She made a show of studying the men, trying not to let Demarkus see how his nearness made her shoulders clench. “I would take the pistol for my armory,” she said. “Or sell it and use the money to benefit my whole crew.”
He chided her in a teasing tsk, tsk. “Spoken like a Solar League politician. I thought you’d have more imagination than that.”
“How will you decide?” she asked.
“Our law is clear in this case. They’ll compete for the pistol in a battle of my choosing.” Addressing the men, Demarkus announced, “Long staffs in the antigravity room. Last one conscious wins.”
The men bowed and each laid another coin on the table, then backed away.
Demarkus asked her, “You don’t know much about pirate law, do you?”
“Nothing at all,” she admitted.
“It favors the power of individuals over the group. So the fittest rise to the top, and the weakest die out. That’s how we differ from the Solar League. We maintain order, but not at the expense of our strength. When my chief grew weak, I challenged him for control. Now he works in the galley, and I rule the Brethren in this quadrant.”
“Only this quadrant?” she asked. “What about the others?”
“Each has its own chief, and we stay within our territory. It keeps things civil.”
“Civil,” she repeated. “Sounds kind of boring for pirates.”
“Perhaps, but at least our justice makes sense. Can you say the same for the Solar League?” He dragged a finger across her tattooed knuckles. “Among us, your markings are a badge of honor because they prove you’re not afraid to follow your own rules. You would do well here, earn riches most men will never lay eyes on.”
Not wanting to encourage him, she stayed silent.
Demarkus reached behind his neck and unclasped a gold choker that his tunic had concealed. He laid the necklace on the table so she could inspect its craftsmanship, hammered flat and polished to a high shine. She’d never seen real gold before, at least not this close-up, and her fingertip itched to touch it.
“Go ahead,” he said. “It won’t bite.”
She noticed a script of Latin engraved in the metal. “What does that say?”
“It’s one of our oldest tenets.”
Of course it was. For criminals, they sure had a lot of laws.
“Try it on,” he said with an encouraging nod.
“No, that’s all right.” She couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but something about this felt wrong. “I meant it when I said I’m not looking to join—”
“A bargain, then,” he interrupted. “If you put on that necklace and give me the pleasure of seeing you in it, I won’t ask you to take it off.”
She cast a sideways glance at him. “It’d be mine to keep?”
“For life.”
Part of her bristled at the offer, but a much larger part was already calculating how many years of rations it would buy. She brushed a thumb over the warm gold, more enticed than she wanted to admit. This necklace could be her ticket to a comfortable new life.
“All right,” she decided, and lifted the gold to her throat.
As soon as she fastened the clasp, a grin broke out on Demarkus’s face, so full of cunning that the hairs on her forearm stood on end. It was then that she noticed a second, identical choker around his neck.
“You wear it well, little bird,” he said, lips stretched wide over his teeth. “Welcome to the family.”
Twenty-nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds.
She should be here by now.
Doran stretched his spine and peered across the hangar for Solara, but the only sign of life was the pirate who’d delivered the propellant cell twenty minutes ago. The guy was bald and had a second pair of eyes tattooed on his dome, and at the moment, he was leaning against a metal door, sucking on a synthetic cigar. His biceps were bigger than his head.
Doran shifted in his seat. Maybe he should wait five more minutes.
But then he remembered the feel of Solara’s trembling hand, and he knew he’d already waited for her too long. If she was brave enough to barter with pirates, the least he could do was check on her. A few deep breaths later, he exited the shuttle and approached the guard, who he’d secretly nicknamed Four-Eyes.
“No refunds,” Four-Eyes said, the cigar bouncing between his lips.
Doran tucked both hands in his pockets and faked a yawn. “I’m here for Lara. She wandered off half an hour ago.”
The man shook his head. “She’s dining with the chief. You’ll have to—”
A riotous cheer from inside the ship interrupted him, so loud that the metal floor hummed beneath their boots. Four-Eyes touched an earpiece to communicate with someone out of sight, and then his mouth curved into a smile so wide he nearly dropped his cigar.
“Well, I’ll be a piss swiller,” the man said to himself. “The chief took a bride!”
“Just now?” Doran asked. He didn’t give a damn about the chief’s love life, but he sensed an opportunity to get inside the ship. “Then let’s go toast the poor bastard!” Behind his hand, he added, “There’s not enough ore on Mars to put a ring on my finger.”