Chapter 2

"Don't move," a smooth, lilting feminine voice ordered.

Syn arched one brow. It wasn't everyday someone got the drop on him, especially a woman who had a voice that leant itself to seduction.

"Or what?" He wished he could catch a glimpse of whomever had outsmarted him. She had to be something, because this never happened to him.

She clicked off the safety release of her blaster.

Syn wasn't prone to panic, and having people level a weapon at him was pretty commonplace, but he didn't usually face unseen attackers.

Especially not in his home.

"Are you an assassin or tracer?" he asked.

"Free-tracer."

Free-tracers, unlike assassins, had a conscience as a rule. And since he was still breathing and not dead, it told him she was going after his living contract which gave him a lot of latitude in dealing with her.

"Good." He snatched her blaster from her hands.

A blast of red sizzled up toward his ceiling, searing a long black streak across the white paint. He cursed at the mark. He’d fought too long and too hard to drag himself out of the streets and have a nice home for someone to come in and start destroying it.

"No one messes up my place." He grabbed a small, silken wrist and jerked the woman into his view. Shock jolted him as he stared into the face of a startled angel.

Damn, she was beautiful.

In that instant of hesitation, she drove her knee straight into his groin.

Pure agony spread through him. Gasping, he doubled over with a sharp curse.

Shahara pulled the reserve blaster from her boot and leveled it at C.I. Syn: Rapist, Murderer, Traitor, and Filch. He was huge and powerful. She'd have to watch him closely if she were to succeed. Keeping her eyes on him, she bent her knees to retrieve the other two blasters from the floor.

The man in front of her was not the usual type she was used to dealing with. Not only was he more refined, but something proud and primal emanated from every molecule of his body. Only one word could define it.

Sexy.

And she was far from immune to it.

Unlike the other class three and four felons she'd traced, this one possessed an air of sophistication. When he spoke, it wasn't in a gruff ignorant street dialect, it was with a fluid, baritone voice that resonated deep from within him. His cadence and syntax were that of an educated man or an aristocrat, not a lowly filch.

With a deep breath, he recovered himself from her kick- something she'd never seen a man do so quickly before. He moved away from her with the lithe powerful grace of a predator.

Granted he was still limping, but there was an unmistakable fluidity.

That was it. That was what she sensed from him. He had a raw animal magnetism. He moved like a caged panther– sleek, rippling, deadly.

Vicious.

And he pounced like lightning. Before she realized what was happening, he had her completely unarmed. She kicked him back. He spun and shoved her into the wall.

Shahara used the rebound to propel herself at him and caught him a stiff blow to his jaw. Grunting, he grabbed her. She flipped up and kicked him back.

Syn cursed at her skill. She was incredible when it came to fighting. And every time he tried to pin her, she escaped. He hissed as she caught him another blow to the gut.

Kill her!

But he had a bad suspicion about her identity and if she was whom he thought...

Better to have her beat on him than the alternative.

Out of her sleeves, two knives appeared. She moved at him, slashing. He put his arm up to block her attack. Their forearms collided, then she swiped his arm with the blade. It sliced straight through his padding to his flesh.

“Son of a...”

She stomped his foot. “Surrender, convict. I don’t have to take you in alive.”

He glared down at her as he tried to pin her again and failed. “Then you better get ready to kill me cause that’s the only way I’m going in.”

Shahara head-butted him, then scissor kicked his chest. In a fluid roll, she scooped her blaster up from the floor and angled it at him.

He finally froze.

"Cute attack," she sneered, waving him back into the bedroom with the barrel of her weapon. This time she knew to keep a good distance between them.

His eyes blazing obsidian fire, he obeyed in a manner that told her he didn't often cooperate with orders.

No, she could tell by the arrogant, taunting smile that this man was a leader or a loner.

Never a follower.

"Not half as cute as yours.” He rubbed his groin meaningfully.

She shrugged at his sarcasm. "He who waits, loses."

The fierce scowl Syn gave her, told her he didn't like the old Gondarion proverb at all.

Disregarding the look, she tossed him a pair of cuffs. They landed at his booted feet with a soft jingle. "Put those on quick or I'll blast you straight to hell."

