Hunting Faith (The Hunting Series Book 1) Read online

  Hunting Faith

  Tracy Lauren

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Excerpt from HUNTING PURITY

  © 2019 Tracy Lauren

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by U.S. copyright law.

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  Chapter 1

  Faith

  I casually eye the guard passing my cell as I recline on a hard bunk. The guy’s got guns but no key cards, so I let him continue on without a word. He doesn’t hesitate to leer at me, though, and I keep my expression blank, not wanting to incite an interaction with the male. Luckily, he doesn’t slow his pace.

  For some reason they’ve put me in a fairly isolated area of the barge, which is odd. Most prisoners are housed in barrack-like environments, not private cells. Not that my cell is luxurious in any way. No, it’s so small I can touch every wall when I stand in the center, and the barred front offers me no true privacy. The only amenities include a small toilet and water spout…which, I suppose, are luxuries compared to some of the other places I’ve been.

  I know there are more prisoners in this section of the prison barge. I saw some briefly when I was brought here. Though I have no vantage point to see anyone now, other than the slow but steady flow of passing guards. I wonder if I’m near a guard station or something, because it seems they all have business somewhere along this narrow and isolated corridor.

  Time drags on with nothing to do but plot my escape and eventually my patience is rewarded when the next guard approaches. I pop up from my resting place and he stops at my sudden movement, staring at me from the opposite side of the bars. I don’t recognize his species, but the ring of key cards on his hip is plenty recognizable.

  “Hi,” I tell him with a slow smile. When I see him look from side to side, ensuring we are alone, my smile broadens. Flirtation, a woman could rule the universe with this one simple tool. It’s my go-to a good 80% of the time. The other 20% is equal parts kicking ass and running for my life.

  “Greetings,” the guard says cautiously. He’s slightly smaller than me in height, but with a stockier build. His skin is sallow and he’s got short wiry strands of hair covering his scalp and fat little teeth in a too wide mouth. Whatever he is, he sounds young and naïve. “I’ve never seen a prisoner that looks like you before,” he notes with awe in his voice.

  “Have you seen many prisoners?” I ask coyly. I imagine his father must have gotten him this job and suspect he hasn’t been at it long. I mean, his uniform is still stiff, I note absently. That’s when I notice he doesn’t have a gun. I bite back a frown. Still, this might just have to do.

  “What did you do to end up in a place like this, female?” he questions, avoiding my question with the alien version of a blush appearing across his pale, young cheeks.

  I sidle up to the bars, peering at him through my lashes. “Oh, lots and lots of very naughty things,” I assure the young man in my most seductive voice. The blush on his cheeks rises. “Can I ask something of you…”

  “Flennin,” the guard supplies.

  “Flennin, I like that name,” I say, warming my expression. “Do you mind, if I could ask just one thing?”

  “What’s that?” he asks, nearing the bars so we are that much closer to one another.

  “Why have I been placed in this solitary cell? From what I know, most prisoners are housed in the barracks.”

  “There’s supposed to be a transfer soon, everyone in this section is going to be moved to a small transport ship,” he explains.

  “Do you know why?” I question.

  “No, I guess it might have something to do with sentencing. Sorry,” he offers after a moment, looking apologetic. I can tell he feels bad for me, it’s like he thinks that because I’m a pretty girl I couldn’t possibly have done anything truly criminal. It’s a mistake lots of people make.

  I make doe eyes at him, letting them get a little watery as I do. Crocodile tears, as my grandpa used to call them. Flennin looks from side to side again and leans a little closer to my cell, placing himself within easy reach.

  “I did hear one interesting thing about the transfer though,” he says, trying to make conversation either to ease my trouble or simply because he likes talking to pretty girls. Either way, I benefit. “It’s actually happening on Nydor Station,” he tells me as if that information holds some kind of meaning.

  “What’s on Nydor Station?”

  Suddenly, my talkative guard blushes again and has trouble meeting my gaze. “It’s a, um…it’s a brothel station,” he answers, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. The poor guy was just trying to make conversation and didn’t think through the course of it first. Now he’s embarrassed himself by bringing up such a lewd subject in front of a female. I bite back a smile. He’s a sweet kid, really. “The other guards were talking about it. It’s just something I overheard.” He shrugs.

  “Well, I think it’s very interesting.”

  “Do you?” he asks, clearly surprised.

  “I do.” I smile. “Do you know what else I think is interesting?”

  “What’s that?” he asks, returning my smile.

  I lean a little closer to the bars, as if I am going to share a dirty secret with the young guard and he mirrors my movement.

