Gale Force

76

Okura held the pistol level at the young woman’s forehead, trying to keep his hand from shaking.

“Get back,” he said, his voice ragged from days of silence, trembling from the fear and the sudden adrenaline rush. “No sudden movements.”

He’d been asleep in the sick bay, nothing better to do, when he’d heard footsteps approaching. Held his breath and waited, hoped the cabinet he’d lodged against the door would deter any visitors. Prayed whoever was out there would leave him alone.

But she hadn’t. As soon as Okura heard the door turn, he knew in his heart he was made. He’d muttered a silent curse, and reached for the pistol.

And of course, the woman—the salvage master—had felt the cabinet blocking the door and must have known what it signified. Okura had waited as she’d labored to move the cabinet, fighting his racing pulse and the nervous thrill that came with the knowledge that, yes, now he would have to shoot someone.

The cabinet fell. The door swung open, and the woman was there. And Okura was ready for her, ready, at last, for action.

EXCEPT HE’D MADE A MISTAKE, another one. As the young woman backed away from the pistol, Okura looked into her eyes and knew he should have pulled the trigger sooner, shot her as soon as he’d seen her, and finished the deed quickly, instead of letting the woman live long enough to show her face.

She was indeed young. Her face was pale, her eyes wide. She was scared, but there was something else, too, something like resignation—or disgust.

Okura motioned with the pistol, back, out of the infirmary and into the hall, buying himself time. Nearly tripped on the fallen cabinet and lost his balance, almost squeezed the trigger prematurely. The woman’s eyes got wider, like she’d seen it coming. Like she’d expected to be dead already.

Killing Tomio Ishimaru had been easy. The man was yakuza, a criminal, a killer himself—and he’d been half dead, anyway. Killing him had been no harder than killing an ant. A mosquito.

“Please,” the woman said. She held up her hands, backed away from him slowly. “Whatever you’re planning to do, think it over. I’m sure there’s a way we can get ourselves out of this.”

“Silence.” Okura followed her into the corridor. Motioned forward, toward the cargo stairs. He would have to kill her in the hold; the sound of the gun would be too noticeable here. Okura prodded the woman, pushed her toward the stairs.

He would have to kill this woman. Then he would need to escape. With luck, her mates wouldn’t discover her for hours.

“You don’t have to do this,” the woman said. “Whatever you’re doing here, it’s not worth killing me for, I promise. This isn’t the only way out.”

Fifty million dollars, Okura thought.

He held the gun steady. “I’m sorry,” he told the woman. “This is the only way.”