He picked the cuffs up in his fist as if they disgusted him. His black gaze hardened and she swore she could actually smell the danger that radiated from every pore of his body.

She tensed her finger over the trigger, expecting him to toss the cuffs in her face. It wouldn't be the first time a convict had reacted that way and she had a few more tricks to unleash if he chose that action.

A loud whistle blared in the room behind her. Startled, she snapped around to make sure someone wasn’t coming in to help him. Before she could focus on what the noise was, Syn's hands closed around hers.

How had he moved that fast? He should still be on the other side of the room.

Her heart racing, she struggled for her weapon, kicking and punching at him with all the fury coursing through her body. If he got her blaster away, he'd kill her for sure.

His grip tightened around her hand, numbing her fingers until she could barely feel the roughened grip of her blaster. She tried to head-butt him, but he dodged too fast.

To her horror, the blaster dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

Cursing, she reverted to her strict training and punched at his throat.

Syn caught her hand in his before she could make contact with his windpipe. Wrenching her arm painfully behind her back, he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

Shahara cursed as she struggled. In spite of her best efforts and blows, he knelt down, retrieved the blasters from the floor, then tossed her on his bed.

The soft, lump-free mattress startled her for the briefest moment before true panic consumed her. He stood a few feet away from the bed, gazing down at her with dark eyes.

Her vision dimmed. Snarling, she dove for him with only one goal– to escape with her life and body intact.

Syn switched his blaster setting from kill to stun and shot her in the shoulder before she could reach him.

A soft gasp left her lips. Her eyes widened as she clutched at her shoulder, then she crumpled to the floor.

A twinge of guilt annoyed him. He'd been stunned enough times to know she'd have a vicious headache when she woke up.

But what other choice did he have? She seemed to be a determined little cozu.

Shaking his head in bitter amusement, he knelt beside her to check her pulse. Satisfied he hadn't hurt her, he took a good look at her peaceful features. Damned if she wasn't the most attractive woman he’d ever thrown on to his bed. Not that he’d ever made it a habit of tossing women there, but still...

The flesh of her throat was warm and soft beneath his hand, something completely at odds with her tough demeanor. Trailing his finger over her creamy cheek, he stared at her lips which were slightly parted while she breathed. He couldn't help wondering how much softer they might be, as well as other, more tender parts of her body.

Aching pains stabbed his groin.

Yeah, that’s just what you need to add to your already fucked up day. Sleep with a woman who wanted to hand him over to his enemies. A woman who had no compunctions about shooting him. Or, as he looked at his bleeding forearm, carving parts off his body.

If he had one single brain cell left in his head, he’d deplete her memory and dump her in the nearest hole. But he couldn't quite bring himself to be so cruel. Unlike her, he had a conscience about handing people over to those out to torture, kill and maim them.

Sighing, he picked her up from the floor and carried her from his bedroom to the couch.

Damn, she weighed nothing. Didn’t the woman ever eat? If he were still a doctor, he’d run a nutrition diagnostic on her. She couldn’t be healthy at this weight.

But then, like him, she was a gutter rat and it was hard to find food in the sewers. That kind of desperate hunger never went away even when there was food around.

The whistle blared again. "Syn?"

He gave a small prayer of thanks Caillen Dagan had seen the right moment to call him. That boy had always had good timing...

With a final look at the shapely form draped across his couch, he crossed the room and picked up his earpiece that kept him in contact with the pilots who worked for him.

"Yeah Dagan, what do you need?"

"Kasen just called and she's accepted a run to Lyrix. She wants me to go with her and I don't dare let her go alone. You know how rough that place is. Anyway, I was supposed to do the Prinum shipment for you tonight and since I can't be in two places... Is there any way you can get someone to cover for me?"

Syn glanced back at the tracer on his couch, debating the sanity of leaving her.

"Syn?"

He frowned at Caillen's anxious voice. Caillen hated asking for help and Syn had never been one to deny a friend in need. Besides, Caillen protected nothing like he did his sisters and he respected the man's devotion. If there was anything he understood, it was that family came first.

