stolen files

  • Who killed Charlotte and why
  • Who killed Jessica and why
  • Who’s Charlotte’s father
  • Who’s Spencer’s father? It is Peter?
  • Since we already know Spencer’s Mary’s daughter, why Jessica wanted Bethany to call her “Aunt Jessie”?
  • Did Jessica do that just because she had something with Bethany’s father?
  • Why did Bethany draw Jessica’s at her house? How did she know how her house was? I mean, the drawing is exactly the same as Jessica’s house.
  • Why were Noel and Aria’s file stolen from the bunker before the fire? WHY ARIA’S??
  • Why was Noel helping Charlotte? Since when?
  • How long has been Jenna helping Uber A?
  • Who wrote “He’s going to kill me -M” at the dollhouse closet? Who’s M? Maya, Mona, Melissa? And who is “he”?
  • For how long was Sara Harvey helping Charlotte? Since she disappeared?
  • At Radley (6x10) and in Season 7, Sara tells Emily she was always trying to protect her. From Charlotte? From Uber A? But if she was, why she still helped Charlotte?
  • What were Melissa and Charlotte talking about THAT night?
  • And why Charlotte/Cece was wearing the yellow top?
  • For how long Charlotte knew she was a Drake? She used the Drake name for her “Cece” identity.
  • Who were Wren talking with on the phone in 4x10?
  • Why was Wren painting a family drawing with a brunette hair red coat?
  • Why was Wren so shady visiting Mona at Radley?
  • And since Charlotte was a patient, why Wren gave her a visitor pass with the name CECE DRAKE? HE KNEW?
  • Why was Wren shady?
  • Mona was high on drugs so she didn’t recognized Charlotte but she created a plan to escape sometimes?
  • How the blood did get to Spencer’s bag in London? It was Wren or Melissa?
  • Who were part of the original A-Team? Just Toby?
  • If Wilden was paid off from the beginning, then why the fuck was he trying to solve Alison’s disappearance for all those years?
  • What Maya knew?
  • Where’s Eddie Lamb? Why he disappeared like that? 
  • Why Eddie Lamb recognized Aria in Radley?
  • Did Aria went to Radley instead of Iceland?
  • Does Aria know her brother is now a werewolf?


Here are some pics from the absolutely amazing 50th anniversary convention in Las Vegas last month. Star Trek fans really are the best: I was seriously way more excited about having my picture taken with random fans in the hallways than with the celebrity guests. And the cosplay skills on show were seriously epic (check out the Tholian! And the IDIC!).

So happy 50th anniversary to Star Trek! And here’s to another 50 years of boldly going.


(PS - As some of you know, the hard drive containing my Star Trek files was stolen on my travels last month. Fail. But this is getting sorted and science snark will resume soon…)

A possibly accurate time line of the Greco-Roman/Egyptian/Norse world of Rick Riordan (AKA, a lot of guess work)

2006 - 

  • September - “The Diary of Luke Castellan” (Demigod Diaries)

2010 - 

  • June - The Lightning Thief  (Summer Solstice)

2011 - 

  • Summer - The Sea of Monsters 
  • December - The Titan’s Curse

2012 - 

  • Summer - The Battle of the Labyrinth
  • December - “The Sword of Hades” (Demigod Files)

2013 - 

  • May - “The Stolen Chariot” (Demigod Files)
  • June - “The Bronze Dragon” (Demigod Files) 
  • August - The Last Olympian 
  • September - “The Staff of Hermes” (Demigod Diaries)
      •     “The Singer of Apollo” (Guys Read) 
  • October - “The Son of Magic” (Demigod Diaries) 
  • December - The Lost Hero (Winter Solstice) 
      •   The Red Pyramid (Demon Days)

2014 -

  • February - “The Quest for Buford” (Demigod Diaries) 
  • March - The Throne of Fire (Spring Equinox) 
  • June - The Son of Neptune (Festival of Fortuna) 
    •    The Mark of Athena (Calends of July) 
  • July - The House of Hades 
    •   The Blood of Olympus (Festival of Spes) 
  • September - The Serpent’s Shadow (Vernal Equinox) 
  • December - The Sword of Summer

2015 -

  • January - The Sword of Summer (First Full Moon of the Year)
      • The Hidden Oracle 
  • March - The Hammer of Thor
  • Summer - “The Son of Sobek” (Crossover)
      • “The Staff of Serapis” (Crossover)
      • “The Crown of Ptolemy” (Crossover)

Originally wrote this going with the idea that Lightning Thief took place in 2005 based on year of publication and the 1993 birthday Percy is given. However, due to Riordan throwing in references to Taylor Swift’s album 1989, and the Guardians of the Galaxy movie I had to move it up five years to make sense (The Hunger Games reference in Blood of Olympus didn’t change anything as the first book was published in 2008, and until that point I was thinking the Heroes of Olympus series was mostly taking place in 2010)

This now gives Percy a 1998 birthday.

