"Joanna Wylde - Saurellian 5 - Jerred's Price" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wylde Joanna)

“He was waiting for me outside the bar,” Giselle said softly. “He wouldn’t leave me
alone. I’m sorry I brought trouble back to the bar, but it was the only thing I could think
to do.”
“It’s all right,” he replied. “I didn’t like the way he was touching you, anyway. Like
he owned you or something. I run a good, clean bar, and I don’t like anyone treating my
girls like they’re hookers. We can afford to lose an occasional customer, but losing a
good waitress? Now that’s a loss!”
Giselle smiled weakly, and leaned her head against Manya’s broad shoulder. For all
his rough exterior, he was a good man.
“You stick around ’til closing,” Manya said slowly. “You can wait in my office, and
I’ll make sure you get home all right.”
“No, that’s all right,” she said. “Just ’cause one guy scared me doesn’t mean I can’t
take care of myself, you know?”
“You sure?”
“Yep, I’m sure.”
“Well, I’m not your father,” he said after a moment. “Not my place to tell you what
to do. Sit and relax, though, and I’ll get you a drink.”
She nodded gratefully, and Manya smiled.
It was an hour before she felt ready to leave again, despite her brave words. She
wanted to take Manya up on his offer, but he couldn’t escort her home every night. The
sooner she got over it, the better. Still, the once-friendly station corridors were filled
with shadows, and every drunken spacer she passed seemed to leer menacingly. Things
got better as she left the main gallery, ducking through back corridors toward the tiny
block of apartments where she rented a room. She could afford better—she made good
money at Manya’s. But she had better things to do with her credits.
She caught sight of her apartment entrance and relaxed for the first time. It always
seemed to greet her from the distance, a small, blue door tucked in the corner of the
hallway. She wasn’t scheduled to work the next cycle, and she was damned glad of it.
She could use the rest. She reached the door and leaned forward to press her eye to the
retinal scanner when she heard them to her right.


13
 Joanna Wylde


“You haven’t paid up, Sula,” a man’s voice said. Catching her breath, Giselle
swiveled noiselessly. They were just a few feet away, down the other end of the
hallway. Two guardsmen stood over a young woman, their stance anything but
friendly.
Sula.
An unlicensed prostitute who worked the port. A sand junkie who was high ninety
percent of the time, Sula slept in the corridor sometimes, and Giselle often left her food
out of pity. The girl was harmless. Now she lay huddled against the wall, tears running
down her always-pale face.
One of the guards kicked at her, and she whimpered, pleading wordlessly for
mercy.
“Sula, you know what it means if you don’t pay up on time,” the man said. His
friends laughed, as if they were sharing some sick joke. “This is the second time in row.
Didn’t we tell you what would happen if you did this again?”