And Caillen was like a brother to him. "Sure, I'll do it."

"Thanks, bud, I owe you."

Clicking off the link, Syn tossed it back on the counter and shook his head. Caillen had always been a bit waxed when it came to his sisters. So waxed that in all the years Syn had known him, he’d only met one sister, Kasen, and that had been by pure accident.

Something bad had happened to one of them when they were teenagers and it’d severely scarred Caillen. Syn had no idea what it was since he tended not to pry into people’s personal lives.

He figured if Caillen wanted him to know, he’d volunteer it. Until then, it was none of his business.

A soft moan drew his attention back to his current problem. Intrigued by his catch, he returned to the couch.

He stared down at her, hoping he was wrong about her identity...

She didn’t look like a Dagan. At least not Caillen or Kasen, but then genes were screwy things. He didn’t look anything like his sister or mother either.

Except for his eyes...

He flinched at the reminder. His father had punished him well for sharing that bit of his mother’s DNA. The sad thing was, his father had actually loved her and while they’d been together, he hadn’t been quite as psychotic. But after she ran off, he’d turned his hatred for her to the two kids the bitch had left behind.

He pushed that thought away and stared down at the tracer.

For now, she lay unmoving, her long, reddish brown braid falling over the cushions, down to the floor. Picking it up, he marveled at the silken texture. He'd never seen hair quite that shade. Dark red strands were entwined with gold, brown, black and ash. Like rich mahogany.

The leather Armstitch battlesuit she wore was of an outdated style, probably around ten years old and by the fit of it, it looked like she’d bought it used. Still, the cut complimented her lithe, slender figure even if the color did nothing to accentuate her exotic features.

Damn, the woman was built taut and tight, and he could just imagine her wrapping those long, sexy limbs around his body while she...

Stop it, asshole.

That was easier said that done as he stared at her and his cock twitched. He traced the line of her full, rosy lips with his knuckle, taking delight in the slight, sensual tickle of her breath against his skin. He hadn’t been with a woman in awhile. Too damned long now that he thought about it. An obvious fact given the way his body craved a woman who wanted his head. And not the one he wanted to share with her.

No real reason for the long stretch other than he didn’t like personal entanglements and women, while entertaining for a couple of hours, had a nasty habit of screwing him over any time he gave them a chance. The one thing Mara had taught him with crystal clarity- he couldn’t do enough right in his adult life to shut out all the wrong he’d done as a kid.

More to the point, no woman would ever forgive him for the genetic link he shared with a monster.

So he always kept his liaisons to a single night with women he didn’t know. Women he could keep at a safe, emotionless distance.

And for the last six months, he hadn't been able to find any woman even remotely appealing.

Until now.

I am psychotic... just like my dad.

He’d have to be to even look at a woman like her who was after his ass to arrest it.

Just like my worthless father...

And still she appealed to him for reasons he couldn’t understand. Her angry, almond-shaped eyes were closed now, but he vividly recalled the odd, golden shade. There was something very familiar about those eyes. For his life he couldn’t remember what.

Also there was something about her that reminded him of his own sister. The unique way she held her head when she defied him as if she’d faced the worst possible nightmare and still found the courage to continue life's brutal path. Something a typical person wouldn’t notice. But to those who’d walked courageously through hell and been tested and scarred by its fires, it was obvious.

Too bad his sister had lost that courage.

Pain racked his soul as he struggled against the unrelenting grief that no amount of time seemed to dull. The sight of her lifeless body soaked in blood...

Regrets pounded through him and he closed his eyes, wishing he could go back and save Talia.

If only he'd been older maybe he could have done something to help her.

Bullshit. There had been no help for either of them. He knew that for a fact and still he beat himself up with it over and over again. He hated that part of himself that couldn’t let go of his past.

But this tracer wasn't Talia. She would never put herself in the line of fire to save him. To her, he was nothing more than a paycheck- a fugitive who needed to be returned because he didn’t deserve to live among decent people.

Whatever he did, he couldn't allow himself to relax as long as she remained inside his home.

With that thought, Syn searched her body for more weapons to make sure she didn’t have any other means of carving him up. He did his best to ignore the soft curves under his hands as he slid them over the rough leather of her battlesuit, and located weapon after weapon.

