These Violent Delights

Chapter 1: Taken

You sat at the bar, tapping your fingers to the shitty song coming from the stage.

While the endless flow of liquor and peppy beat of the music made Wor Groman's cantina the liveliest place in Mos Eisley, you weren't feeling particularly chipper tonight. Not because you were surrounded by rogues, smugglers, and fugitives—that, you were used to—but because you were going insane listening to the same damn song over and over again. And yet, from an outsider's perspective, you probably looked like everyone else here. Laid back...happy...carefree...exactly what you wanted them to believe.

Some might call that deceitful, but you called it your job.

You leaned forward, grabbing your drink and rolling the straw between your fingers. As you sensually placed it in your mouth, you saw Wor Groman—the large, male Durosian that was your target for the night—pivot toward you.

Too easy.

Trying to suppress your smile, you plucked the straw out of your mouth, focusing on the choker around your throat. You tilted your head to the side to give him a good view, trailing a finger under the ribbon. To anyone else, it looked like a dainty, black necklace tied into a cute little bow in the center. But to you, it was your contingency plan, thanks to the clasp in the back filled with what the Resistance called lullabies. You had no idea what was in the white, powdery substance, but you did know it was lethal, given to intelligence operatives and special unit fighters like your team in case a mission went sideways.

Wor moved to the table directly before you, but you continued to pretend not to notice him. You knew he wouldn't approach you, not yet. Because of the game he liked to play, he wanted you to know that he was watching you. Unbeknownst to him, you were playing a little game yourself, and unfortunately for him, you would win. You always did.

You were good at your job; no, you were the best at your job. At the ripe age of twelve, you were taken under the wing of Tasu Leech, the topboss of Kanjiklub. While other kids learned about the sciences, galactic history, and languages, you learned the art of thievery, piracy, and extortion. And by the time you hit adolescence, street fighting became your specialty. Winning fights made Tasu look at you with fatherly pride, and while you thrived on that, it wasn't enough to put food in your belly or a roof over your head.

That's why, on your sixteenth birthday, you took your first gun-for-hire job.

It was a slippery slope from there. Killing people for a living wasn't an easy life, and it sure as hell wasn't an honorable one, but at least the gang offered you a sense of family—albeit a dysfunctional one. Alas, it had been a year since that life was taken away from you, when a failed rathtar haul ripped Tasu and his lieutenants apart. Literally.

A wave of grief washed over you. You knew you had to focus on the assignment at hand, but being in such a wretched hive of scum and villainy only reminded you of the gang's hideout on Kijimi. You missed that place, especially Tasu, but the last time you were there, the surviving members blamed you for his demise and forced you out.

Just as it always did, your grief gave away to anger. Pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek, you chanced a look at Wor again. He had pulled a Twi'lek dancer onto his lap, groping at her breasts while keeping his sights on you. The moron was trying to get your attention, and it had worked. You wanted to kill him even more now than you did five minutes ago.

With a frown, you dropped your hand from your throat, gliding a finger around the rim of your glass. Wor would assume you were pouting out of jealousy, but in reality, you were too busy stewing about how the gang fucked you over. Tasu's death wasn't your fault; you had begged him to let the rival Guavian Death Gang take on the mission, but in true topboss fashion, he had been blinded by the number of credits thrown in his lap. After his death, you realized the gang only tolerated you while Tasu was alive, and without his protection, you were forced to run for your life.

And run, you did. You thought you could elude them, but after a few weeks of evading their wrath, you realized that everything you had learned about disappearing, you had learned from them. They were always one step behind you, forcing you to flee to the second-most hated and desolate desert in the galaxy besides Tatooine—Jakku.

You didn't hate that desert wasteland because horrible things had happened to you there. Actually, it was the exact opposite. Up until you had watched your parents take off in a cruiser without you, you had been living a happy, quiet life with them on Jakku. The happiest you'd ever been. It wasn't so bad even when they went off-world and left you under Unkar Plutt's supervision. You always told yourself it was just temporary. That they'd see how good you were for him, how useful you could be, and they would come back for you. But that illusion was shattered on your seventh birthday when Unkar gleefully told you the truth: your parents sold you for drinking money.

Abruptly flinging the straw out of your drink, you brought the glass to your lips to finish it, desperate to wash down the bitter taste of reality. You slammed it on the bar and lowered your chin, glaring at Wor. The Twi'lek had since left, but his eyes were still locked on you like a predator, making your heart thump excitedly in your chest.

