The cantina on the edge of this forsaken Outer Rim dustball reeked of desperation—cheap spice, cheaper booze, and the kind of sweat that came from deals gone south. Neon lights flickered erratically over scarred tables, casting a sickly glow on the motley crew of smugglers, mercenaries, and drifters nursing their drinks. The hum of shady whispers was nearly drowned out by the clink of glasses and the occasional drunken shout. It was the perfect place to disappear—or to find trouble.
The door slammed open with a force that rattled the nearest tables, and in stormed Clone Force 99, the Bad Batch, their mismatched armor scuffed and dented from a mission that had gone sideways. Hunter led the pack, his helmet tucked under one arm, his sharp eyes scanning the room with a predator’s instinct. Behind him, Wrecker lumbered in, his booming laugh already drawing irritated glares, while Tech adjusted his goggles and muttered about atmospheric pressure or some other nonsense. Crosshair brought up the rear, a toothpick rolling lazily between his lips, his sniper’s gaze cold and unimpressed.
“Kriffing hell, I need a drink,” Wrecker bellowed, slamming a meaty fist on the nearest table and nearly toppling a patron’s glass. “That last op was a mess!”
“Keep it down, Wrecker,” Hunter growled, his voice low but carrying the weight of command. His enhanced senses prickled, picking up on something—or someone—in the haze of the cantina. His gaze zeroed in on the bar, where a woman sat perched on a stool like she owned the damn place. She was all sharp edges and dangerous curves, her dark leather gear hugging her frame with lethal precision. A blaster rested casually on her hip, and the way she held her drink—confident, almost taunting—screamed trouble. The kind of trouble Hunter didn’t need, but couldn’t ignore.
Tech, oblivious to the undercurrent, pushed up his goggles. “Statistically, the likelihood of encountering significant conflict in a cantina of this size is only 12.7 percent, unless Wrecker continues to draw attention—”
“Shut it, Tech,” Crosshair drawled from where he leaned against a wall, his voice dripping with disdain. “If trouble’s coming, it’s not gonna be stats that start it. It’s gonna be curves.” He tilted his head toward the bar, a smirk tugging at his lips as he caught Hunter’s line of sight.
Hunter didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened. The woman at the bar—Zara Vex, if the whispers he’d picked up were right—locked eyes with him across the room. Her smirk was a weapon in itself, slow and deliberate, sizing him up like he was prey she’d already decided to toy with before devouring. She tilted her head, raising her glass in a mock toast, and Hunter felt a heat crawl up his neck that had nothing to do with the cantina’s stale air.
She slid off her stool with the grace of a panther, her boots clicking with purpose against the grimy floor as she sauntered over. Every eye in the squad followed her, though Crosshair pretended not to notice, and Wrecker’s jaw dropped like a loading ramp. Zara stopped just close enough to make Hunter’s senses flare, her presence electric, commanding.
“Well, well,” she purred, her voice a velvet blade. “If it isn’t the Bad Batch. You boys look like you’ve been through the ringer. What’s the matter, soldier boy?” Her gaze flicked to Hunter, pinning him in place. “Too busy brooding to win a fight?”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth despite himself. “We win plenty. Just don’t advertise it like some bounty hunters I know.”
Zara laughed, a sharp, throaty sound that cut through the din. “Oh, I like you. Got a bite under all that gruff. Let’s see if you can keep up.” She snapped her fingers at the barkeep without breaking eye contact. “Drinks for the squad. On me. They look like they need it.”
Wrecker grinned, oblivious to the undercurrent. “Hey, thanks, lady! You’ve got style—and damn, that outfit’s tighter than a starship hatch!”
Zara’s eyes flashed, and she turned on him with a smile that could melt durasteel—or cut right through it. “Sweetheart, I’ve blown up ships bigger than your ego. Keep staring, and I’ll show you how I handle heavy ordinance.” She winked, but her tone was pure venom, leaving Wrecker blinking, red-faced, as the rest of the squad erupted in laughter.
“Kriff, she got you good!” Crosshair snorted, flicking his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Maybe sit this one out, big guy.”
Zara ignored the sniper, her focus back on Hunter. She leaned against their table, one hip cocked, her gaze challenging. “How about a game, soldier boy? Sabacc. Unless you’re scared to lose to a woman who plays dirtier than you fight.”
Hunter crossed his arms, meeting her challenge head-on. “I don’t lose. And I’m not scared of dirty.”
Her grin widened, predatory. “Oh, we’ll see about that. I’m betting you’ve got a poker face as stiff as that armor. Let’s test it.”
Tech cleared his throat, pushing up his goggles again. “Actually, the probability of winning at sabacc is heavily influenced by—”
Zara cut him off with a withering glare. “Nerd, you’re killing the mood faster than a Hutt in a speeder race. Zip it.” Tech blinked, mouth snapping shut, and even Crosshair let out a low chuckle.
The game started, cards slapping down on the table as the squad gathered around, drinks in hand. Zara played with ruthless precision, her eyes glinting with mischief as she leaned in close to Hunter, her breath hot against his ear. “Come on, soldier boy,” she whispered, her voice a teasing caress. “You gonna fold, or do I have to strip that stoic mask off myself?”
Hunter’s grip tightened on his cards, his pulse kicking up a notch, but he kept his face blank. “Keep talking, Vex. I’ve got moves you haven’t seen yet.”
“Promises, promises,” she shot back, her lips curling as she laid down a winning hand—barely. “And that’s game. Predictable, just like I thought. You’re too easy to read.”
Hunter leaned back, frustration and something hotter simmering in his chest. “I’ll get you next round.”
Crosshair, still lounging against the wall, smirked. “Told you she’d wipe the floor with you. Should’ve bet credits on it.”
Wrecker, still smarting from earlier, tried to salvage his pride. “Hey, I could take her in a fight! I’m the strongest guy here—lifted a whole speeder once!”
Zara didn’t even look at him, her gaze still locked on Hunter as she stood, tossing a credit chip on the table. “Cute story, big guy. I once wrestled a rancor bare-handed and walked away with its tooth as a trophy. Top that.” Wrecker’s mouth opened, then closed, defeated again as the squad snickered.
She straightened, her presence filling the space as she addressed them all, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You boys owe me a favor now. Don’t forget it. I always collect.” With that, she turned, her stride confident and unhurried as she headed for the door, every head in the cantina turning to watch her go.
Hunter’s eyes followed her, his jaw tight, a storm of irritation and undeniable attraction brewing under his stoic exterior. Beside him, Crosshair flicked his toothpick with a smirk. “Outplayed by a bounty hunter with better aim. Didn’t see that coming, did you, fearless leader?”
“Shut up, Crosshair,” Hunter muttered, but there was no heat in it. He took a long swig of his drink, the taste bitter on his tongue. Zara Vex was trouble, no doubt about it. And kriff if he didn’t want to dive headfirst into it.
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