Damn, it was like disarming the League...

Or him.

Focus...

Though she was too thin for his normal tastes, her muscles were firm, no doubt from hours of physical training. He could easily imagine how attractive her lithe body would look draped in nothing but a sheet.

His blood rushed through his veins like lava as his cock turned rock hard. "Get a hold of yourself. You're not some horny teen chasing after the first girl who smiled at you."

True, but there was something about this woman. Something that put a slow burn in his blood.

Yeah, she wants to beat your ass, you masochistic bastard.

Sliding his hands over her firm calf, he located a knife tucked inside her pant leg. He pulled it out and studied the intricate design.

Shit...

“I knew it.” The weapon in his hand was legendary. An entwined bird and viper engraved on the silver handle– the symbol of a Gondarion Seax. Only one person in her entire generation had passed Seax training.

Shahara Dagan.

Suspicions confirmed, he sighed in aggravation. You’re so going to die...

Shock and disgust poured through him. Well, isn't this just typical? After months of celibacy you finally find a woman who sets your hormones on fire and not only is she after your head in the worst sort of way, she's the treasured sister of one of your best friends.

"Just shoot me now and get it over with.” Because that would be kind compared to what Dagan would do if he found out Syn had shot the older sister he worshiped.

He balanced the carefully honed blade between his fingers and looked back at the tracer whose very name made most fugitives surrender immediately.

And no wonder given they way she fought.

"So you're the infamous Shahara..." He shook his head in amazement that such a petite beauty could inspire so lethal a reputation. "I wonder what Caillen would say if he knew you were here?"

I’m going to cut your balls off, Syn.

Yeah, that would probably be it...

On the good side and if Syn was lucky. If Dagan was having a bad day...

He shuddered.

Rolling his eyes at his typical luck, Syn placed the knife on top of the other weapons and devices he’d taken off her. He picked up her blasters and locked them, along with everything else, in the wall safe in his bedroom.

What was he going to do with her?

Unbidden an image of her writhing naked in his bed flashed before his eyes and he grinned wickedly. That was definitely what he wanted to do with her.

But hormones aside, he had to be practical.

The woman wanted to hand him over to the authorities. Seax's were unfortunately notorious for their unshakable sense of justice and honor. And she was honor bound to take him in no matter what argument he made.

He wasn't about to be executed for crimes he hadn't committed and he damn sure couldn't kill her without upsetting Caillen.

So where did that leave him?

Screwed blue and tattooed.

Maybe he should call Caillen after all...

Syn scoffed at the thought. If he knew his friend at all– and he did— Caillen would kill him for stunning her.

So what options were left?

Kill her. Hide the body.

If only he could... Damn, stupid conscience. Why had the gods given them that gift? It definitely should have come with a return policy.

In the end, he had no real choice about it. When she regained consciousness in another hour or so, he'd try to talk sense into her. With any luck, she’d share her brother's reason and intellect.

Gods, just let her be more reasonable than Kasen. Otherwise he would have to kill her.

And lie to Caillen for the rest of their lives.

Yeah...

With that thought foremost in his mind, he moved to the front door and switched the scanner back on. Now she’d have no choice except to stay put until he could think of some way to escape this tangled nightmare with his life intact.

###

Shahara moaned, her temples throbbing a painful beat. Blinking open her eyes, she wondered why she felt so terrible. Her sight focused on the white stucco wall before her where a beautiful Chinergov painting hung. As she stared at the impressionist's interpretation of a huge black bird in flight, she instantly remembered what had happened.

Where she was.

That slippery bastard had shot her!

With a gasp, she sat up, her head protesting the sudden movement. Ignoring the pain, she forced her blurry eyesight to clear and scanned the room.

It was empty. Thank goodness.

Silence buzzed in her ears and she wondered where Syn had gone.

Why he’d left her alone?

Well, she didn't care about the answer. As long as he wasn't here, he couldn't kill her, or keep her from leaving. Stealthily, in case he was in the bedroom or bathroom, she slid off the couch.