I’m pretty sure Riordan never actually looked how schools work in New York City, as schools there are in session until late June. Good thing for him he made up private schools that can, though rarely, go with their own schedule.

-“Diary of Luke” never mentions the weather, but Luke never mentions being cold, I’m assuming warmer weather (September is usually warmer then March)
-“Sword of Hades” mentions Christmas (I was confused at first, why isn’t this one in the first one in the book)
-“The Stolen Chariot” never says anything, except Percy’s still in school, could be anywhere between “Sword of Hades” and “Bronze Dragon”. I guessed May randomly 
-“The Bronze Dragon” says late June
-“Staff of Hermes” is a month after The Last Olympian
-“Son of Magic” never mentions a date except after the Battle of Manhattan  
-“Quest for Buford” is two months after LH, could be February or March, I decided Late Feb as ToF was happing in March

Man, let me tell you, this “roughly six months” time frame between Blood of Olympus and Hidden Oracle really throws off where the Kane/PJO crossovers take place.

I had assumed that they take place before Sword of Summer, as they were published first, but then Percy threw out that ‘six months’ line and now I have no idea.

-“Son of Sobek” mentions kids on Summer Break, and that Red Pyramid took place two winters ago. Percy is stated to look Seventeen. So this takes place after Blood of Olympus as Percy was sixteen as of that book. Carter mentions being a high school freshman.

It has to take place after both Serpent’s Shadow and Blood of Olympus. Blood of Olympus finished in August, while Serpent’s Shadow dealt with the Vernal Equinox which is in late September

-“Staff of Serapis” is a few weeks after “Son of Sobek”
-“Crown of Ptolemy” is a month after “Staff of Serapis” how many days between the two short stories is anyone’s guess.

BASICALLY, I have no idea. So I have to assume that this series takes place the year that Sword of Summer finishes in and that Hidden Oracle take place, even if narratively that doesn’t make sense as much sense (though I’m warming to the idea)

Honestly, I think what should happen the year after, starting in June, then July and final story in August, and then Sword of Summer and Hidden Oracle, but that’s a year and half difference between Hidden Oracle and Blood of Olympus so I’m just going to throw my hands up and roll with whatever.

The chapter excerpt of the next book sets The Hammer of Thor in March. Magnus mentions Norse and Greek, but not Egyptian. So that could mean Annabeth hadn’t met Sadie yet, and in “Staff of Serapis” Annabeth acted more surprised about the non-demigod status of Sadie. The Norse have them, and that makes more sense to her then hosting the gods.

kyoki-the-writer  asked:

Yo sorry for crashing right in, but someone might need your help concerning content theft... not sure if it was you or someone else (my memory is bad as always) but I remember someone knowledgeable on my dash about it. It's the-glorious-evolution-fanart, a LoL Viktor art/rp blog... they got their persobal designs stolen by a popular artist and are kinda at their witts end and don't know what to do, so can I ask you to help them out if you can?

Hehehe. Ironically I”m the person everyone goes to when their shit gets stolen. 

You file a DMCA against them.

You list your content file URL with the date first then link to the content that the other person has stolen and give tumblr 2 days. They’ll remove all the art.

And No, just because it’s LoL doesn’t meant that LoL has to file the copy right claim on behalf of parody works once you create a parody work it is your’s and if someone is infringing on a specific design YES you can claim against them. THATS WHY you always save 2 files of it that are the base original, and one you can mod to cement the proof in time of what you created.

