She wrenched her gaze from his groin and forced her eyes to his.
Drakkal’s grin had only widened—fully baring his sexy fangs—by the time he reached the empty chair across from her and sat down. His expression saidI know what you’re thinking, Shay. I cansmellit.
“I run a forgery operation with my partner,” he said. “I handle security and logistics; he does the forging.”
“Forging what?”
“Identification chips. He’s very thorough. We haven’t had a single chip flagged by the Consortium as fake. Which is surprising, given how often he has his head up his own ass.”
Shay arched a brow. The mirth with which Drakkal had spoken told her there really wasn’t any bad blood between him and his partner. “That’s it? You make fake IDs?”
“Yeah, that’s it as far as our day-to-day.” He tilted his head and folded his big arms across his chest. The stance would’ve seemed standoffish on most people, but Drakkal gave it a casualness that should’ve been impossible given his size and appearance. “We’ve had to break a few other laws from time to time. It’s inevitable. But the ID chips are our only criminal enterprise.”
“So…no drugs, sex trafficking, or contract killing?”
Drakkal shook his head. “Never killed anyone for money.”
“But you do kill people.”
“I have. Probably will have to again.”
“Did they deserve it?”
“Some of them did.”
Shay frowned. “And the others?”
Separating his arms, Drakkal leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. The move strengthened the shadows on his face just enough to create a faint, reflected glow in his eyes. “Depends on who you ask.”
Shay lifted her arms from her lap and folded them on the table. “I’m asking you.”
“Some of them didn’t. Some of them were…almost friends. But the rest either threatened me or the people I cared about, so it doesn’t matter to me whether they deserved it or not.”
She nodded. “And the rest? The drugs and sex trafficking.”
“No and fuck no.”
The vehemence in his words and the disgust in his voice made Shay’s lips twitch upward, but more than anything, it relieved her.
“And what are you offering me?” she asked.
His eyes dipped to take her in, and his tongue slipped out from between his dark lips for an instant. He parted those lips as though to speak but hesitated before finally saying, “Work. I don’t know what you used to do, but you can clearly handle yourself.”
“Not as easily as I used to,” she said, dropping a hand to pat her belly. “My dad was in the military, and he taught me some tricks when I was a kid.”More than a few tricks. He taught meeverything.“There was a time in my life when I was…making bad decisions. I ended up in the middle of a lot of shit, and those skills kept me alive through all of it. But I don’t want that kind of life anymore. I don’t want that for my baby. It’s too dangerous, and I’m trying to do things the right way.”
“What I’m offering is less dangerous than your life now,” Drakkal said with surprising gentleness. “I know you don’t need to be reminded, but where are you now? Alone with limited funds in a shitty building in a rough sector. No ID chip. A cub on the way. I met your landlord. He’ll sell you out at the first opportunity—that’s how I found your apartment yesterday. And places like this are lucrative for bounty hunters who earn their livings by bringing in illegals. It’s only a matter of time before one of them comes for you, or before one of your neighbors decides they want a taste of terran.
“My crew isn’t like that. We trust each other, we protect each other. We’re a family. I know how that sounds?—”
“Yeah, it sounds like what every gang leader says before he puts a bullet in someone’s head.”
“But it’snotlike that, Shay.” He shifted his hands toward her, one metal, one flesh, and turned his palms up. “Most of my people are former military…or were slaves who won their freedom however they had to. We all understand what it means to be betrayed, and we’re not the kind who’d do it to one another.”
Shay stared at his hands. His left hand was sleek black metal with glowing red highlights, its segmented pieces similar in shape and proportion to his flesh and blood hand. This wasn’t the armored limb he’d been wearing when he chased her on Orcus Street. His right hand was the rough, strong hand of a seasoned fighter, its relatively dark, calloused skin crossed by a few pale scars. His three fingers and thumb were thick and powerful, each tipped with a long, hooked claw that should’ve instilled fear in her. He didn’t need weapons to kill; hewasa weapon. But his hands were inviting, nonetheless.
She clamped her fingers around her forearms to keep from placing her hands in his.
“I’ll give you a spot on my security team,” he said. “Mostly they just sit around and play Conquerors or watch sappy Volturian dramas. The pay is good, and room and board are included. I’ll even buy you lunch every now and then. And I promise you, Shay?—”