  That’s when my hands shoot through the bars. I grab Flennin by the stiff collar of his uniform and yank him hard against the cell door. It stuns him, and I wretch him back only to bring him into the bars once more. This time his eyes roll back in his head and his body goes limp. Quickly, I lower him to the floor, working to keep his body close enough to my cell to snag his key cards.

  I twist them from his belt and reach my arm as far as it will go to the right of my cell, feeling for the access panel. I swipe it wildly a few times before I hear it beep and the lock snaps out of place.

  Now I have to act fast. If I do this right I can slip off the barge on Nydor and hide myself among the crowd. If I’m caught before then, who knows what my fate will be. A beating? Some form of torture? Death? Still, trying for an escape is worth the risk. I have a feeling that if I end up wherever this barge is taking me for my sentencing it’ll be inescapable. This might be my last chance.

  My cell door slides open and I drag the guard inside with me, grabbing his arm so I can utilize his personal comm. I deftly type a few commands into the unit, looking for something specific on the ship’s schematics. A mechanic hired me on once to help him with repairs on a barge similar to this one. It was a cargo barge, but the inner workings are similar…and bingo. I got it. It’s such a nuanced little access panel, most people on a ship don’t even know what it’s for and the size of it doesn’t allow for many to fit inside. But,
as a human, I’m just the right fit. From within the access panel, I can make my way to a maintenance area in the bowels of the ship and once we dock I’ll be able to escape this place once and for all. Armed with knowledge and fierce determination, I work to hoist the guard up into my bed before hastily tossing my thin blanket over him.

  Quietly, I pull my cell door shut and make my way down the corridor. I move slowly, cautiously, listening for the sound of approaching boots. But more than that, I move confidently. I’ve been out here a long time, all alone, playing this game, running from the villains. It’s a hard life that’s taken much from me, but I’m determined to do anything it takes to survive.

  Chapter 2

  Rylan Graz Bregen

  As the docking platform’s auto-locks engage, I methodically begin to power down the systems on my ship. Though I’m already en route to The Hunt, I still have to stop to perform this one extra job. Every cred matters for my family and if I don’t take home one of the winning purses, it’ll matter that much more.

  Even with that pressure weighing on me, my heart is light as I grab my supply bag and sling it over my shoulder. I refuse to let any of these paltry worries get me down. No, not when my luck is finally looking up. Besides, I have been a hunter my entire life. There is no game I cannot kill. Instead, I try to focus on what will come after: an end to this dark time for my sisters and me.

  Life has been difficult ever since our parents perished in a ground vessel accident two seasons ago. In addition to the insurmountable grief I was left with, my mother and father’s unexpected passing also bequeathed me the responsibility of securing my sisters’ futures. Though I am the youngest of my parent’s offspring, I am their only son and as such, the duty to see them each married off falls to me.

  My sisters are true beauties and our family is a respected one amongst my people. Still, without dowries or status, there won’t be a single proposal for any of them. It is enough to make me rage whenever I allow myself to dwell on that harsh and unfair reality too deeply.

  Three generations ago my sisters and I wouldn’t have had this problem. Three generations ago, my people, the Aragrandani, had yet to be “absorbed” by The Conglomerate—The Conglomerate being an amalgam of alien species who “rule” our region of the galaxy. Interestingly enough, my people never actually had a say in joining with them.

  At the time, we had only just begun to travel beyond the reaches of our solar system and had yet to make first contact with another sentient race. When the Hradun found us, The Conglomerate decided to “welcome” us into their ranks. There were stark differences between my people and these other beings. As advanced as we were, Conglomerate technology was still far superior to that of the Aragrandani. So, we got placed, unofficially of course, at the bottom of an implied caste system. This system is ruled solely by status and race, leaving little or no room to move up in society.

  To be fair, I suppose our technological disparity wasn’t the only factor that contributed to our status. The sheer size of my people was likely another—even our females tower over both the Hradun and Itharene. For the sake of our size alone we have always been considered barbaric in appearance by the other members of the Conglomerate. Not to mention the fact that they view our way of life as primitive. I scoff at the thought. My people are simply better at living in harmony with all that our planet provides us.

  In any case, we Aragrandani have spent the past three generations struggling to free ourselves from our low stations. We’ve discovered the easiest way to do so is through marriage. Though, I must admit, it is sad to think that the only way I can ensure good lives for my sisters is to marry them off to strangers. Hell, it’s the only way I can ensure a future for myself as well. To obtain these unions though, all my sisters need dowries—nothing a little hard work and time can’t secure. Unfortunately, to obtain a marriage partner for myself, I need a little something more. I need status. For that, I had to come up with a plan.

