Girl From Above #4: Trust by Pippa DaCosta Page A

proceed through fleet’s gate checks.”
    “There are c-codes, procedures. You can’t just f-fly through the gates.”
    “I know. That’s why you’re still alive.” I turned my attention to the bleeding crew. “Move to the back of the bridge, all of you. Tie yourselves up. I will be checking your ties. And believe me when I say I will not hesitate to kill the first person who attempts to stop me.”
    The captain blinked back at me.
    “Move!”
    He did. They all shuffled around, found some packaging wrap, and mutely tied their wrists until only the female guard was left. The hand I’d shot was a bloodied mess. Threat level: moderate.
    I tied her up myself and set her apart from the others.
    “I will see to your wounds once I have familiarized myself with these controls,” I said.
    She sat in silence, her military mind likely searching for means by which to overpower me.
    I returned to the captain’s chair, set the rifle aside, and sat behind the flight controls. Mimir’s atmosphere arched away beneath the vessel’s field of view. We had left the planet’s atmosphere and appeared locked on a course for the jumpgate.
    I glanced back at my prisoners. Only the woman was a possible threat; self-preservation had the others compliant.
    “What is your name?”
    She glared back with seasoned calmness. “Becka Jones.”
    Becka Jones would try to be a hero, and she’d die for her trouble. “Becka Jones, it is imperative that I get to Janus. If you do as I say, I will allow this crew to live. I do not want to kill anyone, but I can and will if necessary. Their fates are in your hands.”
    She nodded tightly.
    I faced the observation window and peered into the star-speckled black.
    Count the stars. A smile lifted my lips.
    I was going back to where it all began, and where it would come to an end.

Chapter Eleven: Caleb
    T here had been a picture pinned in my cabin on Starscream of me and my brother all trussed up in fleet whites on my selection day. It would have been blown to bits with the rest of Starscream. It didn’t matter though, because the same asshole in that picture was looking back at me from the mirror in my allocated Island cabin. Sure, he’d gained a few lines around his eyes, a tiny nick of a scar on his ear, and he’d filled out, but he still had that same don’t-give-a-shit look on his face, like the nine systems couldn’t touch him. In fleet, I’d believed it. Nothing could touch me back then. Now I wore that look to make fucking sure nothing did touch me.
    I tugged at the jacket and craned my neck to the side, loosening the collar. The stripes stitched into my arm confirmed the rank of lieutenant. I never believed I’d wear the whites again, even under false pretenses. The last day I’d dressed in white was the same day Haley had died.
    I dragged a hand across my chin and scratched at the few days’ worth of stubble—almost a beard by fleet standards. An officer would be clean-shaven. Fuck that shit. It was bad enough I had to wear the fucking uniform. Graham Creet would be turning in his grave.
    A few knocks rattled the cabin door. “Caleb-Joe?”
    Dammit. Bren.
    “The Candes’ warbird is flight-ready in hangar three,” Bren prattled on behind the door. “Francisca’s already aboard her raptor. You’ll need to couple-up out of atmosphere.”
    “You mean Commander Francisca Olga?” I said, raising my voice so he’d hear, while at the same time pondering the handsome bastard in the mirror.
    “She … she looks fetching in white.”
    I smiled at his hesitation. Fetching. My, my.
    He’d stayed away from Fran for the most part. That was probably wise. She was trouble. I couldn’t ever claim to be wise and trouble stuck to me like shit.
    “Tell me you did not call her fetching .”
    “She eloquently and imaginatively told me how I should go fuck myself.”
    I opened the door. I would not look at his face. No way. And if he said one thing about the uniform, I’d punch him.
    I