I can't wait to fucking kill you.

When he nodded at you, it took all of your self-control to stop yourself from grabbing your vibroblade and chucking it at his big-ass head. Instead, you gave him a seductive smile and tried not to throw up in your mouth. It wasn't his green skin or his round, red eyes that gave you chills, nor was it the way he looked like a giant, walking praying mantis. No. You felt physically ill because he was a rapist—a rapist who wanted you to be his next victim.

Wor lifted his hand and used two fingers to beckon you over to him, his tongue licking at his lipless mouth. You stayed in your seat and pretended to be coy, immediately dropping your gaze to your glass. Now all you had to do was wait. You knew it would take a few moments for his pride to recover, but eventually, he would come to you. Just as planned.

If these were the old days and you were working with the gang, Wor Groman's corpse would already be thrown into a sarlacc pit, and you'd be drinking and dancing and fucking the night away. But now that you were in the Resistance, you had rules to abide by, real rules. It was as frustrating as it was foreign to you—you would never get used to living with good people—but you wouldn't dream of disobeying General Organa, not when she trusted you with her most sensitive and critical missions.

There was a break in the music, and a single clap rang out over the chatter in the bar—your signal to start the assignment. You sat up straight and looked in Wor's direction, ready to eye-fuck him and lure him over to you, but the slimy bastard was already conveniently heading your way.

Lucky me.

"Another vodka and moof juice for the lady," Wor barked as he slid into a place beside you, leaning against the bar. The bartender nodded and scurried away, and from the corner of your eye, you saw your target direct his attention toward you.

You glimpsed at him before looking away again. Per his reputation, you knew that Wor liked a challenge. He cleared his throat, but you kept your eyes straight ahead, an uncomfortable silence expanding between the heat of your bodies. When the bartender returned with your drink, you finally gave Wor the slightest hint of acknowledgment as you pulled the glass closer to you.

You knew better than to drink it, but Wor seemed pleased either way. "I haven't seen you here before."

"Oh?" you said, throwing him a bored glance.

Wor grunted in affirmation as he dug in his shirt pocket. "Ask me how long it's been." When you rolled your eyes and looked away, he followed up with an aggressive demand. "Ask me."

You peeked over at him, chin down, and pushed a loose hair behind your ear. You let your lashes flutter a few times before responding. "How long?"

Wor retrieved a cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips. After lighting it, he sucked down the fumes before exhaling. "Years."

"Since what?"

"Since I've seen a pretty little thing like you walk through those doors."

Wor didn't give you a chance to respond, flipping the cigarette around and holding it up to your lips. One would think he was simply offering you a drag, but you understood the meaning behind the gesture—to deny the cigarette would be to deny him, to accept his offer would allow his advances. You knew what you had to do.

You hesitated before parting your lips, your gaze still on his big, round bug eyes. He placed the cigarette in your mouth, and you inhaled deeply, hating every second of it.

You blew smoke in his face when he pulled it from your lips. "Come," he ordered, pushing himself off the bar. "I want to show you something."

You lifted a single brow. "What could you possibly have to show me?"

"The sunset from the rooftop, baby." After he took another drag, Wor twisted the cigarette into the tabletop and spoke through the cloud of smoke. "This is the tallest building on the entire planet of Tatooine."

You glanced at the guard by the stairs, then gave Wor a seductive look. "Will we be all alone up there, or...?"

He extended his hand for you to take. "That's why I want you up there, little lady."

You slipped your hand in his, biting your tongue and trying not to gag as he clutched you with his warm, meaty fingers. You stepped off the bar stool, letting him go to lead the way across the room. As you wove through the crowd, your eyes found Finn—your comrade who clapped—and you gave him a swift nod. He returned it and stood up, retreating outside to the shuttle while two members of your crew, Drox and Zeven, remained in their booth.

When you made it to the base of the stairwell, Wor's thick fingers rested on your lower back, eliciting the shudder that crawled up your spine. You twisted around to face him, trying to get his paws off you. It didn't work.

"That skirt is truly a sight to see," he purred, placing his hand back on your hip.

You tried moving away from him again. "I'm sure the view from on top is even better," you cooed, hoping he wasn't too dense to understand your double meaning.

He twisted his mouth into a devilish smile. "Let's go, princess," he said, approaching the guard blocking the stairwell. He held out his hand once more. "Come to me."