Get the links of the stolen art off the other blog and follow procedure (More information here:

You can also use an aggressive paid service here:

But you can also file for free using a sample letter to Tumblr’s staff by reporting the images directly., here’s a letter from WatchdogIP (Check out their website for further info)

“SAMPLE DMCA TAKE DOWN NOTICEMy name is INSERT NAME and I am the INSERT TITLE of INSERT COMPANY NAME.  A website that your company hosts (according to WHOIS information) is infringing on at least one copyright owned by my company.An article was copied onto your servers without permission. The original ARTICLE/PHOTO, to which we own the exclusive copyrights, can be found at:PROVIDE WEBSITE URLThe unauthorized and infringing copy can be found at:PROVIDE WEBSITE URLThis letter is official notification under Section 512© of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (”DMCA”), and I seek the removal of the aforementioned infringing material from your servers. I request that you immediately notify the infringer of this notice and inform them of their duty to remove the infringing material immediately, and notify them to cease any further posting of infringing material to your server in the future.Please also be advised that law requires you, as a service provider, to remove or disable access to the infringing materials upon receiving this notice. Under US law a service provider, such as yourself, enjoys immunity from a copyright lawsuit provided that you act with deliberate speed to investigate and rectify ongoing copyright infringement. If service providers do not investigate and remove or disable the infringing material this immunity is lost. Therefore, in order for you to remain immune from a copyright infringement action you will need to investigate and ultimately remove or otherwise disable the infringing material from your servers with all due speed should the direct infringer, your client, not comply immediately.I am providing this notice in good faith and with the reasonable belief that rights my company owns are being infringed. Under penalty of perjury I certify that the information contained in the notification is both true and accurate, and I have the authority to act on behalf of the owner of the copyright(s) involved.Should you wish to discuss this with me please contact me directly.Thank you.”


City, State Zip


Hope this helps ya out.


Why did Aria lie to Jason? Why did she tell she was with Ali (and the girls) when the fire happened? 

Aria said Ali told her not to say anything about it to Jason and that’s reasonable, but why did she lie? It’s because her file was stolen and she has something to hide?

I don’t know if you’ve heard but....

Flint’s water situation is seriously critical. Children had water laced with lead pumped through their schools. Pregnant women were told “just boil it”. People got sores all over their body showering in that water. People are being charged ridiculous prices for water they can’t even use. Water is a necessity not a luxury.  Lead poisoning is irreversible and causes learning disabilities, anemia, and can stunt growth. And there has been a rash of people popping up with Legionares Disease from the contaminated water.   Please all I’m asking is that you don’t let this fall to the wayside. Keep this going. Help us make something happen. Help us make them pay for this. They knew the whole time that the water was dangerous but they switched to save money. But the price of savings were our children. They are in the process of trying to cover this up. Recently they were broken into and the only things stolen were stolen were all the files related to the water switch and a tv (to make it seem less suspicious). Those were the only files taken and they only hit one office in the whole building. It is our own Watergate. Don’t let them get away with this. Please spread the word. Reblog for justice.

Someone stole my fanart!

Well, it isn’t the first time I see a fanart of mine reposted without my permission (tumblr, facebook and other sites). Still, most people didn’t remove my signature/credits, so somehow, I’m ok (most like resigned) with that…

Today, I saw that someone reposted my art a couple of days ago and erased my name and put his/her signature on my fanart! Yeah, I’m mad because that was intentional, the my credits were erased, (s)he stole my fanart! This is why I’m doing this right now, i don’t like what I’m doing, I wish I could ignore that but I can’t.

The original art by me:

The original file:

The stolen art:

So, please, STOP reblogging that link: and I ask, please, if you follow me and/or reblogged that post, delete it.

The ORIGINAL LINK of my fanart:


The erasing part was from another person:

[Drabble Series] The case of the stolen book

TITLE:  The case of the stolen book


AUTHOR : tomcuddlesfic


GENRE:  romance / fluff /

FIC SUMMARY: Based on the prompt “Sorry, I accidentally took your book.” 


AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: Tackling down the first one on the list! I had fun writing this one and i hope you guys like it. :) Feedback would be great. 

Keep reading

stolen shirts

While searching myself, I came across someone selling my art on Redbubble. This is not OK! Please watch out for art thieves.

1.) When buying art, make sure you’re buying it from the original artist or someone who was given permission. Making art is a profession, and without integrity the system collapses.

2.) It may be a hassle, but it’s important to protect your art. Do reverse Google image searches from time to time to see where your work is used. 

3.) If your art is stolen, file a takedown notice with the site hosting the stolen art to have it removed. Using Redbubble’s guidelines, I was able to get the above Redbubble user banned from selling.

