by Susan Hayes
He picked up the pace, and before he’d swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, he’d broken into a run. If Maggie wouldn’t protect herself from the patrons of the Bar None, he’d have to do it for her.
8
Normally Striker avoided the central bridge that connected the two sides of the colony. It was too crowded and noisy, and he usually ran into at least one being who knew him and wanted to talk.
Tonight was no different. Despite the setting sun and chilly weather, the place was still busy and most of the street vendors were still open and hawking their wares. New carts and stands had appeared since the last time he’d come this way, and some of the originals had expanded their spaces and made them more solid and durable. The colony was maturing. Slowly for now, but he had no doubt the changes to the market area were being repeated all across Haven.
He’d walked past the bar plenty of times but never gone inside. He’d been tempted once or twice by the delicious scents that wafted through the door, but he’d never given in.
The door was closed to keep the cold out, but the moment he pulled it open, warm air redolent with spices and roasted meat washed over him, accompanied by the buzz of voices as the patrons talked and ate.
Several of the cyborgs looked at him in surprise, and a few made a point of looking anywhere but in his direction. Those were the ones who still feared him. After all these months, some still hadn’t forgotten who he’d once been. It was another reason he avoided places like this.
“On your left,” a familiar voice sounded in his head.
He turned and spotted Ruin seated in a corner with his back to the wall. Wreckage sat across from him, the streaks of white in his dark hair making him easy to recognize even from behind.
He walked over to them and was gratified when Ruin kicked a chair his way.
“Sit.”
“Appreciate it.” He didn’t bother trying to speak aloud.
“Never expected to see you in here. You here for the music, the food, or the booze? The new bartender makes better drinks than the bot. If you’re here to drink, be sure to get her to make it,” Wreckage said and then nodded toward the bar area.
“And she’s easy on the eyes, too,” Ruin said.
Maggie was behind the counter, her smile bright as she poured something red into a glass and gave it a quick stir. She looked beautiful. Different. Instead of the battered and worn clothes she usually wore out in the woods, she was dressed in a vivid green top that hugged her curves and was scooped low enough to show an expanse of pale skin and had short sleeves that left her arms bare.
“I’m here to keep an eye on a friend.” And judging by the way his friends and many other men present were looking at Maggie, it was a good thing he’d come.
“And here I thought we were your only friends,” Wreckage said before draining his glass. “It’s my turn to talk to the pretty redhead. What are you drinking, Striker? This round is on me.”
He was out of his chair in a second, beating Wreckage to his feet. “I’ve got this.”
Both men looked surprised but didn’t argue. “Afterburners,” Ruin said, pointing to their empty glasses. “If you haven’t tried it, you should. Tasty and enough of a kick it takes the medi-bots a few minutes to catch up.”
Striker nodded and moved toward the bar. He didn’t need a drink. He just didn’t want Wreckage near Maggie. He trusted the man, but Maggie was busy and didn’t need to deal with another flirtatious customer. She had work to do.
The tavern was filling up quickly, and he noted that the stage area was already being set up in preparation for tonight’s performance. Servo-droids zipped passed him, delivering food and drink orders to the tables, but a line of customers still waited for Maggie to serve them personally.
All of them were male.
He gritted his teeth. They could use the vething droids and save Maggie some work.
He took his place at the end of the line and waited. He could hear everything they said to Maggie. Cyborg and Vardarian alike plied her with jokes, friendly banter, and flattery.
She treated them all the same, with a bright smile and a few cheerful, noncommittal words.
When his turn came, she didn’t look up before asking, “And what can I get you tonight?”
“Three Afterburners and an explanation for why you haven’t used that dagger yet.” He spoke softly, but even still several cyborgs turned to stare when he actually spoke out loud.
She looked up in surprise and then gave a soft squeal of delight. “Striker!”
Her genuine response helped take the edge off his anger. “In the flesh.”
“Three Afterburners coming up, and it’s nice to see you. Here for the music?”
“No.”
“For the food? Got tired of sandwiches?”
“No.”
Maggie kept measuring and pouring as she talked. “You came for my soon-to-be-famous cocktails?”
“No.”
He pointed to the knife strapped to her hip and then frowned when he saw what she was wearing. Her skirt was jet black and barely covered the tops of her thighs, showing a long expanse of bare legs clad in boots that rose almost to her knees.
His cock came to life instantly as an image of those legs wrapped around his hips popped into his head. “No pants?”
“I get better tips in a skirt,” she explained.
He growled.
She laughed. “If you’re not here for the food, the booze, or the music, what are you here for?”
“You.”
That made her smile. “I’m honored. What table are you at? Once the music starts, I’m going on a break. I could join you if you like?”
“I’d like that.” He turned and pointed to his table. “Wreckage and Ruin.”
“Oh! That’s them? Will you introduce me?”
He managed to swallow back another growl and nodded stiffly. It would be best if she met them here and not in the woods. Plus, he could make it clear that she was the one he was here to watch over. “Yes.”
“I’ll see you later then.” Maggie set three drinks down on a tray and pushed it toward him.
