Born of Fire (The League #2)(16)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

In fact, he would have never been caught at all had someone not . . .

She licked her lips as a shot of hope went through her that said Syn might not be quite as corrupt as his father. “You’re the one who turned your father in, aren’t you?”

Syn cringed at a question only one other person had ever asked him. No one but Nykyrian had ever figured that out.

He started to lie to her, but why bother? It wasn’t like her opinion of him would change. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” If only he’d known then what hell was going to rain down on him, he might have reconsidered. But at the time, he’d wanted to get away from his father’s brutality so badly . . .

He’d had these stupid dreams of the authorities giving him to a family where he could go to school like a normal kid and have a life like everyone else.

Even at ten years old, he should have known better. He’d seen enough of the darker side of human nature by that point . . . but the kid in him had been dumb enough to believe in happy endings and rainbows.

“So how much money did they pay you to betray him?”

He loved the way she phrased that. Like he’d betrayed the father who’d never done anything for him except make him suffer. Yeah, his dad had given him a certain set of criminal skills that had served him well over the years, but that benefit was far outweighed by the rest of the damage the bastard had done to him physically and mentally.

“I was a kid, Shahara. They didn’t give me shit for it. It was my civic duty.” He almost choked as he repeated the words the overseer had said to him right before they put him in cuffs and hauled him to jail.

“Then why did you do it?”

To retaliate for his sister’s death. He hadn’t been big or seasoned enough to kill the bastard himself. So he’d allowed the authorities to do it for him.

But that was something he’d never admit to. In the end, he got what he deserved, too.

No good deed goes unpunished.

I’m coming back for you, you little bastard. And when I do, you’ll suffer like no one ever has. So help me, gods. I should have let your mother drown you when you were an infant. See what mercy gets you? A bastard seed who betrays you to the grave. May the gods make you suffer every day you live and may each one be more painful than the one before it.

Those had been the last words his father had ever spoken to him. To this day, they warmed the cockles of his heart.

And it proved the one point Syn had lived his life by ever since.

Everyone betrayed.

He’d sold out his father and his son had turned his back on him. And just like he’d done to his own worthless father, his son called the authorities any time he tried to visit.

Poetic justice really.

“Syn?” she asked insistently. “Why did you turn your father in?”

“I told you. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Shahara shook her head, unwilling to accept that. He was hiding something more, but it was obvious he didn’t trust her with it. And why should he? She hadn’t been exactly trustworthy where he was concerned.

So she changed the subject to something less volatile and to the only thing that could save her life. “Fine. Let’s assume you’re telling the truth about all this. Why didn’t the Merjacks kill you? If you’re the only person alive who knows what they did, why would they take the chance on you telling someone else your story?”

“Because they couldn’t find the chip. That’s the only reason they haven’t killed me . . . yet. After all, who’s going to believe me? A lying, sack-of-shit convict whose father’s memory can still make seasoned assassins piss in their pants?”

Confused, she tried to make sense of it. “I don’t understand. If you’re dead, why would it matter where it is?”

“Anyone could find it and expose them,” he said as if he were talking to a small child. “I’m actually surprised no one has found it yet. It would have been real easy to locate. We’re just lucky they haven’t.”

“Then why haven’t you gone back for it and exposed them for the murderers they are?”

“Because until you showed your pretty little neck in my home, they’ve mostly left me alone. I mean, sure they tried seriously to find me for a couple of years after I escaped prison, but I changed my name and they eventually went away. I was practicing the live-and-let-live social policy of survival.”

“But if they killed someone, how could you not—”

“Look,” he snarled, cutting her off. “Better him than me. Believe me, I’m sure Fretaugh had skeletons aplenty in his closet none of us know about and I don’t have your wonderful little sense of justice. That’s one luxury I’ve never been able to afford. The only law I answer to is the law of survival. And that law says for me to keep my ass as far from Ritadaria as I can.”

She clenched her teeth in frustration. She’d never understood people like him. People who could turn a blind eye to corruption, to crime.

If what he said was true, how could he just let criminals get away with . . .

Oh, he was a criminal. No wonder he lacked her morals. If he’d had them, he would never have done all the things he’d done. And that was something she’d have to come to terms with for the next few days until they located the chip.

“So where are we going?”

He opened one eye and pierced her with a glare from it. “You’re not about to let me rest, are you?”

“Well, I would like to know where it is I’m heading. Seeing as how I am a part of all this . . . now.”

“Fine,” he said in a voice as equally aggravated as hers. “First we need to get a ship to tel-ass out of here. Then we need to find some place to stay for a night until I can protect myself, and unfortunately you, from the bastards after us.”

“And then?”

“Then we go to Ritadaria and find that damned chip.”

She frowned in disbelief. “I thought you were practicing the live-and-let-live law of social survival stuff.”

“Yeah, well, screw it. I was never all that bright anyway.”

Damning himself for stupidity, Syn closed his eye and took as deep a breath as he dared. He ached from one throbbing molecule to the next and all he could think about was the betrayal that had caused each fierce blow.

She’d done this to him.

He’d been living a quiet life with only a few inconveniences as certain morons came after him. But no one had ever found his address before. He’d been very careful about it.