On another note, would anyone be interested in buying t- shirts? from me, haha

A Chinese tourist who wanted to file a police report after his purse got stolen ended up filing an asylum application and spending 2 weeks in a refugee shelter until officials realized that’s not what he wanted

Fall of the Vanguard (@nicktoonapprentices)


From his Dark Matter Dimension, ever since being defeated by his counterpart, Evil Jimmy wanted to take revenge… to find a way to beat his goody-goody version. He tried to trap him in his dimension, but that didn’t work.

But then he had a Brain Blast.

He’s been remotely scanning the other Jimmy’s files. He’s seen some kind of secret projects… but he needed to be in person to get them. Oh he just had to get them.

All it took was a makeshift Recaller he made from the stolen files, and a comb, and he was standing in Retroville, posing as Jimmy Neutron.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Evil Jimmy smirked to himself, heading towards Jimmy’s lab.

Not Your Type

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers - Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers/Captain America, Sam Wilson/Falcon

Rating: G

Original Idea: I have too much time to think and fantasize in the shower.

Notes: I don’t like the ending. But I got a little carried away with this one.


“Hey Chaos!” Sam Wilson called, jogging up to me in his running clothes while I ate cereal in my pajamas, watching a bad reality TV show without really watching it. I smirked at the use of my codename. No one knew my real one because I’d never told them—except Natasha because she’d stolen my SHIELD file once. But she’d sworn not to tell anyone. I turned tiredly.

“Hmm?” I inquired.

Sam dropped into the seat next to me. “Would you like to go out on a run with me? I know you have like super-speed or something but I want to go out with someone other than Steve.” The bitterness in his voice made me grin.

“Sure. Let me go change.”

That took about two seconds.

I sat back down next to him, fully decked out in my own running outfit—gray tank top complete with Cap’s shield emblazoned on the chest, bright blue shorts, and gray sneakers. “Shall we?” I stood up and offered Sam my hand. He was a good guy and always there for everyone should they need it. I liked that. He’d quite quickly become my friend when I was first dragged away from home to be a part of the team. The others had slowly grown on me but Sam was there from the beginning, cracking jokes about Steve being old and reassuring me it would be okay. I always felt like I owed him.

So we went out running.

It was agonizingly slow for me, but he seemed to keep up a pretty good pace for a normal human. We were out on the track of the New Avengers Facility, going around and around. Occasionally poking fun at each other or some of the people running around in uniforms—probably former SHIELD agents. Sam didn’t dare challenge me to a race though. He knew I’d win—even without using my powers to any major extent I was still much faster than him.

And then we were joined.

“ON YOUR LEFT!” Steve shouted at the same moment an unfamiliar voice called, “ON YOUR RIGHT!”

Two men ran past us. Steve, as mentioned, and another one. Tall, brown hair, fit, wearing a black tank top and running pants. His left arm was metal with a bright red star on the deltoid. Dang, I thought as I shamelessly stared, lips open and tongue tip pressed to the roof of my mouth. He’s one fine specimen!

Bucky Barnes.

I’d never seen him before—except in old pictures from WWII. He was a lot more attractive in person.

“Tell us, Sam Wilson, how does it feel to be slower than two ninety-six-year-olds?” Steve joked in his impression of a news reporter, jogging backwards slightly ahead of us. Sam rolled his eyes while Bucky laughed. Steve and his best friend turned back around and they went back to running.

I glanced pleadingly at Sam as the two super-soldiers started to pull away from us. “I’ll be right back!” I pleaded.

He sighed. “Fine. Go have your fun,” he relented.

I smirked and blasted away.

“IN BETWEEN!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as I bolted between them at about fifty miles per hour. I knew Steve’s average was around twenty six, so I was only going twice his usual speed, but it was still fast enough that I overtook them in seconds, running through the gap in between them, cackling, red blur trailing behind me. I zipped around the rest of the track and then caught back up to them again. “Tell me, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, how does it feel to be slower than a twenty-year-old girl?” I taunted in my own impression of a news reporter, turned around and jogging backwards, giving them a taste of their own medicine. Their blue eyes glared at me. I was shamelessly staring at Bucky Barnes, but he didn’t seem to notice.

I cackled again, circled the track, and went back to my steady, normal pace next to Sam.

He chuckled lightly. “Well, you certainly showed them,” he remarked sarcastically. I grinned.

“Yes I did,” I replied happily.

When we were finally done—it took forever for Sam to run like three miles—we went inside, showered, and went back to our own business. I braided my hair and put on a dark red T-shirt and black capris, not bothering to wear shoes. I preferred being barefoot.