There was a credit machine on the tray, too. He ran his hand over it and transferred the scrip for the drinks and a generous tip, too. If she needed money, he’d help. Then she could start wearing pants to work. That skirt looked too good on her. No wonder the customers were flirting.
He carried the drinks back to the table, rearranging his chair so he had a clear view of the bar and Maggie when he sat down.
“So, get anywhere with the redhead?” Wreckage asked.
He took a sip of his drink before answering. It was excellent. “Her name is Maggie Piper, and she’s under my protection.”
Ruin choked on his drink and Wreckage whistled. “How the fraxx did you make that happen during a two-minute conversation?”
He explained how he’d met Maggie. The bark spider. The cookies. And the agreement to teach her how to protect herself and navigate the woods.
“But she’s human,” Ruin pointed out when he was done. “Since when did we start trusting them?”
“I don’t trust them. I trust her.”
They both considered that for a moment and then nodded. There’d been a time they’d looked to him as their leader, and he was gratified to see they still trusted his judgment.
“If you trust her, that’s enough for me,” Wreckage said.
“Same here,” Ruin agreed. “Plus, she’s pretty.”
“And we do like pretty,” Wreckage raised his glass and then grinned at Striker.
“I can hear you grinding your teeth from here. If she’s yours, she’s yours. No poaching. I owe you too much to do that to you.”
Striker snorted. “She’s not mine. She’s just under my protection. And if she was? I’m not worried about competition. I’m no prize, but I’m still prettier than either of you.”
Even as he said the words, he wasn’t sure how true they were. After the kisses they shared
today, she wasn’t just someone he wanted to protect anymore. He wanted more. But how much more? He didn’t know the answer to that. All he was sure of was he didn’t want anyone else taking that choice away from him before he figured it out.
Striker had come to see her.
Maggie couldn’t believe it, but all she had to do was look across the room to prove to herself it was real. The man who lived in the woods and rarely spoke to anyone had come into town for her. That was amazing enough, but now she’d seen him all cleaned up… holy fraxx. The man was hotter than a supernova. He’d shaved, and she’d been tempted to hop over the bar and kiss him then and there to see if it felt different without the stubble. His outdoor gear had been replaced with a pair of dark slacks and a dress shirt the same shade of blue as his eyes. He could have been a holo-vid actor or one of the celebrity models who sold everything from toothpaste to vacation homes on distant planets.
She kept up her steady flow of light banter with her customers, but every few minutes she would find herself watching Striker again. Every time she looked his way, he was watching her.
“Who is that and why is he looking at you like you’re on the menu?” Anya asked a few minutes before the night’s entertainment was due to start.
“Who?” Maggie asked, pretending not to know.
“Please. The way you two are making eyes at each other is making me jealous and slightly concerned I’m going to wind up in violation of the decency laws on this planet.”
“There are no decency laws on Liberty.”
“Good thing, too. So, spill. Who’s the hot, broody blond?”
“That’s Striker.”
“The wild cyborg of the woods? Him? Holy fraxx. I was expecting something more like Raze. You know. Beard, long hair. Looks like he’s part tree?”
“I’ve met Raze, yeah. He does look like he’s about to start growing leaves.” The cyborg Anya described had been the founder of the colony and had spent several years alone on the planet before his now-wife had crash-landed here. It was a romantic story, but once she’d come to Haven and met the couple involved, she’d realized there was a lot more to it than the tale that had reached Earth. There was so much more going on behind the scenes, and she hadn’t known any of it. Some she couldn’t have known. But some of it she’d deliberately ignored because she’d been too busy trying to survive her own problems to worry about someone else’s. Only it turned out, they all had the same problem—the corporations.
“Are there any more like him out there? I might need to take up hiking. You know, for my health.” Anya grinned.
“The two he’s sitting with spend a fair bit of time out in the woods, too. Or so Striker says. I haven’t met them yet.”
“Then go meet them now and let me know if they’re single. Go on, shoo. You’re officially on your break. You find out if they’re single, and I’ll tell you what I found out when I talked to Phaedra today.”
“You talked to her?” Maggie felt a surge of hope. Phaedra was her best chance of tracking down Jade or at least finding some hint as to where she’d gone.
“I did. She’s going to help. Details later. Go grab your food and take your break.”
“Thank you! She gave Anya’s hand a quick squeeze and darted through the door to the kitchen.
Saral waved a spoon in her direction. “Hello. Anya said you’d be coming for your dinner. N’tev’s just plating it up.”
“Thanks.”
“How’s the energy out there?” Saral asked.
“Packed house, good buzz, no problems.”
“My favorite kind of night,” N’tev said, turning to offer her a tray. The pasta dish she’d ordered looked perfect, but two other plates sat on the tray as well. One was a double serving of the new dessert with her cookie recipe, and the other was a platter of fried tubers smothered in dark gravy and topped with chunks of soft, melting cheese.
“I didn’t order all that.”
“Anya told us to add the dessert and the pora. She thought you might want to bring it over to the guy who won’t stop staring at you.” All three cooks grinned at her. “Who is he?”
“You’re all in on this conspiracy?”
