Page 17 of Radiant Exception
The corner of Jordan’s mouth quirked in a rare smile. “Maybe this will be good for you, Cap. You could benefit from loosening up a little—let me be the hard-ass. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to find a little bit of happiness.”
The sincerity in her tone gutted me. Jordan was seldom sentimental. But her goodwill was wasted on me and this awful lie I would have to perpetuate for months. I’d be lucky if I had any crew left after they discovered my deceit, and even then, would whoever was left ever trust me again after faking a goddamned exception?
I’m not sure who was avoiding who more, but I’d seen neither hide nor hair of Vaughn in the first few days of our voyage.
Funnier still, with how tidy he kept our now shared room, if I didn’t know he was staying there, I would’ve found no evidence of our cohabitation. The instigator in me wanted to leave a mess, just so I could see if he’d clean it up or berate me for leaving it disheveled.
Would his face pinch into that angry scowl, causing his muscles to clench in response, showcasing the veins hiding beneath the patchwork of ink covering his skin?
Would he shove me up against the wall like he had the first time we’d met, pressing his body against mine, demonstrating that I was no match compared to his physical prowess, asserting his dominance over me to make sure I got the message this time?
What would he do if I kissed him again? Would I feel his arousal through his jumpsuit like before? Would his lips melt into mine, immediately surrendering to the tension simmering just beneath the surface of his calm facade? Would he like it?
I shook my head.
Fantasizing about Vaughn would only lead to disappointment. He’d made it painfully clear by his absence how disinterested he was in having anything to do with me.
His loss.
The fact that he still refused to take my comm calls was also his loss, as he was running his beautiful ship into the ground, and seemingly cutting off his nose to spite his face, by not wanting to have a proper discussion with me about resource management.
I knew this was Starlane’s typical MO. They were the major freight carrier in the system, and either you worked directly for them in one of their shitbox machines and prayed life support systems stayed online, or you became their indentured servant through a ship mortgage and freelanced for them to pay off the debt.
The problem with the latter, as evidenced by their mandated schedules, was that they ran the freelance ships so hard, they broke down well before they should have, requiring expensive repairs, putting freelancers in even more debt.
But Starlane didn’t own the ships, so they weren’t responsible; they just continued to undercut all other transportation options to run them out of business. Who can compete with lower rates and faster routes?
Unfortunately, the system was a capitalist hellscape long before Starlane existed and would continue to be long after.
It was easy to see why Vaughn was so motivated to cash in the bounty on the Phoenix, so he could be one of few to pay off his ship and actually work for himself—if he could manage to scrounge up the business, that was. And not only had I thrown a wrench in theworks because of my mere existence, but also because he assumed I’d want an equal split on the bounty, which wouldn’t cover his ship debt.
I’d be pissed if I was him too. I was just smart enough to see that this could be an opportunity. But he hadn’t wanted to hear me out, so none of it mattered anyway.
Despite my isolation, I tried to observe the crew in between coding system optimizations to avoid the ship completely breaking down. And Natalie, bless her heart, was an absolute wealth of knowledge and loved to share everything she knew about her friends on theRadiant. Unfortunately, most of what she had shared so far was through the lens of astrological signs, which I could appreciate, but you know, I couldn’t exactly take those notes as gospel.
But today…today I wanted to learn more about Vaughn, and I had set the perfect trap.
Through our frequent comm chats, I’d noticed that Natalie had a specific routine, and part of that routine was her making herself a ridiculously sugary caffeinated beverage halfway through her shift, to get her through the remainder of it. This required her to go to the mess hall, where I was waiting for her.
And right on cue, she walked in and immediately her face softened when she saw me with my head buried in my arms, resting on the table in front of me.
“Lark?” Her voice wavered. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Taking advantage of the goodwill of people like Natalie never got easier, but I just had to remind myself that this was part of themission and that if she knew everything and what was at stake, she would certainly understand.
“Nothing.” I sniffled. “Just having an off day.”
“What did he do?” Her brows lowered with her voice.
I shook my head. “Nothing…that’s the problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We’re on opposite shifts, I haven’t seen him in three days. I’m worried he thinks getting an exception was a mistake.”
“No.” Natalie plopped down next to me, wrapping a warm arm around my waist and tugging me closer. “Don’t say that. I’ve seen how he looks at you. I promise he doesn’t regret it.”
“How does he look at me?” I peered over my shoulder at the young woman.