Without a sound, she crossed to the door and reached for the controls. Before her fingers touched the keypad, she glanced up and gnashed her teeth in frustration. He’d reactivated the scanner.

You double bastard, rat punk!

You didn’t really think he’d make it easy for you, did you? No, but a woman could always hope for a brain injury that would leave him stupid and make it easier on her.

If only...

She wanted to curse and strike out at the almost invisible beams that cross-hatched the door, but she knew if she did that, they'd singe her flesh with a burn far worse than any fire. Worst of all, they’d trip an alarm.

She was at his mercy.

Instinctively, she reached for her weapons. As expected, they were gone along with the lockbox she’d used to breach the security system earlier.

Clenching her fists, she wished she could strangle Syn. Without her lockbox, she had no hope of guessing the scanner's code. Grimson had designed his security systems too carefully and the number sequences were too intricate to ever be guessed by random choice, or remembered from her earlier success.

There was a nine in it...

Some place.

Yeah, that wasn’t exactly helpful.

Sighing, she looked around the room. She wasn't just going to stand here waiting for him to come back and discover she was awake. There had to be a weapon somewhere in this giant mausoleum.

She headed to the kitchen.

Maybe you should look for him first...

No. Better to get a weapon. If he happened to be in one of the other rooms, she didn't want him to know she was awake until she had some way to protect herself.

Gah, my head hurts.

It’s what you deserve for letting him get the drop on you and you’re lucky that’s all he did.

Very true.

Carefully, quietly, she opened cabinets and drawers seeking a knife, but instead, all she found were empty shelves. No cutlery at all– not even a rusty spoon.

Frowning, she opened the equally empty refrigerator. What did the man live on? Air?

Aggravated at not finding anything, she had to force herself not to slam the cabinet shut– in case he was in the other room. She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at the counter. Again she saw a bottle of wine resting near the sink.

Not quite her weapon of choice, but in a pinch...

A determined smile curved her lips. It should serve to at least knock him senseless for a moment or two. That should be long enough to pull a weapon off his body.

She picked up the bottle and glanced at the blue and gold label. "Hmm, vintage.” Good year too. This bottle alone would probably make her fighter payments for six months. Such a shame to waste premium Gondarion grade on a worthless criminal.

Oh well.

Sliding her fingers around the cool, slick glass neck, she gripped the bottle and went hunting. With practiced, stalking strides, she inched toward the bedroom, then paused. The door to the bedroom slid upwards which would give him ample time to pull a blaster on her and shoot her again.

Her head pounded even more, reminding her the last thing she needed was another sharp blast.

There had to be something else...

She smiled as she noticed the partially opened door of the bathroom... it might also swing open into the bedroom.

It was her best shot.

Changing course, she headed for it.

She tried to calm the pounding beat of her heart that sent even more sharp pulses of pain to her head and played havoc with her eyesight. Damn him for that particular misery. She gripped the bottle in her icy, clammy hands and slipped inside the bathroom.

It was empty.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she crept toward the door on the opposite side which also had a knob. So far, everything looked good.

As silently as she could, she pushed the door open, relieved the hinges didn't creak.

She took a step into his room, then froze in shocked disbelief.

She didn't know what she’d expected, but it definitely wasn't the sight greeting her.

On the opposite side of the room, Syn knelt on a red, embroidered prayer cloth, his head sedately bowed, his eyes reverently closed. His ebony hair, pulled back into a ponytail, hung just past his wide shoulders.

He wore a pair of black leather pants and a loose, black silk shirt, the cuffs rolled back from his wrists. She could see the tiniest bit of white bandage on the arm where she’d cut him earlier and a bit of scroll work from a tattoo it covered. His gloves hands rested on his knees, turned palm upwards and before him lay an opened prayer book. The light glinted off two silver hoops in his left ear.

Even while he rested she could detect his aura of restrained lethal power. See the outline of steely muscles beneath the leather and silk, and for some unknown reason she wished she could hear the masculine, musical cadence of his voice while he whispered a prayer.

What are you? Insane?

He’s a felon.

She tightened her grip on the bottle. Pray? How could anyone with his brutal reputation be so hypocritical?