You walked past him, ignoring his hand—and the way he called you princess—as the guard stepped aside for you. You took your time climbing the steps, swaying your hips to give him a show. Wor already made it known he liked your form-fitting skirt, and sauntering up the stairs ensured he was also distracted from your black, sheer crop top.

You slowed, your jaw dropping as you took the final step onto the rooftop. Wor was a bad, bad man, but he did get one thing right—the sunset from the top of the cantina was stunning. You never thought you'd say that when you first walked through the streets of Mos Eisley. Half the establishments in this dust bowl were in shambles, all colored beige, while the 362 docking bays encased the city in a fume bubble of burnt oil and fuel.

You especially hated the sand. It was coarse and rough and irritating and somehow got everywhere, but from up here, the winds moved it in a regal, mesmerizing way, like gentle waves on a great sea. Even the decaying, cream-colored huts now looked like warm, reflective orbs, and the community junkyard looked idyllic from the binary sunset's golden glow.

"Oh my gods," you breathed, twirling around as you felt Wor's eyes on you. But you ignored him, fixated on how the muggy sky seemed to transform into a creamy blend of magenta and blue just because you were watching. The rays from the two suns—one white and one red—mixed together to create a vibrant beam of orange light, breathing rich life into the otherwise dull landscape of Tatooine. And as the sunbeams warmed your face, a red shooting star blew across the sky, pulling an amazed exhale from your lips.

"I like that sound," Wor said, his thick, muscular arms enclosing your waist.

You closed your eyes, crashing back down to reality and groaning internally that this slimeball ruined such a beautiful moment. Leaning into him, you faked a moan as he groped your breasts. He played with you like this for a few moments, his arousal digging into your back, and you tried your best to make your sounds of pleasure convincing.

Wor's hot breath tickled your ear. "Tell me what you want."

I want to make you bleed. Spinning around to face him, you placed your hands on his chest and looked up at him with innocent eyes. On your tippy toes, you leaned into his ear and whispered, "I want to make you feel good."

The line that was Wor's mouth twitched up. He grabbed your hand and walked backward, stopping when he positioned himself against the wall. Once he spread his legs and splayed his arms out by his side, you dropped to your knees and grabbed the bulge in his pants. You looked up at him with pretend excitement and his breath caught in his throat.

"You look so pretty on your knees," came his grating warble. "You're fucking perfect."

You bit your lip as you firmly rubbed at his erection. "Ask me how long."

"How long?" he panted, pushing his groin into your face with a pathetic moan.

"Since the second I heard about you," you muttered, taking his zipper between your fingers.

When you pulled it down too slowly for his liking, Wor threw his head back and groaned. "Oh, come on."

You giggled, slipping your hand into his boxers to grip his length while your other hand dipped between your thighs. "Ask me, since what?"

He moaned as you tugged at him harder. "Since...since what?"

You finally gave him a genuine smile when your fingers curled around your weapon. "Since I've wanted to do this."

You acted fast. A flicker of confusion flashed across Wor's face before his mouth twisted in pain, a small gasp of surprise escaping his throat. He looked down at your hands, one of them still in his boxers, the other gripping the handle of your vibroblade buried in his belly.

"No!"

"Yes," you shot back, using the handle to pull yourself off your knees. He grunted and stepped forward, trying to reach for you, but you stepped out of the way as he collapsed on his side.

"You...bitch," Wor gasped through bloodied teeth as he looked down at the red, sticky liquid oozing from his wound. "You fucking bitch."

"Mmm, now you're talking dirty to me," you crooned, satisfaction pumping through your veins as you watched him writhe on the ground. You wished he would suffer all night, but as per Organa's orders, you had oiled your blade with a fast-acting poison to grant your victims quicker deaths.

"Why...why?" he groaned, his big, ugly head lolling from side to side.

"Awww, did I trick you?" you taunted, crouching beside him. "Poor Mr. Groman. Somebody beat you at your own game."

He moaned and tried to turn away from you. "Ah, ah, ah," you said, clicking your tongue at him. You grabbed the hilt of your dagger and wrenched it in as deep as it would go. "This is for every woman you have ever hurt, you sick fuck."

As the blood oozed from the gash and his moans faded away, your eyes flickered to his face—you wanted to watch him die. But by the looks of him, Wor was already gone.

Good riddance, motherfucker.

Sighing, you stood up to smooth out your skirt and readjust your shirt. You weren't alarmed when you heard footsteps hastily approach, nor did you even raise your head when Zeven groaned.