I went and found Steve. He was sitting on a sofa in a parlor, reading a newspaper, already showered and dressed. “You didn’t tell me your friend the Winter Soldier was that kind of eye candy,” I remarked, lounging on the sofa next to him casually.

“Well I didn’t think you were interested in the former-brainwashed-assassin types,” he replied.

“I don’t really have a type,” I retorted carelessly.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” He took a deep breath and tilted his head back. “Hey Bucky! Chaos has a crush on you!” he shouted in a singsong voice.

I covered my face with my hands. “I hate you.”

Steve shrugged. “I know.”

At that moment, Bucky Barnes came out of a doorway to who-knows-where, wet hair dripping and only wearing a pair of jeans and some black combat boots. There was a towel in his hands and his upper body was glistening—except his left arm, which looked like it had just been dried or had never gotten wet at all. He’d probably just gotten out of the shower. There was also an amused smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. “Do you really, Chaos? Didn’t think I was your type,” he commented. There was a totally shameless joke in his tone.

I sighed heavily. “I don’t have a type,” I repeated.

Bucky Barnes placed the towel on the doorknob and jumped over the back of the sofa, sitting solidly in between me and Steve. He looked me right in the eyes with a spark of humor to his entire being. I very pointedly kept my eyes on his, doing my utmost not to give him the satisfaction of looking down at his body—no matter how tempting that seemed.

Finally he smiled brightly. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to change that, won’t I?”

“Meaning?” I edged.

“Steve, if you’d so kindly bring up that song you were listening to on your record player when I shot Director Fury,” Bucky requested his best friend. My eyes widened. What?!

Cap chuckled and did as he was asked. It’s Been a Long, Long Time started drifting from the speakers as Bucky jumped back over the back of the couch and landed softly on the hardwood floor. He extended both hands out to me. I took them and let him help me over the back of the sofa.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Bucky shrugged. “It’s been a long, long time since I danced,” he answered simply. He held my waist with his normal arm and my hand with his metal prosthetic. With a very strong grip he led me in a simple dance I didn’t know how to do. I was pretty good on my feet—hello, I was a speedster!—but dancing was beyond my capabilities. I stumbled over my own toes several times in only a few seconds, but he didn’t seem to mind.

I remembered Steve once telling me about Bucky—about how he oozed charm and charisma—and looking up at him right then I knew exactly what Rogers was talking about.

At the lyrics of the song, “Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again,” I was awarded a few light kisses on each eyelid and my forehead. To be honest, I was quite shocked. This was definitely not how I thought my day would go when I woke up that morning.

Steve was smiling over Bucky’s shoulder, doing his best to pretend to be absorbed in his newspaper—and failing.

Bucky was staring at me, head tilted to the side. “It’s okay, darling, I like you too.”

He bit his lower lip and winked.

Chapter 25: Daphne

Disclaimer: The Starkillers Cycle contains strong language and graphic content. It is not intended for readers under age 18.