Until now.

Now he was once again a hunted animal with nowhere to call safe and no one to turn to. No one except the person who’d put him in danger.

Trust no one at your back unless you want them to bury a knife in it.

And he’d actually pulled her to safety with him. What the hell had he been thinking?

That Caillen would be upset if he let her get hurt. Of course, not nearly as upset as Syn would be if he died over it . . .

He must surely have brain damage.

Where had he picked up a conscience? And when? He’d always lived his life alone, without encumbrances.

No good deed goes unpunished—that was the one mantra he believed in above all others.

Now he was going to pay the price for his sudden tender heart because, no matter how much he might want to strangle Shahara, he knew he couldn’t let her go to prison for helping him.

Even if she did deserve to find out firsthand what it was like to live in hell. And no doubt when all of this was said and done, he’d be back in prison and she’d be free. It was just the way things went.

“Hello?” she said poking him once more in the side.

He stifled the urge to strike out. “What?”

“Why are we going to Ritadaria?”

Crossing his arms to protect his damaged ribs from her finger, he sank lower in his seat. “Maybe I’m tired of running. Maybe I’m still a fool for a pretty face. Ah, hell, maybe I’m just tired of living and I really don’t care if they do catch me anymore.”

Shahara sat back. What could one say to that? She certainly had no response.

Suddenly, the shuttle stopped. As the door swung open, she saw the small, city spaceport just a short distance away.

Stepping out onto the busy street, she glanced around at the various spacecraft docked in neat isolation channels that lined both sides of the port. All of the ships were small to medium in size with only a handful used for anything other than shuttles to larger crafts docked in a hangar that orbited the planet—large-bulk craft that weighed too much to ever be landed on a planet’s surface.

She frowned. “Why are we here?”

He sighed as he stopped by her side and looked at her as if she were dense. “I told you, we need a ship.”

“We have no money to buy passage.”

“Must you always get caught up in the details?”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. “Look, I’ve already broken more laws in the last two days than I’ve ever broken in my entire life. I’m not a criminal. I can’t do what you do.”

He sneered at her. “How nice for you. I’m so glad your precious morality was never compromised. Some of us weren’t so lucky.” He pulled his arm free of her grasp and gave her a look that froze her all the way to her toes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a ship to commandeer. Make sure you stay right by my side so that none of the cameras pick you up and transmit our location to our friends.”

He took a step away from her, then paused and turned around with an amused smile. “Or stay here and give the Rits my best, won’t you?”

Shahara growled low in her throat. She was going to kill this man. No doubt about it.

But first, she had to get away from the people who were tracking them and complete this godforsaken mission.

Trailing along after him, she crossed the bay. She couldn’t believe the open way he walked about, as if he were on honest business.

How could anyone be so sure of himself? Especially since he was about to steal a ship?

No wonder he never got caught.

He paused several times, looking at various ship markings, before he finally decided on one. He gave her a smug, taunting grin. “This one will do nicely, don’t you think?”

She clenched her teeth to prevent herself from speaking the lecture that blistered her tongue. He wouldn’t listen anyway. Why bother?

Besides, she admitted, it was a beautiful ship. Painted red and gold, it was of the largest of the rounded Fropane class. A freighter of renowned maneuverability and speed. Her brother had always dreamed of owning one. But they were for rich shippers. Not destitute pilots like Caillen who couldn’t even afford a place to live.

One of the bay’s attendants approached them. “May I help you, Frion?”

Syn inclined his head toward the ship. “Where’s her manifest and log?”

“They’re recording them now.”

“Has she been fueled?”

“Yes, sir. They did that first.”

“Good. Open her up.”

Without question, the man complied. Shahara frowned. It was that simple to steal ship?

Who knew?

Now that she thought about it, no one had ever questioned her when she’d docked her fighter here. Of course, no one in their right mind would ever want to take that rust heap.

Maybe it was just that Syn’s voice held such authority to it, his presence so much power, that no one dared to question his commands.

Still . . .

Like a graceful dancer, the hatch lowered. Automatically, the ramp extended itself for them. Thick, dark green carpet lined the walkway and Shahara fought the urge to take off her worn boots before she damaged the pristine fabric.

Syn took her elbow and led her up the ramp.

“Is there anything else you need, Frion?” the attendant asked.

Pausing, Syn looked back at him. “Yeah, tell Eamon there’s a shipment due in later tonight. He can take that flight or a passenger shuttle. Whatever he prefers. Just have him bill it to the account.”

“Yes, sir.”

Her jaw dropped. “You know the ship’s owner?”

He laughed coldly as he walked past her. “I am the ship’s owner. Eamon is just the captain assigned to her.”

Following him up the ramp, she had a strong urge to kick him. He’d been playing with her all this time? “What do you mean you own this ship?”

He pushed the controls to retract the ramp. “I own one hundred and six of them to be precise. Contrary to your information, I happen to be a shipper, not a thief.”

“You mean your flat and everything you own is—”

“Paid for by honest coin.” He started past her but she stopped him.

“I don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t. And that’s your problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a flight to plan. We have to get clearance before the Rits get smart enough to lock down this port. I can’t afford to shoot my way out of a port we use all the time for my real business.”