Starflight (Starflight, #1)(19)
He blinked and saw the girl’s face, so stunningly gorgeous that she barely passed for a mortal. A sheet of sleek bubble-gum tresses fell just above the swell of her flawless breasts, and the rest of her was pretty impressive, too. He recalled that she’d even made elevator rides enjoyable, no easy task for a claustrophobic like himself.
“I think I have a girlfriend,” he said, grinning. “She has pink hair.”
Lara snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I met her. Pink hair and a black soul. You really know how to pick ’em.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” he told her, “coming from a felon.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, several things happened at once.
Lara whipped around to face him, jerking her hair from his grasp.
Their eyes widened and locked.
And Doran remembered everything.
It was like he’d yanked a veil from his face, and now free, he saw his past with perfect clarity. He was Doran Michael Spaulding, from Houston, Texas—the original Texas, not the terraformed knockoff in Sector Two. He’d had a brother once, a twin who shared his face. But that boy had died in a ball of flames, and Doran still had nightmares about it. His parents were Richard Spaulding and Elizabeth Kress-Spaulding, record holders for the world’s most bitter divorce. His dad owned Spaulding Fuel, and his mom had moved off world when she’d decided that her second-favorite child wasn’t worth raising. Doran still hated her for that, but not half as much as he missed her. He recalled that chocolate made him break out in hives, and his favorite food was fried green beans.
Most important, he was not anyone’s servant.
He grabbed the wall and used it to propel himself backward, away from Solara—her real name—until he was outside the tiny compartment. The distance was more for her protection than his. Rage boiled his blood, and there wasn’t a word vile enough to describe what he wanted to do to her.
“Doran,” she whispered. “Hear me out.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Before she could advance on him, he slammed the door shut and trapped her inside. “Ever again.”
She slapped her palms on the door, piercing his ears with the clank of metal. “I had no choice,” she shouted, loud enough for him to hear on the other side. “You were going to leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere!”
“What did you do to me?” he demanded. “Hit me on the head? Drug my food?”
She waited a few beats before admitting, “It was a handheld stunner.”
Neuro-inhibitors. That explained a lot.
He shook his head in disgust, recalling the way she’d offered her hand to him after their argument on the Zenith. He’d actually felt too guilty to accept it, and now look. She’d trussed him up in workmen’s coveralls and plundered his credit account. His first instincts had been right. Once a felon, always a felon.
“Kidnapping is low,” he yelled. “Even for you.”
Her fists pounded twice against the door. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Save your breath.” He glanced around the room for a way to wedge the door shut. “I know who I am, and soon the captain will, too.”
“Wait, no!”
If he could just find a crowbar to shove through the door handle…
“Doran, listen to me,” she shouted. “You don’t want to tell the crew who you are.”
He grabbed a floating bungee cord and used it to tether the door handle to a nearby hook in the wall. The tension wasn’t as strong as he’d like, but it should hold long enough for him to alert the captain.
“Remember the buzzing last night?” she went on. “That wasn’t the engine. It was a warning blast from the Enforcers. This crew is running from the law.” When he turned and prepared to launch himself toward the stairs, she added, “These are the kind of people who might ransom you.”
Her warning stopped him cold in his tracks.
He reached out a hand to steady himself against the door, and then he wasn’t in the ship’s engine room anymore. For a sliver of a second, he was locked inside a dark closet. The air smelled musty and metallic, like mold and blood, and there wasn’t enough of it in the tiny space. He panted for oxygen and choked on acrid smoke while the echo of his brother’s screams filled his head.
Doran gritted his teeth and told himself it wasn’t real.
That closet doesn’t exist anymore. It burned to the ground.
He opened his eyes and cemented himself in reality. He was safe.
“You’re just saying that to save yourself,” he yelled. He couldn’t stop his voice from cracking.
“I can prove it.” She must’ve pressed her lips to the door because she sounded close enough to stun him again. “They pulled the ship’s tracker. If you don’t believe me, go to the bridge and check. The port will be empty.”
Doran rubbed his forehead and considered his options. He knew that criminals disabled their trackers, but that didn’t mean Solara was telling the truth. He needed to check—alone. He set off through the hallways and stairwells, flinching every time his weightless body thumped against the wall. Waking the crew was a bad idea, at least until he knew he could trust them. When he reached the top level, he gingerly slid aside the pilothouse door and shielded his face from the starlight streaming through the front window.