Cooper had drugged her. Tried to wipe her memories. Stolen her photos and files. And left marks on her body ensuring that even if Daphne tried to block out what he’d done, she would remember, remember, remember with every movement, every breath, until long after the wounds faded.
There was nothing Turner could do to fix that, no matter what he might offer. She knew he meant it—that he’d do just about anything to keep her safe. It still didn’t change the facts. Or the nightmare her life had become in a matter of hours.
Daphne lowered Turner’s foot from her lap. “The wound is completely healed. Mel may hate the tech, but she used it right.”
Despite being still cuffed to the stairs, Turner’s gaze was too heavy on her. She knew he missed nothing.
“Come on, Daph,” Turner whispered, glancing up at the stairwell. “I’m unarmed. What do you think I’m gonna do if you cut me loose? I can get out of these cuffs on my own, but I haven’t. That’s got to count for something.”
Daphne smoothed her sweaty palms on her thighs. Her fingers slid over a hell of a lot of exposed skin. Her cheeks heated. She didn’t want to know what Turner thought about the dress. “No way, Turner.”
But she knew Turner was one of the good ones. Her father and his uncle had been friends, and for her whole life, they’d had these “family dinners” with the Hahns. As if that wasn’t enough to earn at least some of her affection, Turner had always gone above and beyond. When she’d realized no boy in Semp-Ac 1 would accompany her to the Midwinter Dance (she’d never forgiven her father for making her go in the first place), and when her own date—Turner’s younger brother, Harrison, a.k.a. The Destroyer, a.k.a. the most lethal mech pilot in the Axis—had bailed on her yet again, Turner had been the one to step in and escort her.
What had made it even nicer was that back then, Turner, not Harrison, had been the ace mech pilot. He had far better things to do than bring a loser seventeen year-old to a ridiculous school dance. But Turner hadn’t left her side, had coaxed her onto the dance floor, and had even given her a kiss on her cheek at the end of the night. Probably because his uncle had demanded that, too. But still… Turner had always been one of the few people who actually looked at her—and saw her. Not the tattoo. Both Hahn boys had been kind to her when they had no real reason to be.
“I want to unchain you,” she admitted. Turner’s face, normally gloriously tan, was still pale from blood loss. Even the stim-kit couldn’t fix that. Only time could. “But you’ll just complicate things.”
“Things are already complicated, Daph.”
She scooted back to the wood-paneled wall, sliding across the marble floor, the cool tile biting her ass and thighs. With the stupid fucking dress, she couldn’t cross her legs, or fold them to her chest like she so badly wanted to. Not without flashing Turner a good eyeful of her ladyparts—which her equally stupid thong did nothing to hide.
So she leaned against the wood wall, folding her legs to the side. “How’s Harrison?” she asked quietly. Chatting about family seemed easier than discussing the nightmare her life had become.
“Burning, slaughtering, destroying,” Turner said. “As usual.”
She didn’t like thinking about that—and only watched the media coverage of Destroyer’s victories out of some primal terror that if she didn’t, Harrison might die. “When was the last time you talked to him?”
“I don’t remember,” Turner said.
She debated asking why that was, though she knew things were strained between the brothers, but—I don’t remember.
She wouldn’t have remembered anything of today, perhaps longer than that, if Mel hadn’t come. Cooper had…Cooper had…
She closed her eyes, tipping her head back against the wall. But the deep breath she tried to take stayed lodged in her throat. “What am I going to do?” she asked hoarsely, not trusting herself to open her eyes. Not when panic pushed in from every angle, worse than any botched landing had ever felt.
“Uncuff me, and—”
Her eyes flew open, and Daphne bit down on her flickering anger as she stood. She’d be better off confiding in a style-bot. “I can’t. So stop asking.”
She was already stepping around him and up the stairs.
Turner twisted to demand, “Where the hell are we going, Daph? At least tell me that.”
“So you can let my father know? Or the Fed? Screw you, Turner.”
He made a wounded noise, and she rolled her eyes, not pausing her ascent. “My arms are going numb,” he tried.
“And I don’t care.” The truth was that she’d set their course for the seediest, most backwater spaceport she’d ever heard of. Somewhere quiet, gritty, and utterly off the radar. She wasn’t afraid that Turner would give the location away; she was afraid that in his constant need to do the right thing, Turner would just keep pointing out all the little fuck-ups she’d made. And when he was done, he’d get into her shitty standing at the FSTW program.
And she wasn’t in the mood to deal with that—not when she needed to get out of the dress and to scrub the scent of that vile casino, of Cooper, of goddamn Neil, off her.
Turner continued protesting below, but Daphne had already reached the top of the stairs. As she passed the kitchen attached to the grand lounge, she spotted the prisoner—Colt, he’d said—leaning on the counter, eating a banana. A real one, all the way from Blutha.
Colt’s eyes tracked her across the room. She hadn’t realized he was Striker—that he might be dangerous. But Turner trusted him, so he couldn’t be that bad. Still, Daphne kept her distance and didn’t answer his casual nod of greeting as she headed for one of the upper-level bedrooms. Men didn’t wind up on Hatha for petty theft.
She reached the secondary master bedroom, and strode into the adjoining bathroom.
Daphne turned on the shower as hot as it would go, and even though it hurt like hell, she let the water scald her. She stayed in, washing her hair twice, soaping down her body three times, even going so far as to shave her already-smooth legs with a disposable razor. The flickering pain in her neck and arm wasn’t so easy to erase.
She never should have gotten out of bed today.
Maybe she never should have entered the FSTW program.
Which, odds were, she was never going back to, anyway. Not after what she and Mel had done to Neil. What had happened in that docking bay.
Men—Cooper’s men—were dead.
Now she was on the run, and holding a Federation officer hostage with the help of two escaped convicts.
The Striker—Colt—was enormous. So jacked it was no wonder he’d survived in the jungle. He couldn’t have been much older than her—maybe three years at most, but he had a hardness that made her feel like a prissy little princess.
And he was hot.
Holy God, he was hot. Maybe not so pretty as Turner, but…
Daphne leaned her head against the cold stone tiles of the shower, letting the water beat into her back. Two hours after that fiasco with Cooper and she was already thinking about other guys?
She’d never had one, but she’d bet all her considerable inheritance at an Altheron blackjack table that these kinds of thoughts were purely and utterly of the Rebound Variety.
It made no fucking difference if she thought Colt was hot, because she’d all-too clearly heard the dismay in his “You’re a gypsy?” comment.
She wanted to go to sleep. Today needed to be over. She didn’t even know what time it was. Let Mel kill them all, let Mel dump her out the fucking airlock, she didn’t care. Let Turner spend the rest of his life chained to that bannister. Why, she bet it’d make the next holiday dinner a real fucking joy.
If she survived that long.
Daphne toweled off, and dug up some brand-new, very scandalous underwear from the bedroom armoire (the price-tags were still on it—and though she loved pretty things, she could never justify wearing underwear that cost as much as most U.F. families made in a week). She also found a soft, gray t-shirt, which she threw on before climbing into the giant bed.
Tired as she was, sleep didn’t come, and so Daphne stared at the darkened ceiling, wondering how her life had gone to shit so quickly.
And how she’d ever fix it.