"Really? We told you to wait for us!"

You winked at her. "Took too long. Sorry." Drox entered behind her, and you gave him a nod. "Hey."

"Goddammit," Drox hissed, running his hands through his hair. "Why didn't you wait? We had to take out the guard to get to you!"

"Stop being so dramatic," you said, rolling your eyes. "He's not blameless in all of this, either. He was standing watch all those times this sleemo took innocent girls up here." You waved a dismissive hand as you turned your attention back to Wor. After bending down to retrieve your dagger from his flesh, you wiped the blood off on his tunic and stood up to face your friends. "So, wanna get a drink?"

Zeven put her hands on her hips. "If you had waited for us, we would have told you to abort the mission."

This made you pause. "And why on Naboo would I do that?"

"Because General Organa just alerted us to pull the division out!" Drox yelled, raising his arms for emphasis. "The First Order is approaching the Tatooine system now, looking for this piece of shit in particular. The others are already at the cruiser. Now we don't have time to hide the body!"

Your shoulders dropped. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah, shit! Now they'll tear apart the galaxy to find who killed Wor, and—"

"Guys," Zeven interjected.

You narrowed your eyes at Drox. "Well, if we had gotten earpieces like I asked for—"

"GUYS!"

Both you and Drox looked at Zeven, shouting in unison. "WHAT?"

Zeven pointed to the sky, her hand trembling at the two First Order transports hovering above the city. When the harrowing sound of TIE fighters filled the air, you looked at them both and yelled, "RUN!"

The three of you scampered down the stairs faster than lightspeed. Guests gasped and turned your way as you bolted through the cantina, but you weren't worried about them ratting you out to the Order. In a place like this, all they cared about was not spilling their drinks.

You pummeled through the front door, yelling a frazzled sorry! at the group of Twi'leks you almost crashed into. But the farther you got away from the cantina, the less apologetic you became, shouting at the drunk locals to get out of your way—something they chose not to hear. If that didn't complicate things enough, the streets narrowed as you approached the spaceport, the huts pressing into you from both sides, and of course, the godforsaken sand was fucking everywhere.

In your eyes, your nose, your mouth—with each step you and your comrades took, a flurry of sand and dust would fly into your face. One would think a lawless place like this would understand the importance of paved roads for a fast getaway, but it was messy, uneven, and it only validated your belief that sand and Mos Eisley were the most wretched things in the galaxy.

"Almost there!" Drox yelled, and at first, you felt a sense of relief, but then you got a better look at the First Order transports making their final descent. Even before joining the Resistance, you had known those particular ships carried 709th Legion Stormtroopers—the best of the best and handpicked by the Supreme Leader himself.

Your heart raced in your chest. "Did they just land in our hangar?"

"Yep!" Drox yelled.

"Fuck!"

Zeven threw an exasperated glance over her shoulder. "Yep!"

"Get ready to fight!" you shouted back, and in response, Drox and Zeven unclipped their blasters. You reached for yours but groaned when you remembered wearing this little clothing meant you only had your vibroblade.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you panted, entering the tunnel that led to the spaceport. The only shuttle you could see from this vantage point was your own, parked in the stall directly across from the entrance—the farthest away from you. You ran faster. As dim lights led the way, you said a prayer to yourself that the Stormtroopers hadn't unloaded their ships yet, and if they had, that you'd be able to get away in time. This was the largest docking bay in Mos Eisley, after all, with two hundred stalls stationed around the massive, circular perimeter. Plus, you didn't know if they were actually after you, and it was almost dark out, and earlier, the garage lights weren't working and—

The moment you burst through the tunnel, your heart sank. It didn't matter that the hangar wasn't well-lit; the First Order transports were equipped with blinding white lights that flooded every nook and cranny of the docking bay. And just to make sure they squashed all chances of hope, they lowered both of their ramps at the same time, sending their troops running out through a thick plume of steam as white as their armor.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

In front of you, Drox and Zeven veered to the right—the opposite direction of the First Order transports—and you hastily followed. From across the hangar, you could hear the grumble of your shuttle as it roared to life as Finn ran down the ramp, screaming your names and begging you to run faster. You pushed forward as hard as you could, heart pumping and lungs aching, but were forced to duck when the first blaster shot soared right over your head.

Okay, so maybe they are after us.

"You three, halt!"