The thought sent anger pouring through her.

Her eyes focused on the blaster strapped to his left hip and a slow smile spread across her face. That was the ticket to freedom.

Without making a sound to alert him to her presence or intentions, she snuck across the room and reached for his weapon. His hand enclosed around hers before she could snatch the blaster free.

He glared up at her with eyes that were....

Well....

As dark as sin.

And every bit as frigid and evil.

With a curse, Shahara raised the bottle to strike him.

Quicker than she could blink, he pulled the blaster free and held it under her chin. "I don't like scars," he gritted between his teeth in that deep baritone voice that sent a shiver down her spine. "And I really hate people who mess up my house. Put the bottle down, slowly, and take a step back."

Shahara weighed her options as she felt the cold barrel of his blaster pressing against her jaw. The air around her sizzled with his anger and ferocity. Two things belied by blank, emotionless eyes that stared into hers.

She knew he would kill her without a second thought.

She swallowed the tight lump of fear in her throat. There had to be some way she could gain the advantage.

A sudden idea leapt into her mind- distraction.

Yeah, but she hated what that would entail since she only had one thing she could use.

I would rather be shot than come on to a convict.

If you don’t get that weapon out of his hand, you will be.

She forced herself not to show her anger or frustration. Like it or not, she only had one thing to rely on and if she didn’t get his blaster, she was at his mercy for however long he decided to keep her.

And no one knew where she was to even look for her.

The first rule of a Seax was to use whatever means you had at your disposal...

That cemented it. Curving her lips into a seductive smile, she slowly, suggestively slid the bottle down the front of her battlesuit and set it on the hardwood floor with a soft thud. She took a step back, giving him a warm, playful look.

He holstered his weapon and rose slowly to his feet.

Shahara tensed in uncertainty at his height. She barely reached mid-chest. And he had a way about him that dominated the room. A way about him that made him seem even more formidable.

He watched her like a deadly viper eyeing its prey- calculating, waiting. Ready to spring at a moment's notice.

But then men were fools. Even dangerous ones. They lived their lives by their hormones and as long as she kept her wits about her, he would be easy prey to her tactics.

Her life and Tessa's depended on her acting ability.

Opening her mouth, Shahara licked her lips and scanned his body with a hungry look that would make a prostitute proud. "We could negotiate this," she whispered, her voice heavy with feigned desire as she gazed meaningfully at the bulge in his pants, then to the bed.

Syn stared at her in disbelief, his senses whirling at the real-life version of his fantasy. All too well, he remembered Caillen's stories about his notorious sister, as well as the rumors that circulated about her fierceness.

If he knew anything, it was that Shahara Dagan didn't practice bedroom politics.

She began unbraiding her hair. His arguments scattering, Syn watched her separate the thick, heavy mahogany tresses. Every inch of his body burned for her as he imagined her long, graceful fingers caressing his flesh with the same tenderness she used to stroke her hair.

She climbed onto his bed.

Oh yeah, baby...

Resting on her knees, she arched her back and ran her hands through the soft, tangled hair that tumbled around her, framing her face to perfection.

Did she have any idea what such a pose did to a man?

His throat suddenly dry, he burned. He took a step toward her, then stopped.

It was a trick.

Granted he'd had more than his share of women come on to him unexpectedly, but he wasn't dumb or conceited enough to believe for a single instant that he could inspire Seax Shahara Dagan to forget her duty.

Unlike most fools, he'd never fall for such an obvious trick. But far be it from him to tell her that.

He smiled wickedly, wondering how far she’d go with her ruse. This was one show he planned to savor.

Leaning her head back to expose the graceful column of her throat, she tossed her hair over her shoulders before trailing her hands slowly over her thighs and breasts.

She hesitated at the fasteners of her battlesuit.

Would she dare?

She did. Feeling as if he were being tortured, he followed the path of her hands as she lowered the opening of her suit to reveal the black lace of her undergarments. And the luscious swell of her breasts.

"Well?" Her husky voice drove him almost beyond his limit as he imagined sliding one hand inside that suit and cupping her.