  Luckily for me, I sometimes do freelance AI work for The Conglomerate. It was through those endeavors I was able to land enough strategic ties to procure an invitation to The Hunt. It’s an annual gathering, this hunt, which includes all the most influential members of Conglomerate society. Everyone from politicians to criminals to tech lords and the wealthy attend the event. And for added fun, the elite sometimes invite up-and-comers like me, a special few who might have caught the eye of someone powerful. Though, if I am to be completely honest…I had to bribe my way in.

  My work is in the tech field, and as such, I happen to know a few…let’s just call them “companion bot enthusiasts” who have taken an interest in my AI programming skills. These “enthusiasts” like their bots to react as naturally as possible during their private encounters. So, I made a deal to visit the brothel stations and add certain upgrades and programs to the bots they frequent in exchange for an invitation to The Hunt. Some of the programs are downright disgusting, but it’s my foot in the door, so I don’t complain.

  That’s what brings me to this shit hole anyway. While Nydor Station is a nice enough place for what it is, with its fair share of upscale establishments, it is still a station designed solely for the sex trade, and no matter how hard the rich try, there’s just no dressing that up. All I need to do is perform a few quick upgrades. Then I can leave and resume my route to The Hunt so my sisters and I can finally move to the next chapter of our lives.

  Hunting… I let out a derisive snort. What a silly and archaic pastime for advanced races. On my planet, we hunt out of necessity, not sport. To kill for the sake of killing, now that is what I call barbaric. No matter though. I will participate if it means I can acquire dowries for my sisters that much faster. Because if it weren’t for the purse being offered to the winners of The Hunt, it might take years for me to secure each of my lovely sisters advantageous unions. This way, I can do it all in one fell swoop. If I am successful, I might even have my own union secured before the end of the season.

  The thought of my own marriage is highly appealing to me, especially considering the sudden loss of my parents. More and more lately I find myself missing what our family used to be. The sad thing is that I know if I’m able to marry my sisters to the Hradun or the Itharene we’ll be scattered across Conglomerate space, lucky to see each other only once or twice a year. The loss wouldn’t be so painful if I had a mate of my own…and even a few children. I smile at the thought. Perhaps I’ll have a son to name after my father, Tomar.

  The last thing I do before I head onto the station is tap the holo of my family I keep on the bridge, the image freezes and goes dark. It was taken not more than a cycle before my parents died. It was a happier time. Now, I always keep it running to remind me of why I work so hard.

  This job should be a fast one, but I have a full rotation before I need to move on. I plan to put in a few hours of work, then use the rest of my time having a good meal and a good drink…and who knows, perhaps I might even pay for a short session with one of the bots, if only to clear my mind before The Hunt.

  The hatch to my ship opens and once on the ramp I wave my hand over the panel to lock it with my bio reads.

  “Welcome back, Rylan!” a gritty voice calls to me from the docking log station.

  “Derson, how are you this day?” I ask as I approach the attendant. Derson is a decent enough fellow, even if he is aged and rough around the edges from working on a station like Nydor for many years.

  “Another day, always the same.” He shrugs. “It’s nothing but a bunch of perverts and criminals that come to this place, Rylan. I hope they pay you well enough for it to not matter.”

  “Forget what they pay me, Derson, you’re the one who has to be here for seasons on end. Let’s just hope they pay you well enough.”

  “Bah. What they don’t give me in creds I take out in time with the companions,” he laughs.

  “What was it you were saying about this place being filled with perverts?” I joke.

  “If you’re around �
�em long enough it starts to rub off. Speaking of which, be careful on The Hunt, effa. There’s nothing more corrupt than those rich types.”

  “You heard about The Hunt, huh?” I ask, feeling proud that others know of my invitation.

  “I’d have to live on a damn primitive planet to not know who’s attending The Hunt this season. Still, I want you to be careful out there, effa. Just take my word for it. We see plenty of those rich ones here on Nydor and the companions are always a mess after they’re through with them.”

  “That’s disgusting, Derson. I don’t want to hear that shit. Almost makes me feel bad for the bots.”

  “I’d tell you to program them to say no to the nasty stuff, but some males get off on hearing a female refuse. It’d probably just make matters worse.”

  “Hmpf,” I grunt. “That’s something to think about,” I tell him, and the wheels in my mind are already turning.

  Derson passes me the e-lock for my ship and I scan my palm on the station log.

  “If you get off in the next couple hours join me for a drink,” I tell my friend, but he is suddenly distracted by a massive penal barge pulling in to dock. He lets out a low whistle, mesmerized by the mammoth size of the vessel.

  “I heard some of these were coming through. Let’s hope none of the scum on that thing ever get loose,” he says.

  “What’s a penal barge doing here?” I wonder aloud.

  Derson scans through his comm unit. “Think I remember something about a transfer.”

  “A transfer of prisoners?”