“You’re sleeping?”
Daphne jerked awake, and she had no idea where she was. The room was dark and larger than her bedroom on Hatha, and the only light poured in from a wood-paneled hallway. The room seemed to purr—the thrum and grumble of engines. A tall, slender woman stood in the threshold, silhouetted against the light.
“Are you kidding me?”
Right. Mel. Stolen Subwolff Cruiser. Kidnapped Turner. Sexy Striker. Bruise on her wrist, holes in her neck and arm. Cooper, dumping and drugging and memory-wiping.
Fuck everything.
Daphne swung her legs out of bed, wincing as the cold air hit her. “I needed a nap.”
“We’re in this together, and you leave me to fly the ship and look after our esteemed guests? Are you fucking stupid?”
Daphne sighed. Yes. Yes, she was.
“Well?” Mel demanded, flicking on the bedroom lights and storming for the bed. “And where the fuck are your clothes?”
A t-shirt and lacy underwear. Not acceptable piloting attire. She’d need pants. And a bra. And a sweater of some kind, since the room was so chilly. Space was so chilly.
“What the hell is the matter with you?”
Daphne blinked. She didn’t even remember falling asleep. But she was still bone-tired.
“You know what, I don’t even want to hear it,” Mel went on. “Just go to the cockpit and keep the ship running. It’s my turn for a fucking shower.”
Daphne ran a hand through her still-wet hair. She couldn’t have been asleep for long if her hair was damp. “What’s the plan, Mel?”
“The plan, Daphne Greene, is that once we get to that space-port, we dump the detective. Then we go find my friend. He might stand a chance of sorting this shit out. For both of us.”
“What about…Colt?” The name whispered over Daphne’s tongue. Short. No-nonsense.
“What about him? He’s good to have around—at least until we find my friend.”
“And who’s your friend? That cyborg from Torant?” Who had been sexy as hell, too.
That question earned a sly smile from Mel—the first real, relaxed smile Daphne had ever seen flash on her lips. Maybe the cyborg was off-limits, then. “The cyborg’s boss, actually.”
Daphne’s brow furrowed. Mel’s friend wasn’t apart of the crime syndicate or the military, then that made him at least some kind of ally.
An ally was better than nothing and whole hell of a lot better than being dead. Or worse.
So Daphne straggled out of bed and said, “Too bad. The cyborg was hot.”
She headed for the closet and pretended not to notice Mel’s glower—or the very annoyed growl to Mel’s words: “I’ll be waiting in the cockpit. Hurry. Up. Princess.”
Daphne didn’t hurry up, and a leisurely search through the armoire yielded a sports bra, pair of tight black pants, and a short, fitted brown leather jacket—real leather, God almighty. She tugged on a pair of knee-high boots—mercifully in her size. Finally, she strode out of the bedroom and into the large lounge.
Colt, who had been sprawled on the large couch, sat up straight.
Yeah, hot was a light way of describing him. And hot mess was a light way of describing the trouble she’d be in if she ever got tangled up with a Striker.
She’d had enough of dealing with criminals for a lifetime.
Daphne ignored him and turned down the hall toward the cockpit. Mel was waiting for her, arms folded over her chest and gaze lethal. As usual.
So as usual, Daphne pretended not to notice. She slid into the gray leather captain’s chair and appraised the glass and chrome dashboard before her. This dash probably cost more than most houses. God, this was a gorgeous ship.
She flipped on the satellite-radio to whatever pop station had last been playing.
Daphne groaned as she read the title streaming across the screen—right before the bubbly, bass-and-violin-and-synth song began.
“I hate this song,” she said, stretching an arm to the array of buttons. Anything, anythingbut CPHC—aka Crown Prince Hotness Charming—and the pop-god’s Number One hit, “Let’s Do It B4 Midnite.”