“We’re old and mated. Let us have this one moment of excitement,” Saral said.
“Not that old, my mahaya,” N’tev rumbled.
“I think our beloved is feeling neglected. Three do you think? Or four?” Antas asked. He was flipping a spatula between his fingers as he eyed his mate with blatant hunger.
“Four,” N’tev stated.
Saral shivered, her golden skin taking on a metallic sheen.
“Four?” Maggie asked, too curious to be discreet. Not that the Vardarians would mind. They were far more open about their sexuality than most humans.
“Orgasms,” Saral explained with a wicked little smile that flashed her fangs.
“Lucky you.”
“My anrik and I are the lucky ones,” Antas said. “Now, who is the male?”
“His name’s Striker. The one from the woods.”
“Ah. And he’s come to town just to see you?” Saral asked.
“It appears so.” She blushed a little, a ribbon of hope and desire unfurling deep inside.
“Then go to him. Feed him. Enjoy,” N’tev said.
“And make sure you get at least two orgasms tonight!” Saral called out as Maggie turned to go.
“He’s only a friend!”
“Bah. He’s here to see you. Orgasms are coming. Enjoy them!”
She could only hope the heavy door had muffled Saral’s last words enough no one could have heard. Bracing herself, she walked out of the kitchen and into the front of the house.
Thankfully, the only one laughing was Anya. “They made you blush? Dammit. Now I owe them an extra night off.”
“With pay!” N’tev called out through the still-closing door.
“Yeah, yeah,” Anya called back. She didn’t look at all concerned about losing. Then she turned and said in a normal tone, “Kade’s running behind, so you’ve got time to talk before the music starts.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you. This night has already been the most successful one yet. They love your drinks and you’ve got a real way with the customers. I’m glad to have you on the team.”
High on Anya’s compliments and buzzing with anticipation, Maggie made her way through the throng. She balanced the loaded tray on one hand and kept her other free to swat at anyone who tried to get touchy-feely on her way by. This time, no one tried anything.
Striker got to his feet and took the tray before she reached the table, setting it down at an empty space and a chair he’d found for her. He waited until she was seated before reclaiming his place beside her, demonstrating an unexpected level of manners.
He cleared his throat and then pointed to the man to her left. “Wreckage.” He said, his voice its usual roughened growl. Then he pointed to the man beside Wreckage. “Ruin.”
He pointed at her this time. “Maggie.”
“We met at the bar earlier,” Ruin said. “I didn’t know you were a friend of Striker’s. Sorry if I came on a little strong.”
“You didn’t. After all, you’ll never get a fish to bite if you don’t throw out some bait.”
“You fish?” Wreckage asked.
“A little,” she admitted, setting down her dinner and then placing the pora in the middle of the table with utensils enough for everyone.
Ruin leaned forward, curious. “I didn’t know Earth still had fish. I thought it was too fraxxed up to support life outside the hive cities.”
“You’re right. No fish in the wild, but most hive cities had tame schools as part of the water purification process. As kids we’d go down to the smaller pools and try to catch the perch. We couldn’t eat them because of the biohazard risk, but it was something to do.”
“Fish you couldn’t eat?” he asked, using his voice again.
“The small ones, no. When they got bigger, they w
ere moved to larger tanks with cleaner water. Once the level of sewage reached safe levels, the fish were harvested and a new batch was cloned.”
“Sewage? They swam in that and then you ate them?” Ruin’s voice carried the same horror Striker felt.
“Not everyone could afford vat-grown proteins. It was that or eat rats, and I’ve eaten my share of those, too. Honestly, at least you knew where the fish had been.”
She dug into her meal with relish while the men watched her. “Humans are hardier than I thought,” Wreckage said. “Is this for us?”
“It is. Sorry. I should have mentioned that. Dig in. All of you.” She pointed her fork at the dessert. “Anya sent that along, too. It’s made from the same cookie recipe I baked for you. It’s amazing.”
Striker eyed the savory dish and then the dessert. She knew which one he was going to go for before he picked up his fork—the dessert.
One bite later he made a low sound of pleasure that rolled through her like the buzz of her favorite sex toy—which had been getting a lot of use in the last few days.
“Good, isn’t it? I tried to get them to call it ‘Better than Sex,’ but Anya vetoed it.” She realized her mistake the second the words left her mouth.
Striker’s eyes darkened and the other two grabbed spoons and stole bites of the dish while he was distracted.
“Mine. Get your own,” Striker snarled at them and then took another spoonful and held it out to her. “Taste.”
“I know what it tastes like…”
“Now.”
Fraxx, it wasn’t fair how sexy he was when he got this growly. She did what she was told, and he fed her the dessert. It really was delicious. She decided to get a little payback and licked the spoon as he withdrew it, moaning softly as she did.
“That is good. Sex with me would be better,” he said.
She nearly combusted right there in her seat and the part of her brain that controlled speech short-circuited.
Ruin barked out a sharp laugh and leaned back in his chair. “I’m going to take your word on that.”
“And I’m going to order us our own bowl of bliss. What is this stuff called, Maggie?”