Grace Goodwin - The Rebel and the Rogue

The Rebel and the Rogue

Copyright © 2020 by Grace Goodwin

Interstellar Brides® is a registered trademark

of KSA Publishing Consultants Inc.

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electrical, digital or mechanical including but not limited to photocopying, recording, scanning or by any type of data storage and retrieval system without express, written permission from the author.

Published by KSA Publishers

Goodwin, Grace

Cover design copyright 2020 by Grace Goodwin

Images/Photo Credit: Deposit Photos: luislouro, Angela_Harburn

Publisher’s Note:

This book was written for an adult audience. The book may contain explicit sexual content. Sexual activities included in this book are strictly fantasies intended for adults and any activities or risks taken by fictional characters within the story are neither endorsed nor encouraged by the author or publisher.

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

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Ivy Birkeland, Transport Station Zenith, Canteen

Leaning back in the chair I had tucked into the corner of the dark room, I scanned the area for threats. I ignored the large males minding their own business at the bar, although one in particular caught my attention. I wasn’t here for that kind of meeting, but he was a sexy mountain of muscle and I was a red-blooded woman who knew what she liked. The hottie was Atlan sized, he made my usual issue of being too big obsolete.

The supersized aliens didn’t mind my six-foot frame. In fact I’d had my share of offers over my four years in the Coalition Fleet. The job, though, had always come first. Discharged from service, I now had a different reason for being out here in space. A personal mission to bring a Cerberus asshole by the name of Gerian Eozara to justice.

A quest for justice that I could not walk away from or deny, not without dishonoring my dead friends, dishonoring their sacrifice. Their memory. Their service.

Tears threatened and I blinked them away with a fury I rarely allowed myself to feel. Cerberus Legion was responsible for the Quell being sold in my sector of space. Quell was the reason I’d ended up crawling through the mud on Xerima, my friends dead, my body broken. When the Coalition Fleet’s Intelligence Core had announced the bounty to catch the one who was responsible, I’d jumped at the chance to bring Gerian in, dead or alive. But a quick death wasn’t enough for the Quell dealer and his cohorts. Torture would be better for him… and any other Cerberus scum I ran into.

Forcing myself to forget the past for a few moments, I enjoyed the vision of the big guy’s tight ass and massive shoulders—I might be focused on my mission, but I was female. And his armband was green. Astra green.

This is not the alien you are looking for.

The mental play on Star Wars dialogue made me grin. Back under control, I looked around again. It grew later, the canteen slowly filling up with people in search of food or drink, of a semblance of normalcy in a place where nothing and no one was normal, at least not to me. More than a dozen conversations rolled through my mind in half as many languages.

Prillon.

Atlan.

English…

Turning my head to the right, I saw a handful of fresh, young, human recruits slamming shots of S-Gen whiskey like they’d just seen their first contaminated Hive soldier. Judging by the way their hands shook and the brittle natures of their false smiles, they’d probably just realized exactly what would happen to them if they were captured by the enemy. I’d slammed down half a bottle of space-made tequila after my first mission. My captain at the time, a no-nonsense military man from Italy, had let us all drown our sorrows in drink, carry each other off to bed and sleep it off.

The next day we’d all pretended nothing had happened, but the truth had been obvious. Scary as hell. No one in my ReCon unit—in all of the Coalition—wanted to be caught by the Hive. We’d rather die.

Careful what you wished for, Ivy. My mother’s superstitious warnings echoed through my memories, and I rubbed the thick scar that ran from the base of my skull, down the back of my neck. Lower. Careful indeed. There had been many nights the last six months I would have rather been dead. Like the rest of my friends in my unit. Dead. Gone. Oblivious.

I grimaced at the bleak thought and swirled the dark gold tequila around inside the glass with my free hand. A full bottle rested on the table in front of me, but I hadn’t touched it. Not one sip. It was a prop only, used to blend in. I needed my wits about me. This wasn’t the place to stand out. Here, being noticed was dangerous.

Not for the first time I wondered what I was doing out here on the fringe of Sector 437, at this transport station, where criminals, spies and species from every planet interacted under the strict rules of the Coalition’s Intelligence Core.

The rules were simple. No fighting. No killing. No violence allowed within the walls of Transport Station Zenith. Those who disobeyed were executed without question—if they were caught. Their goods confiscated. Their ships, too. Breaking the rules was rare, and those who did so were usually desperate and very, very sneaky. Or they wanted to die.

Since the transport station was within Battleship Karter’s sector, barely, it was under Coalition control, which made it just safe enough to conduct business and just wild enough to keep respectable people clear. Or around for a purpose, like mine.