The guard ushered her inside with instructions to follow the passageway to the great hall at the center of the ship. She knew she was nearly there when the scents of rust and metal gave way to roasted meat and baking bread. Her stomach gurgled loud enough to be heard over the growing roar of voices, and she mashed a silencing hand over it. She couldn’t afford to show weakness here, not even hunger. But as it turned out, her appetite shriveled like a winter leaf once she reached the main hall.
The belly of the ship was madness.
Dozens of long tables dominated the space, their benches filled to the brim with bawdy crewmen. Their laughter, thick with drink, competed with shouts coming from a raised stage in the center of the room where a bare-knuckle fistfight was under way. One boxer strayed too close to the ring’s invisible ropes, and a jolt of electricity boomeranged him into his opponent’s waiting fist. The fighter’s head snapped back, and he collapsed to the tune of mingled cheers and groans. In the crowd, money exchanged hands and the victors rushed to the bordello booth to spend their spoils.
This was what she’d expected from pirates.
Another armed guard, this time a muscled woman with daggers tattooed across her collarbones, approached and asked, “Lara?”
Solara raised her chin. “Yes.”
“This way,” the woman said while turning into the crowd.
Doing her best to slow her breathing like Doran had taught her, Solara focused on the back of the woman’s head while following through the room and up the stairs to the stage. A private table stood opposite the boxing ring, and four men dined there, tearing hunks of meat from long rib bones. Solara identified their leader at once.
It was easy.
Authority draped over him as clearly as the bloodred sash on his tunic. His companions showed deference in the lowering of their heads, which wasn’t hard to do when he dwarfed everyone in the room. Demarkus was a mountain of a man, resting his ham-sized fists on the table as he scanned the crowd. There was a certain shrewdness in his gaze, one that warned he had brains as well as brawn. His face, framed by long, flowing locks of chestnut hair, had probably been handsome once. But now scars and lumps marred his skin, sun-leathered and stretched tight over his bones in a way that made it impossible to guess his age. His dark eyes landed on Solara and widened a fraction before sparking bright with interest.
“Lara,” he called while standing from his seat. He made a cutting hand gesture, and all the men at the table left without a word. Then he used that same hand to indicate the spot beside him and unleashed an unexpectedly charming smile.
Solara knew better than to underestimate him. She kept her lips in a flat line when she sat down. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m honored to share your table.”
“The honor is mine.” He lowered to his seat while studying her conviction codes. Much like his guards, he lifted an appreciative brow. “Grand theft and conspiracy, at such a young age?”
Tearing off a chunk of bread, she told him, “I take what I want.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Fair enough,” she said. “I forgot my surroundings.”
He delivered a long, silent look. “What did you steal?”
“Bullet tram parts,” she told him, seeing no reason to hide the truth. “To sell on the underground market.”
“You have mechanical training, then?”
She nodded. “It’s what I do.”
“A useful skill,” he mused. “I heard that you fixed the air-lock door. We’ve been wrestling with it for weeks.”
“It was nothing.”
“And clearly you’re a fighter, too.” Using an index finger, he traced the outline of her cheekbone. “Who provoked you, little bird?”
She pulled away and met his eyes. “The last man who touched my face without permission.”
Demarkus laughed in a rolling chortle that might have warmed her heart if he hadn’t trapped her on a ship full of convicts. “I like your fire,” he said. “There’s no reason to fear unwanted attention from me. There are plenty of women on board who do give me their permission.” He speared a hunk of meat with his knife and lifted it for show. “You should know that I take care of my own. Plenty of food, a fair share of the spoils, a private bunk. If you swear fealty to me, you could lead your own team in five years’ time.”
“I’m not looking to join a crew,” she told him.
“What if I sweeten the deal?”
“It wouldn’t make a difference.”
“A signing bonus?”
She shook her head.
“But I need a mechanic,” he said. “Is there nothing I can say to convince you?”
“Your offer is flattering, but I’m happy where I am.”
“A pity.” He took a bite and muttered, “The loss is mine.”
They ate in silence for a while, until two young men approached the table and asked Demarkus to settle a property dispute. The pair testified that their dead roommate had promised both of them his laser pistol, but he’d left no written will. They each laid a coin on the table and asked their chief to declare a challenge, whatever that meant.
Demarkus leaned close to murmur in Solara’s ear. “What do you think, little bird? If you were chief, how would you decide?”