She yelped as Mel slapped away her hand, faster than a striking asp. “Leave it,” Mel snarled.
Daphne twisted in her chair, looking Mel up and down. “You can’t be,” she said. Melcouldn’t be a fan of CPHC.
Mel’s face was stone-cold. “Am I supposed to prefer some other kind of music? Something with screaming vocals and violent guitars and explicit lyrics?”
Daphne blinked. “Well… No. But CPHC? Really?”
Mel angled her head, the strong line of her jaw defiant. “They played him in prison. I wrote him letters.”
“No you fucking didn’t,” Daphne breathed, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Her father’s men played CPHC for the inmates? As a form of torture, or—
The chorus came on, the male’s sugary-sweet voice crooning, “Let’s do it before midnight, make the Axis burn so bright…I want yo’ molten lava core to hyperspeed me through the night—
“Oh God,” Daphne said. “He rhymed ‘night’ with ‘night.’”
“Do not insult CPHC.”
Daphne opened her mouth, but stayed silent through the next verse—until the bridge came on: I don’t even know yo’ name, but why don’t you take off those glass shoes and jump up on meeee, jump up on meee
From a level below, Turner shouted, “PLEASE NOT THIS SONG.”
Mel’s smile turned positively feline as she punched up the volume, directing it to play even more loudly in the downstairs hall.
Daphne bit back a grin. “His arms are killing him,” she said. No need to mention just how hot it’d looked to see Turner tied up like that. Not that she was into that kinda thing, but…hell, she wasn’t a corpse. Rebound, rebound, rebound.
Mel was bobbing her head in time with the song. And maybe just because it was the first semi-pleasant conversation Daphne had experienced all day, she said, “Did you hear his new song? They just released it a few—”
“’Damn Girl, Your Shoes Turn Me On (I Miss You)’?” Mel shrugged, and turned toward the door again. “Of course I did—and if it comes up next, you’d better blast that shit so I can hear it in the shower.”
“Will do,” Daphne said, trying so hard not to laugh. It would just earn her another broken nose.
A loud beep split through the cockpit.
Then a honeyed voice said, “Tracker beams locked.
Daphne’s breath hitched, and she lurched toward alert screens. Right in the middle of the primary sensor beams was a dot—like a red, angry eye. Someone, it seemed, had found the Subwolff, and was trailing it—fast.
“What?” Mel said, eyes huge.
The bleep issued again.
Daphne looked up at Mel and turned off the radio. “Get Turner down to the mech-room.Now. There must be a back-up tracker somewhere—he’ll know how to disable it.”
For a moment, Daphne thought Mel would hit her. But instead, Mel just asked very softly: “This ship has a back-up tracker? And you didn’t fucking disable it?”
“I was too busy flying—”
“And sleeping. The fuck, Daphne? You found the first tracker, but you didn’t think to find the goddamned second!”
Daphne winced. It was totally and completely her fault for not remembering this sooner—though, thanks a lot, Turner, for conveniently not remembering, either. He had to have known there’d be a back-up somewhere on a SubWolff.
But Daphne wasn’t about to admit any of that. Not when it might get them both killed, courtesy of Mel.
“How close are they?” Mel demanded.
“Still far enough that we can change course without them noticing, but we need to get the tracker disabled, or they’ll just follow us to the spaceport.”
Mel swore, but took off at a sprint.
Her heart thundering, Daphne monitored the flashing light on the screen. Big ship—or possibly a few of them flying close together. Cruising between systems at this speed, it was hard to tell how many followed, or who was on their tail: the Fed or the Cyrissians. There was no way to know without stopping the ship.
Which Daphne had no plans to do—not until she was damn ready.
Or until the people hunting them caught up…and shot them down.