The Man With No Name
( part eight: on the run )
They walked into the bar just like Hollywood. So much for flying under the radar, she thought, I bet this place is crawling with bounty hunters with a poster of his face on their walls. Hanging back half a pace behind, Piper tried to stay in Dark Ace's shadow as the older man swaggered towards the bartender slash motel owner, and without preamble, immediately asked for the keys to the best room.
"This your wife?" the bearded man asked, wiping the inside of a shot glass with a clean cloth. Rolling his eyes over the back wall, the ex-Talon was glad to see their liquor collection was better stocked than his own. "Sweet thing looks out of place with the rest of us."
Swiping his index finger across the counter, he pointed towards the man and chuckled, ignoring the glare of indignation registered across his companion's face. His voice was smooth as he replied, "No. She's too young."
The girl played along as they turned around the corner, and he unlocked the door to their honeymoon suite, still hating the act. Giving a little chivalrous bow before ushering her in, she adjusted the sleeves of her disguise and desperately hoped to find some better clothes lying around. It unnerved her when the men stared at the top part of her exposed back.
"Happy anniversary." Beating her to the bed, he threw himself backwards on the sheets and blew out some air. "I wonder when happy time opens."
Her favourite pair of boots, which she insisted on keeping, paced the floor as the girl searched her mind for a string of rationality in this crazy ride, sneaking and hiding amongst the southwestern quadrant of Atmos. It was unlikely The Colonel sent his men after them, discouraged from their last encounter when Dark Ace clumsily rescued her from human trafficking, and pondered who else was desperate enough to place a price on the man's head.
"Haven't you figured it out already?" he muttered from his resting spot. "It's Master Cyclonis."