She leaned forward, her breasts barely remaining inside the black lace barrier as she wiggled her way too attractive hips. "Would you like to join me?"

Yes...

If it were any other woman, he wouldn't hesitate at the offer.

Hell, he could barely refuse her now.

But then he was used to disappointment.

It was time she learned what happened to little Seaxes who played deadly games. Crossing the floor in three strides, he reached out for her.

Just as he almost touched her, she struck out like lightning. With a resounding curse, she fastened the front of her battlesuit and sprang from the bed.

Syn ducked her roundhouse kick and moved to a safe distance. "Don't try this crap with me," he growled, his lust instantly dying as his will to survive took over. "I'm a street fighter and you will get hurt."

“So am I and so will you.” Rushing toward him, she punched at his throat. He caught her wrist in his hand and pulled her up against him. Her breath left her in a startled gasp as she collided with the solid wall of muscle. Her heart thundered in her ears and fear closed her throat.

His steely hands closed around her arms.

"Let go of me!" She stomped his instep, twisting free of his hold.

Syn cursed, moving away from the wild byrollo. What kind of shoes did she have on? They sliced like knives even through his heavy boots.

Her eyes narrowed at him in hatred. Quicker than he could react, she dove for the bottle and rose with it.

"Put it down." He kept his voice level. "If I draw my blaster one more time, I will kill you."

She lifted the bottle higher. "Open the front door," she demanded in a strident tone that told him just how desperate she was.

Only too well, he understood her panic and fear. He didn’t like being cornered either. "I'm not going to hurt you. Put the bottle down and just talk to me."

Shahara curled her lip in disgust. Did he really think she was stupid enough to release her only weapon? Especially after his threat? "Go to hell."

He smiled, flashing a single dimple in his left cheek. She licked her dry lips, afraid of what the smile signified.

"Okay, keep the bottle. Just talk to me like two rational people and maybe we can find a solution to this problem. Deal?"

She tightened her grip on the bottle, wanting to toss it at his arrogant head. "I don't make deals with convicted rapists and murderers, I take them to justice."

His smile vanished. "I have never raped or murdered anyone."

"That's not what the contract on your life says."

His jaw tensed. "I didn't rape or murder Kiara Zamir."

"Tell it to the Overseer."

Syn stifled his curse. Was there not one person in the fucking universe who could believe the truth when he spoke it? This wasn't going the way he wanted it to. Kiara's father wouldn't listen to reason any more than this headstrong tracer.

As for the court system... yeah, given his father’s reputation, he didn’t stand a chance. He’d be convicted and executed based on his name alone.

If she turned him over to the Gourish government, he'd be gutted long before Kiara's father realized his daughter was still alive. And if Zamir had already found out she was alive and sleeping with Nykyrian, then there was no telling what her father would do to him for the part he'd played in their affair.

He’d been the one who signed the contract for her protection...

And if the Ritadarions ever got their hands on him... Well their reaction was something best left to horror movies.

"Fine." He held his hand away from his blaster, hoping to calm her. "Keep the damn bottle. It won't protect you anyway."

That apparently was the wrong thing to say.

Before Syn could react, she ran at him catching him in the stomach. His breath left him with a loud woof as he lost his balance and the two of them tumbled to the floor. She tried to hit him with the bottle.

He caught her wrist. "Stop fighting me." He pried the bottle from her hand.

She didn't respond verbally. Instead, she raked her fingernails down the side of his neck, burning a path into his skin.

Anger darkened his vision and, for a moment, all he could think about was killing the woman on top of him. He was tired of her drawing blood every time she got within reach.

Rolling over, he pinned her beneath him. She struggled to throw his weight off, but it was useless. He outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds.

He caught her wrists in his hands before she could pull his blaster free, and held them beside her face. "Stop it!"

Shahara froze. Her blood pounded a fearful trail through her body. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She refused to be undignified further.

Only one other time in her life had someone held her in this manner and she hated it. She hated him.

Bravely, she stared up at his face.

Even this close, she could barely see the difference between his dark irises and the pupils of his eyes. It amazed her that her wrists didn't hurt from his firm grip, or his weight crush her.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked, dreading the answer.