes. I know what he’s doing. He’s searching for a weakness in my posture, looking for clues to how he might bend my will some more.

I know him like no other, but he knows me, too.

“You know you can’t prevent this. I’m going to leave,” I say, dropping the attitude for once. Sometimes it’s worth it to just say the truth and the truth is I’m leaving Valcan. “Your only question is will I leave with or without your blessing?”

A few more tense moments pass. Then Sargul’s shoulders slump and he shakes his head, still looking at me. He reaches up, his hand running along the stubble on his jaw and something passes in his eyes. Something that looks a whole lot like hurt. Only it can’t be.

To feel pain, one has to have feelings. Whatever feelings Sargul may have once been capable of, they’ve been erased by years of bloodshed and violence.

“Okay then, Mouse.” He nods with a sober, strained expression on his face that I never saw before. “Do this last heist for me and you’re free to leave.”

If I survive, that is. But he doesn’t say that. I only have to look at Naeve’s unusual glum expression to know this is what she thinks.

And I can kid myself all I want, but even I know I’m risking more than just my life.