Page 19 of A Sweet Destruction

As if he was remembering the same thing, Ford’s brows rose slightly at the swell of emotion, testing to see what I would do.

I just hoped he was simply remembering we’d decided that, rather than analyzing it.

Any more thought dedicated to the matter and he might realize that difficult meant something very different to him than it had to me.

Taking a healthy step away from him, I swept my eyes over the endless rows of inventory stored here, spanning further than the width and length of the barn.

Jewels, spices, spirits, fabrics, you name it. If it was present on one planet and absent on the other, it was valuable.

I ran my hand over a wooden box that, if memory served correctly, contained enough bottles of Deveraux whiskey to pay a general’s salary for two years.

That thought recentered my focus, realizing what I’d initially planned to focus on if I’d gotten caught. By Roger, not my endlessly infuriating Soul Mate.

Pushing past an uncomfortable flare of emotion I hadn’t felt in years, I said, “A row of old cabins on the edge of our camp were untouched by the attack. Should I consider that a coincidence?”

Old cabins they appeared, but they held all of the goods we smuggled over. Always careful of what eyes could be watching, we engaged in the song and dance of hiding goods in traditional methods—false bottoms, hidden compartments, the whole nine.

We even kept the same group of soldiers on duty to unpack, store, and move the goods.

From all appearances, we ran a very successful operation. No one needed to know that it was not at all a secret, and even something that was carefully crafted to facilitate spying.

Even then, information was few and far between. If there’s one thing Muli knew, it was loyalty. Despite all the relationships Ford and I had built over the years, no one slipped up when it came to critical information about Muli or their internal operations.

We had to believe those relationships would pay off one day. That started now, with Roger.

His eyes narrowed, just the slightest bit. “You’ve never shared where you keep your goods in your camp. Even if I wanted to tell, I couldn’t.” Roger paused, as if considering whether to take a risk. “As I understand it, you had a defector.”

Not an accusation, just fact.

I stayed silent, not trusting myself to answer with any sort of decorum.

“We did,” Ford said matter-of-factly. “And we thank you for reminding us that he had access to more information than he probably should have.”

At some point while he was speaking, I’d turned to look at him. I wasn’t sure when it happened, it was like I blinked and the next time my eyes opened, they were on him.

More troubling, my body reacted before my mind could catch up, pouring a potent wash of anger through my bones.

Not the defensive, tender anger that had been sitting on my shoulders all day. Possessive, protective anger.

The type of anger one felt when confronted with the person that betrayed their Soul Mate.

I had been friends with Carson, borne mostly out of circumstance. But he’d been one of Ford’s best. I didn’t want to think about the moment we’d discovered he’d defected, what I saw in Ford’s eyes.

That had been one of the few moments in the last five, numb years where I’d felt something break through. I could understand why, if the force of emotion currently holding me hostage was any indication.

I would go for blood if I ever got the chance again. The thought rang through my head with a primal, rumbling growl.

It wasn’t until Roger shot me an amused look that I realized that sound must have actually come out. His mouth curved up in a little tick of amusement. “Though I certainly do not appreciate any sort of violence, I must say it is rather entertaining to see you squirm. Your connection has always been subtle. Obvious, but subtle. It’s sweet seeing you like this.”

I blinked back at him dumbly.

A beat passed before Ford spoke again. “You understand that we have to ask whether you were warned.”

Roger nodded in agreement. Nearly every soldier who stepped foot in Roger’s bar knew who he was and what he could provide. Several of them were active members of his trade route back into the mainlands of Muli.

“Warned is a difficult word,” he said, stepping to the side to swipe a work-worn hand over a wooden crate, brushing off a wave of dust. “It’s been made clear to me for a while, back to when I’d first turned this place into a barn, that in the event of an offensive attack, I would be protected. I surmised that extended to my business as well.”

I opened my mouth, but Roger cut me off.