Zeven and Drox opened fire as they cut through the middle of the port, but without your blaster, you were forced to stay close to the perimeter. It would take longer, but it was the safer bet; your team could deal with the First Order scum long enough until you reached the shuttle, sight unseen.

At least, that's what you had hoped. "Halt!" came a Stormtrooper's demand, a blaster shot exploding at your feet to punctuate the command. You yelped and briefly looked at him but didn't slow your pace. He was much closer than you realized, but this brought you relief, not panic. He would have killed you by now if he had wanted you dead. "I said, halt!"

Still, you did not engage. You started to grab your vibroblade, just in case the 'trooper caught up with you, but the whine of an incoming First Order ship forced your attention up to the sky. When you saw a shuttle with tall, slanted wings hover above the other transports, your stomach twisted into knots.

"No," you whispered to yourself. "No."

A command shuttle like that could only mean one thing: the Supreme Leader of the galaxy was here.

With panicked breaths slamming in and out of your lips, you looked ahead to see that Drox and Zeven were almost at the shuttle. The others stood on the ramp, exchanging fire where they could keep cover, while you forced your legs to move faster than ever before.

Almost there, almost there. Just a little bit farther, I'm so clo—

The Stormtrooper chasing you had other plans, clearly, as his body collided with yours and took your ass down. The weight of his armor made you drop, your head slamming into the ground as a piercing pain shot up your side. It was an ungraceful fall, the kind that left you with a bloody mouth and an unladylike grunt of pain. Both of you scrambled to get the upper hand, but he succeeded in straddling you to attempt to pin your arms by your side. But even in your disorientation, you managed to fight back and throw him off balance.

"Stop resisting, or I will shoot!" You laughed in his face, and he added, "Please!" Even through his helmet, you could tell he was the one panicking. You almost felt a little bad. Almost.

Using his rising hysteria as an opportunity, you threw all your weight upward and headbutted him. He remained on top of you, but the blow threw him off balance long enough for you to reach the blade strapped to your thigh. You lashed out at him, but your first swipe only made contact with his armor, giving him time to scramble for his blaster.

But you were quicker.

You let out a yell, pivoting underneath him and twisting your hand to slip through the small cracks in his armor. It hurt like hell, and how your hand bent that way would remain a mystery until the end of time, but it was well worth it. You got him, confirmed by the hiss that emanated from his helmet.

It wouldn't kill him, but it gave you time to get out from under him. Hooking your knee between his legs, you thrust forward and forced him off you. He clambered for the blaster but you jumped on him, straddling his hips as you slipped your fingers under his helmet. His hands flew to his neck to stop you from exposing his throat, but he didn't stand a chance—your blade cut into his flesh like a hot knife searing through butter.

You winced as the blood gushed over his gloves. This is not how I thought this day was gonna go.

As you watched him gargle and choke on his own blood, you felt your eyes gloss over and your body numb. You were responsible for countless deaths, but you had never witnessed someone die so loudly before. It was disgusting, it was messy, but shock kept you frozen in place, unable to bring anything else to the forefront of your mind.

Such as your own wounds, which desperately needed attention, or the fact that you had somewhere to be...right?

You blinked as you tried to remember, your heartbeat slow and heavy in your head. But then the Stormtrooper took his last breath and his hand fell from his throat, sending a purge of blood from the slash. You gagged at the pungent, coppery odor, and it forced you off his corpse like it was on fire. On your hands and knees, you closed your eyes to stabilize yourself, but the world around you was spinning and there was a violent, shrill ringing in your ears. From somewhere up ahead, the sound of your name pierced through the fog in your skull.

You heard your name again and muffled shouts, like they were far away. Who's screaming? Your head spun. You wanted it to stop—the noise, the blood, the pain that seeped its way in. But you heard your name again and it sounded urgent this time. You forced yourself up and that's when you saw the transport, and your team waiting for you on the ramp.

And then it hit you. Run.

Despite the blaring pain ripping through your temples and side, you placed one foot in front of the other. A warm stickiness dripped down your forehead, impeding your vision, but you pushed through. You were so close to the cruiser now, you could hear the way your heels would clang against the steel ramp as you ran inside. You could imagine how its signature smell of earth, rust, and smoke would wrap around you, clinging to your clothes the second you stepped on board. You could even hear the way Poe and Chewie so often bickered in the cockpit while Finn tried to mediate between them, and you could feel Drox's heavy arm wrapping around your shoulders and Zeven slamming her fist against yours—a telltale sign that you had completed yet another successful assignment.

