Incursion Read Online Free PDF Page B

himself against the bunk above him. "That was a fucking brutal launch."
    Winter nodded. "Like he just robbed a bank." She glared toward the door. "I'll have a word with him."
    Kyle would have killed to see the big gray gal go toe-to-toe with a Tamenean warrior . But sneaking in after them would look weird, considering he was just a tolerated passenger with no personal stakes.
    He shifted his weight closer to the edge of his mattress, and glanced up to the bunks opposite him. The mercenary couple was already sitting on the same bunk, whispering to each other. One of them glanced over at him, wearing a lazy, relaxed smile that bore the aftertaste of a mellow shag and good-hearted happiness. Kyle envied him—actually them both. They looked so comfortable with each other, like they existed in their own bubble where nothing, not even a thruster-scorching launch, rattled them for long.
    "Hey, you."
    Kyle looked at the taller of the two. "Yeah?"
    "What's your name?"
    "Kyle."
    "I'm Jay, and this is Petros." The taller, Jay, put a hand on his lover's shoulder. "You from Tamene?"
    "Yes, south continent. Where Grimm's from."
    Petros smiled. "Looks like you'll fit right in."
    Flirtation? Or a somewhat awkward welcome? Kyle decided to smile back. "I wouldn't mind working for the fare, but Grimm's robbed me blind."
    "You're a Spacer," Jay observed.
    "Ex-Spacer. Got it in one."
    "You fight?"
    "Not anymore. Unless there's some martial art I can adapt to incorporate my new range of movement." Kyle stood and tapped at the prosthesis that moved his legs for him.
    Petros also stood, regarding him with one long, measuring glance that lingered at his hip area. Was he looking at his metal bits or checking out his dick? Petros seemed to have a fair package on him; not that it was easy to tell in the jumpsuits. And not that it mattered, with his lover sitting within reach and watching closely.
    Something about Grimm had reawakened Kyle's long-dormant desires, reminding him of all he'd lost. It was as if that odd touch, that tempting promise, had ripped a scab off his soul.
    "Balance is going to be a challenge," Petros said, snapping Kyle from his thoughts.
    "Yes. And acceleration." And fine-tuning, and the fact that he felt absolutely nothing. Which would be a problem if he used his feet and knees to hit a human body—those had bones, and hence were much less of a "soft" target than his strategy instructor had drilled him to believe. He wouldn't feel the damage he might do to himself if he used his legs to fight. And another thing kept him from fighting: the fear that he could mess up his spine worse than it already was.
    Petros rubbed his chin. "There are some things you can do. Holds and throws that don't require you to move much. I could show you."
    Jay laughed. "Only if I can watch."
    This was getting too personal too fast. Kyle lifted his hands. "I'm no fun, I promise."
    If the merc's interest went any further, he still had the option of letting him down gently. And then not so gently if he insisted. Nothing he couldn't deal with—especially as somebody who'd apparently been incarcerated. He glanced around for something to help him change the topic, but the sparse room didn't yield anything conspicuous.
    Winter came back just as the silence dragged on for too long. "Kyle, Grimm wants to see you."
    "What shape is he in?"
    Winter hesitated, then grinned broadly. "I didn't hit him or anything. Just told him next time he launches like that without an emergency, I'll have his balls."
    "And what did he say?"
    "Said it was an emergency." Winter snorted. "Go see him."
    Kyle stalked off, but didn't hurry. His senses had mellowed in the post-adrenaline haze, but he still kept both eyes open for unaccounted-for spaces on the ship. He'd hoped somebody would have let something slip about a passenger, but so far, nothing. Maybe they were too professional for that. Or maybe the Commissar had it all wrong and these people weren't actually harboring a fugitive