Caught Not Cuffed

The Chronicles of Roxie Vega

Angelique Fawns

May 06, 2026

Pssst…. They are coming!

TWO ROXIE VEGA BOOKS!!

Yes, actual books with the whole story - edited and in order - ebooks, audiobooks, and paperbacks.

I just hired the MOST amazing cover artist. Someone who’s work I’ve admired for years. (Stay tuned.)

As ABACUS would say, “💥🔥‼️”

Last we left our intrepid hero, she was wiggling her way onto a high-end space yacht. Her dad is in deep trouble and she’s reluctantly doing what she does so well. The heist.

Chapter 2 of Book 1

Earth - Year 2503

Onboard the Vanity Voyager

The space was tight, and Roxie had to hold her breath to squeeze through, but she managed. Oil slicked her skin as she wiggled into the main cabin and knelt on a real hardwood floor. She breathed deeply of the oaky scent and ran her hand over the knotty surface. It was gorgeous. Almost all forests in their state had been clear-cut centuries ago, though the bluegrass fields could still be found outside the city.

Her jaw dropped when she clocked the rest of the interior.

She’d expected nice. This was obscene.

Granite countertops in the galley. A chandelier that was somehow both ridiculous and perfect, throwing soft prisms across the ceiling. Jasmine joined the oaky smell from the flowers tumbling down a living wall.

Such a far shot from their semi-detached on Mulberry Street, with its shag carpet, peeling wallpaper and that persistent smell of mold, stale beer, and old leather from Buzz’s revolving door of biker friends.

With the black oil smudged on her skin from the cleaning entrance, she felt as greasy as Buzz’s buddies. Nothing she could do about that now, but she made a mental note to steal a wash rag and bring it with her when she left. For now, it was time to get those stupid baggies. She eyed the most obvious places that a rich dude would hide his drug stash.

Moving quickly, she went through the galley cupboards. Crystal glassware, neatly racked. Wines sorted by vintage, reds on the ambient shelf, whites chilling below. A small bookshelf held actual paper books — a couple of Hemingway titles, a battered copy of A Wrinkle in Time. She checked behind the books out of instinct. Nothing.

She moved to the rear quarters.

The main bedroom made her snort. A King-sized bed, slowly rotating beneath a mirrored ceiling. She went through the drawers, keeping the items immaculately folded. Silk pajamas, expensive underwear, some high-tech looking sex toys… which made her shudder. But no drugs.

Goosebumps were rising on her skin from the fresh air being piped in through the filters of the ship. Far better smelling than the gas and garbage odor of the rest of the space port. Picking up on the pace, she pushed open a second door to a more modest bedroom. Probably the guest quarters.

Then she heard a sound behind her and froze.

Footsteps. From the washroom off the main hall.

“Please let it be a Sparklebot, please let it be a Sparklebot,” she whispered.

Though she knew already it wasn’t. Cleaning robots were usually silent, or at most made a light whooshing sound. These were heavy steps. Manly steps.

She weighed her options in about half a second. Run for the cleaning hatch and probably get caught in the duct like that poor raccoon in their chimney last year. (Roxie had saved him with some olive oil and a broom.) Or brazen it out.

Roxie straightened her bra. She was literally almost naked. And whoever owned this ship was obviously kinky. Hadn’t Buzz said they were into prostitutes? And all those purple toys in the dresser. She could play this.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed her panic to the back of her brain. That’s not how she survived her childhood in the house of a biker.

She plastered a big fake smile on her face and cocked her hip in a way she hoped was sexy as the man came out of a third room. Probably the bathroom.

He was around twenty, maybe a year or two older than her. Dark hair, thick and slightly disheveled. Light brown eyes set above high cheekbones and tanned skin. Built like someone who spent many, many hours in an extra-gravity gym. And dressed in jeans, a plain black t-shirt, scuffed leather jacket.

For some reason, she’d assumed the owner of this ship would lounge around in a smoking jacket or plush robe.

They stared at each other.

In his hand, he held a small, iridescent bag. She could see four more tucked in his jacket pocket.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was low and amused. “Nice outfit.” He raised his eyebrows as he cataloged her underwear and grease-stained arms.

Roxie crossed her arms over her chest. “Didn’t you order a French maid?”

“You don’t look very French.” One dark eyebrow went up. “Are you trying to tell me you’re employed by Hooker Dash?”

Roxie quickly realized this charade wasn’t going to work, and she had to exit the ship. But the owner of the Vanity Voyageur, who was looking highly amused, was blocking her way.

“Must have got the wrong ship,” she said as she tried to push past him.

“You can say that again.” He grabbed her arm, but she was able to slip out of his grasp, thanks to the oil.

“Must. Have. Got. The. Wrong. Ship. Now let me by,” Roxie tried to sound intimidating.

Now the man laughed. “Are you trying to rob the ship, little miss, not a maid or a hooker? That’s illegal.”

She nodded at the bag in his hand. “Is that Ether Bliss? You know that’s also illegal.”

His mouth curved, revealing devastatingly white teeth. “Are you actually lecturing me while you’re standing in a ship that isn’t yours?”

Roxie thought frantically and then tried again, “I’m an undercover agent.”

He laughed. It was a real laugh, surprised out of him, and it was warm and rough. A laugh, Roxie really liked.

“You’ve got five bags. That’s distribution.”

“It’s a party.” He gave her a slow grin. The kind that was designed to make women do stupid things. “Can I interest you in a drink while we discuss who’s going to have who arrested here?”

“I’m kind of busy–”

He gestured toward the galley with an easy sweep of his arm. “There are some fine vintages in the other room.”

She was actually considering it when a banging came from under the hull.

“Roxie, unlock the front hatch. Let me in, I’ll come help you look!” Buzz’s muffled voice echoed up the cleaning shaft.

Roxie closed her eyes. Of course, he couldn’t just wait silently like a normal accomplice.

The man shook his head, the fun light in his eyes vanishing. “Friend of yours?”

She didn’t think there was any sense in lying, so she shrugged. “That’s my father.”

“Huh.” He crossed his arms. “You know, we haven’t even introduced ourselves.”

“Because I didn’t want to tell you my name.”

“Let me guess.” He held up a finger for each. “Desiree. Candy. Lola.”

“Roxie. And if you call me Candy or Desiree, I will find something heavy on this very fancy ship and throw it at your very pretty head.”

He grinned. A real one this time, quick and disarming, and it did something funny to her stomach.