No Rules by Jenna McCormick Page B

firsthand experience it was the truth brandished like a weapon that cut deeper than any blade.
    Doubt had been his constant companion from the day he’d watched the overlord annihilate his father, Raz Fenton. His mother had begged him the night before not to compete. “Think of us. Me and the children and what he’ll do to us if you lose.”
    His father had been arrogant, confident that he could outmatch Xander and end his reign of terror for good. “I must do this, for you and for them. Their futures depend on it.”
    How right he’d been. After his father’s defeat, Xander had taken his mother to his bed, a death sentence in itself. Fenton had huddled with Nella and Gili in their dank cell in the bowels of the palace. His sisters had only been five and seven revolutions old, and they’d cried for their mother the entire night.
    His concentration splintered, and he sagged against the door. Pressing the heels of his hands against his stinging eyes, Fenton tried to block out the inhuman sounds of Nella’s screams when the guards came for her the next morning. He’d fought, but at only nine revolutions, he hadn’t the strength to do more than irritate them. “Your sister’s been sold, boy. Settle down or the other one will go on the block next.”
    â€œNo,” Xander had called from the shadows, as Nella’s cries grew faint. “For three generations, I’ve had to defeat the males of your family. You, boy, will be mine from the onset, my tool, my weapon.”
    â€œNever!” Del had been coated with blood from his broken nose and split lip, chilled from the hours spent in the damp room. This bastard had killed his father, and his mother too. He would never do anything to help him.
    â€œOh, I think you will.” Xander had leaned in close and whispered, “If you value your other sister’s life, you will do exactly as I say.”
    For a third of a generation, Del had been Xander’s puppet, until news of the overlord’s defeat at the hands of his son spread through the Hosta System like wildfire. Anyone who was perceived to be loyal to the old regime had been tried, most of them executed. By then both the girls were dead and Fenton had his new mission.
    Rising to his feet, he moved closer to his precious cargo, felt the steady reassuring thrum of its energy signature pulsing under his hand. Gili had died for this and he would too, if necessary. He would do everything in his power to ensure Alison wouldn’t have to pay the same price all of his loved ones did. She would have been better off with Mig, scarred for life, yes, but physical wounds were simpler to heal than the ones on the inside.
    He didn’t know how to be gentle with her, no matter how much he wished it were so. He’d been born on a violent world, and given into the custody of a madman. Forged in fire and coated in blood, he’d hidden his tender heart away, until even he couldn’t find it anymore. Every person he’d ever cared for had met a horrible and untimely end.
    With odds like that, Alison didn’t stand a chance.

6
    I n the wake of her panic, Alison admitted she’d handled the news of returning to the Omicron Theta System badly. So badly that she hadn’t seen Fenton in almost an entire day, though she knew he had been back while she slept because he’d left a meal comprised of some kind of roasted meat that tasted like chicken and the purple fruit the Hosta natives served with every dish.
    He must think I’m crazy. Was it any wonder? She’d witnessed drug addicts on the subway behaving with more decorum. Beating her hands bloody on the door, for God’s sake. What was she thinking?
    In short, she hadn’t been. She’d reacted to a spike of adrenaline at hearing she was returning to the scene of her crime. Because the one thing she feared more than the assassin tracking her was facing the people she’d