A smile split across your face. It would be there on that shuttle that you'd recuperate on the way back to home base, where you would see the rest of your family. Your home. Your safe haven.

"We did it, guys!" you yelled to your team as the shuttle teeter-tottered off the ground. "We fucking did it!"

But then, your body came to a stop. You yelped and looked down, bracing to fall forward, but an invisible rope wrapped around you and kept you frozen in place. Horror seized you by the throat. You knew only Force-users had this ability, which meant it could only be one specific person approaching you. But you didn't want to say his name. Refused to. Because then you'd have to accept that it was too late. That you were doomed.

You snapped your head up at the sound of Zeven's raw scream. "DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!"

Through shouts and tears, Zeven clawed at Drox to get around him, but he wouldn't let her, grabbing her by the midsection and yanking her back. You blinked rapidly, trying to will away the tears in your eyes, convincing yourself that Drox was just securing her before he saved you himself. To bring you to the shuttle, your safe haven. But then the ramp rose off the ground.

"Wait," you panicked, trying to push forward to no avail. "WAIT!"

The shuttle ascended quickly, and yet, time slowed down for you. Stormtroopers swarmed with their weapons raised as they shot at the ship, but their movements seemed sluggish. You watched in horror as the rest of your team screamed your name from the top of the closing ramp, but it sounded distorted, far away. It wasn't until the chunk of metal hissed closed that you were jolted back into real-time.

"No, don't go," you cried. But it was too late, they were leaving without you. A death sentence.

Tears poured down your face. After everything, this was how it ended? You had run with real ruffians and thugs of the galaxy, people without rules, a code, or even a cause. And yet, they never abandoned you on a mission. They fought for you, they fought beside you, even if it turned out they didn't even like you. But there was mutual respect for one another, and when you were a part of their family, you would die for them and vice versa.

When Organa took you in, she promised you'd have that same sense of reinforcement, but better. More stable, more consistent, safer...but the wind force of the departing shuttle stung your eyes, and you watched your team ascend higher and higher until they were just a speck in the sky.

Betrayal slammed into you. They abandoned me.

Your bottom lip trembled, tears bleeding freely down your face. You still couldn't move. If you could, you'd collapse from the grief settling atop your shoulders. You sensed your perpetrator watching you as he drew near, but you knew you wouldn't be able to fight. You'd die like this, all because you tried to do things the right way, joining a cause that was supposed to be good, do good. But the same good guys that saved you from one godforsaken desert, now left you to die in a different one.

When footsteps approached you from behind, you asked the question you already knew the answer to. "Who, who's there?"

No response. As he got closer, there was a shift in the air around you, as though the giant docking bay was shrinking from all sides. Blaster shots, explosions, starfighters whining in the sky...they all faded away. All you could hear was your pulse throbbing in your head and the agonizingly slow crunch, crunch, crunch of the thin layer of sand atop the stone ground. And when a tall, masked creature dressed in all black came into your vision, all you could see was him.

Kylo Ren. General Organa's son. The Supreme Leader of the galaxy. The man you knew was behind you this whole time, but you were too stubborn to admit it to yourself. The man you had heard so much about, even before Leia found comfort in your presence in the late hours of the night, a glass of whiskey in her hand as she spoke about what her son had become. A monster, a sick, twisted monster that brought death and destruction wherever he went.

A new Vader.

"You know who I am," he mused, his voice flat and disinterested through his mask. "Can't say the same about you."

You tried to respond but couldn't. That brought you some comfort—if you could speak, he'd hear the wavering in your voice, the heartache that would pour from your lips. He was already going to kill you. You didn't want to also give him the satisfaction of seeing you stutter over your words, too.

He waited a long moment, the silver visor of his black mask locked on your face, before placing his hands behind his back. He began circling you, so closely, his robes brushed against your leg. "Not that I need to know."

His hold on you dissipated, leaving you breathless as you collapsed to the ground. You scrambled to get up, to fight. You crouched and reached for your dagger, pulling it out and pointing it at him. "Stay away! I'm, I'm warning you!"

Kylo let out a cruel, humorless laugh. "Cute." He outreached his hand, and the blade was ripped from yours to fly into his. "This is a high-tech dagger for a Resistance rat like you. Used by trained killers and the like," he muttered, studying the weapon in his hands. He used his fingers to wipe off the Stormtrooper's blood before setting his gaze on you. "Either you stole this from somebody...or you're not the average Resistance rat."

