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She quickly realized that was preposterous, that she must still be drunk. The Gnat was no doubt aiming at her and simply missed in an especially “convenient” manner. How embarrassing.
Except now it wasn’t so convenient, because even though Tez wasn’t dead, she was heading in that direction on her collision course with the rocky husk of Arvex.
CHAPTER2
STAG
Her ship was losing chunks of metal as she fell below him. He was less than two miles off, getting pelted with her debris. Then her Raptor’s emergency atmospheric engines roared to life. He was already working on his, but he wasn’t prepared for the dying craft below, barreling down and spinning around and around, to startshootingat him from that position.
“Fucking bitch,” Stag swore under his breath as the Raptor’s laser cannons aligned with his ship mid-roll andshe fucking shot him. The attack pelleted his hull, and he returned fire. Neither of them could really control anything well enough to aim, but he felt a pang of satisfaction when he burned through her landing gear.
Stag had no idea what had come over him back there. But when Keeton popped in, a capability they were definitelynotsupposed to be revealing to the fucking company, and shot at her like a goddamn coward stabbing a knife through an opponent’s back, Stag felt an immediate pang of rage mixed with something even more fucked up—like possessiveness.
Hewas meant to destroy her. No one else. They’d been at it for months.
The others had started accusing him of losing sight of what was important for not letting them go in there and stage an ambush. They hounded him for going out there at all, considering if he died they’d all be fucked, sitting ducks on a ship they couldn’t control. But Stag refused to let the others go out there all alone. They’d just lost four pilots. Was he meant to just sit on his ass and do nothing? Fuck no, they needed revenge! And to get their last scans so they could finish the job and forget this goddamn station.
Reacting how he did to his opponent finally getting shot wasn’t part of the plan, though. Well, at least now he did destroy her. Fuck, he probably destroyed both of them.
He shouldn’t have shot down Keeton’s missile, but Keeton shouldn’t have shothim. They were both such idiots. Keeton had reacted instinctively, just like Stag had. He probably thought he was defending himself.
Fuck.
Stag watched her go down in a cloud of smoke, something twisting in his gut. He had no time to dwell on it, fighting for what little control the blaring and bleeding ship would give him. As he was trying to find a flat spot to guide the ship to crash on—because he already knew it wouldnotbe anything close to what could be called a landing—he glimpsed a chute in the corner of his eye. She’d ejected. Fuck, she was still alive. He was certainly disappointed, but also maybe just a little… proud?
This whole mission was fucking with his head.
His landing gear wouldn’t eject, but that was no surprise, so he hit the ground like a boulder, crashing and rolling along the chasm in which he landed. When the abused ship finally slid to a halt, Stag wasted no time: the first thing he checked was life support, and by some miracle it wasn’t damaged. 5.2 days of oxygen remaining. That should be enough time for the others to pick him up,exceptfor the fact that comms were nonoperational when he tried to open a link. Fuck…
Stag sat there for a few moments, strapped in and catching his breath. Taking stock.
No way would he get himself off the ground. Even if his ship were functional, it wasn’t a planetary cruiser. A Raptor weighed down by all the scanning gear he was packing could maybe manage it. His craft wouldn’t be able to overpower the gravitational pull of the planet.HerRaptor could, though. But he saw that thing go down. It was useless. Which reminded him… the pilot had ejected. Did she make it? How long did she have? Arvex had no breathable atmosphere, but the other conditions on the planet were survivable. At some point she’d freeze to death, but that would be long after she’d run out of oxygen.
Stag checked his own oxpack levels. It was already strapped to his back, ready to pipe through his helmet. Standard stuff. He was at thirty-two percent, giving him a bit under an hour.
He didn’t know why he was eventhinkingabout going out to get her. She was probably going to try to kill him. Shit, if her people detected that she were alive, they’d be way more likely to come down looking for her from the station, possibly killinghimin the process. And surely his crew would come get him.
But what if they didn’t? He had no way of contacting them. What if he needed another way to get off this fucking lifeless rock?
Yes. He had to find her, use her as a potential way out of here. As he unclasped his harness and went through the airlock out onto the planet surface, his curiosity mounted. After months of trying to destroy each other, Stag was going to see who exactly he was dealing with. That was good, because it would help dismantle this ridiculous image he’d built up of her in his head based on nothing but her voice and her flying. In real life, she wouldn’t be this mysterious, alluring badass hot on his heels. She’d be ugly, clumsy, and maybe dead.
Good.
* * *
She was pretty dead-looking when he found her sprawled on her stomach at the top of the crater. He was already out of breath, having had to climb the crater, but luckily once he was up there he spotted her about a mile away, signaling with her hi-vis orange flight suit.
Stag watched for signs of movement and saw none. Her oxpack might’ve gotten damaged, though they were pretty sturdy, being designed for situations just like this one. He picked up his pace, circling the edge of the crater to get to her position. He crouched on his heels a few steps away, grabbing the pistol from its holster and training it on the motionless body before him. She could be smart—judging by her flying, she probably was. For all he knew, she was just waiting for him to get within striking distance. Shit, she could be hiding her own pistol under her stomach, with the way her hand was twisted up under her body like that.
Stag chanced stepping closer. Her back was moving with slow breaths. Not dead. He nudged her side with his boot. Gently at first, then with a nice little kick. If she was faking, she was damn good at it.
“All right, let’s go,” he muttered, bending down to hoist the body over his shoulder. He glanced at the indicator on the oxpack as he did so—ten percent. Shit, she must have no more than ten minutes left in that thing. He was already exhausted from climbing the crater, and getting down did not seem any easier. At least she was a light load to carry. With all that flight gear, he was expecting for it to be a struggle, but the company must’ve engineered some more efficient shit since the last time he stole gear from them.
By the time he clambered down the crater, she had started to stir. And when he was at the airlock, she was kicking, punching, and kneeing him in whatever soft spot she could find. She made no sound as she did so—preserving what was left of her oxygen, no doubt.
Stag threw her to the ground with a grunt as she yanked on the edge of his helmet, trying to rip off the clasp.Little fucker.
He dragged her by one leg through the airlock, her back bouncing and scraping over the gray rocks and debris that lay scattered around the crash site. When they were finally in the internal compartment of his ship, Stag released his hold on her ankle, dropping her writhing body to the floor. He retreated to the other side of the small space and reached back for his pistol.