You didn't respond, but you tensed at the latter.

He sounded amused. "Ah. So the General has created a new class of soldiers to defeat me," he mused, twirling your vibroblade before securing it in his belt. "Can't say I blame her."

"You're wrong. I've been trained since I was a kid to take down scum like you," you spat, bottom lip trembling. "That's why your mom hired me."

"Is that so?" he murmured, taking slow, menacing steps toward you.

"Yes," you said, retreating from his advances. You cursed and tried to twist away when your spine collided with the wall, but Kylo closed in on you, keeping you pinned with his towering presence alone.

"Hm, an ousted Kanjiklub assassin now commits crimes for General Organa." He paused. "How predictable. She always did have a soft spot for scoundrels."

Collecting all the saliva you could from the back of your throat, you tried to hock a wad of it in his face, but Kylo raised a gloved hand and clamped it over your mouth. Your hands flew to his arm, scrabbling at it to pull it off your face, but the Supreme Leader used his hold on you to shove you against the stone. You squirmed and tried to get away as he smeared the spit all over your lips and chin, but he didn't let you go until a Stormtrooper approached his position.

"Supreme Leader, we found Wor Groman."

You crouched as Kylo spun around, his shoulders tight and hands balled into fists by his sides. Pressing your back into the wall, you tried to inch around it without drawing attention to yourself. You just had to be quiet enough to get inside the stall, then you could attempt to flee.

"And the Emperor's crystal?" came Kylo's deep, modified voice.

"No crystal, sir."

"Bring him on board," the Supreme Leader demanded, starting to walk away from you. You threw a desperate glance at the Stormtrooper who was shuffling his feet. Please don't say it, please don't—

"He's dead, sir."

Fuck. You bolted but only managed to go a few steps before the Force stopped you in your tracks, turned you around, and lifted you into the air. With the point of your heels digging into the ground, you flew right into his hand, throat first.

"You."

He had only said one word, but it was filled with so much malice, so much hatred, you could feel the stomach acid bubble in your gut. Wide eyes darted across his mask as you clawed at the hand curling around your neck. You wanted to scream at him to put you down, but your jaw could only drop and rise with the effort of trying to breathe.

Kylo pressed a hand over your face. "You will give me everything."

An unforgiving pain sliced through your mind, and with a twist of his wrist, you could feel him tearing through your memories. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, your face crumpling in agony as your entire life flashed before your eyes. Your parents leaving you on Jakku, Unkar Plutt forcing you to work for him, Tasu bringing you into the gang, your introduction to General Organa, the way she trusted you with sensitive information about Luke Skywalker's location on Exegol, even after you had betrayed her...

Your tormentor pulled out of your mind with so much force, you expected to feel brain matter slide down your forehead when he tore his hand away. You screamed and fell to the ground, placing your hands over the back of your head to try and keep it from splitting apart. Furious ramblings soared above you, but you could only process part of what he was saying.

"Luke...Exegol...the girl..."

Time flowed in a fragmented manner. You couldn't tell how long you spent trying to stand up, reeling and groaning as his livid shouting rippled around the spaceport. You were too disoriented to move, to think. It wasn't until Kylo had you on your knees, forcing you to look at him, that you realized he had pulled you up by your hair.

"Why you?" the mask demanded, blurry as he swayed in and out of your vision. "Why did my mother disclose the last Jedi's location to a filthy criminal like you?"

"I...I..." you tried to respond, but you were too dizzy. You started to collapse again, but Kylo gripped the top of your head, snapping your weary eyes to his mask.

"Who are you?"

You blinked up at him, this man towering over you like death himself, his broad chest swelling with powerful breaths, and a wave of delirium hit you. The Supreme Leader of the galaxy was angry because he thought you were somebody important. That General Organa chose you because you were important. But you weren't. You were nobody, and in your final moments, you found that you had finally come to peace with that. Before you let out a frail whisper, the slightest of smiles touched your cracked lips.

"I thought you didn't need to know."

Kylo remained still as he stood over you, his fingertips digging into your scalp as he forced you to look up at him from your knees, and in his silence, you felt yourself slipping away. The edge of your vision started to darken and blur, and your head spun but it didn't hurt—if anything, you felt light and comfortable.

"You're so right," he said calmly, his voice swirling around you as you drifted off. Kylo moved his hand to cover your face. "Sleep."

You welcomed the darkness that pulled you under.