Unintentional Addiction: Lotus Adaamas Series

by Stone, Layla

  “I need a pixy pistol. And I need it immediately.”

  Zane looked at the black screen, grateful that Riam couldn’t see his eyes rolling.

  “I don’t sell pixy pistols anymore,” Zane told him for the second time.

  “I don’t care if you don’t sell them. I’m your best client, and I need one for my daughter. She says everyone who’s anyone has one.” Riam was wrong, he wasn’t Zane’s best client, but Zane didn’t correct him.

  “That particular model was discontinued. We don’t have the ability to make them again,” Zane lied. Shine—his chemist, who was also Zane’s business partner—vowed never to make another pixy pistol. He said he got glitter all over his shop and was still finding pieces of it years later.

  Even now, Zane inwardly smiled at how much his oldest friend grumbled about that particular design.

  “Nothing is un-gettable. You told me that when I first met you. And I’m telling you now, I need that pistol. My daughter told me she wants the pixy or nothing.”

  Zane grabbed his water from the drink holder and took a sip.

  Turning his wrist, he tapped his Minky watch, then pulled up Riam’s information and scanned the facts he’d collected over the years. The male was eighty-five, had one daughter, and had been married six times. A Bolark businessman, he sold real estate. His daughter, Miska, was thirty-one, had no job, spent time and money on the latest styles and diets, and took a lot of pictures with famous people.

  “Did you hear me?” Riam’s question brought Zane’s attention back to the call.

  Zane rubbed his mouth before answering. “I did. And I think I have something your daughter will like. I’m going to name a pistol after her. I’ll call it the charming pistol, and I will only make twenty. That way, she will have an item that no one else in her circle of friends can even dream of getting. And to top it off, I will autograph the pair of pistols you buy. Everyone knows me, and hardly anyone gets an autographed collection.” It was all a lie. Zane had already designed the gun and called it charming. Thankfully, only Shine, Trent, and Zane knew about the design. Once it was completed, Zane would probably have all twenty sold the first day—mostly contacts from Bolark because Riam wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut.

  There was a pause, but Riam responded a minute later. “I don’t know, she was adamant about the other one.”

  “She can do better than a ten-year-old gun.”

  Riam exhaled loudly over the line. “Okay, I’ll tell her and see what she says.”

  “No, you won’t tell her anything. You’ll buy the guns, host a birthday celebration, and present the pistols in front of all her friends. She will be a legend by the next morning.” And Zane would have orders minutes after the big reveal.

  “That’s brilliant, Z.”

  “I know.”

  “She will love it. And I already know the place to rent out for the night.”

  “Good.”

  “Thank you.”

  Zane smirked. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t heard the price.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”

  Zane already knew that. “Sixty-five thousand for an autographed, charming Miska pistol.”

  Riam chuffed. “Are you joking?”

  “I’m creating a new line just for her. How much did you think it would cost?”

  “It’s a toy, for heaven’s sake.”

  Zane chuckled. “Is that what your daughter told you? That my pistols are toys?” Zane sat straight and glared into the black screen, grateful that the pudgy bastard couldn’t see his eyes turn white—the one and only way you could tell he was a silk demon. “They’re as harmless as the acidic oceans on Lotus Adaamas.”

  “Are you saying it’s an actual gun?”

  Zane felt his blood pressure rise. “Yes, Riam, it’s an actual weapon.”

  “I’m not buying a real gun for my daughter, that’s insane.”

  Zane sat back in his tan leather seat and waited a few seconds before replying. “If you’re not interested in what I’ve offered, then I have nothing left to talk about, and I have other clients who I need to call back. Goodbye, Riam.”

  “Wait. Wait. I need to wrap my head around this. I mean, how dangerous is it? How long is the shelf life?”

  “It’s not a phaser, it’s a pistol. It has bullets. Three. It’s meant for protection, but not intended to take out a small army. It will defend your daughter against an attacker.”

  “Oh.” Riam’s voice rose. “I like that. Three bullets doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “It’s not a toy. If you get shot with even one bullet, the odds of living are slim to none.”

  Riam hissed. “What kind of bullets are in these guns?”

  “Well,” Zane said, forcing his voice to sound casual, “the pixy pistol was loaded with three rounds of glitter putty. When discharged, the glitter spread all over the body and suffocated the attacker.”

  Silence. Then, “Death by glitter? I think you just described my nightmare.”

  Zane grinned. “I know. I loved that about it.” Zane liked to design unique weapons that would give the user and any bystanders a lasting visual. So much so, that even though the gun only had three bullets, everyone feared being hit by one.

  “What kind of bullets are in the charming pistol?” Riam asked.

  Zane was pleased to answer. “I’m glad you asked. The bullets are made of a solution that seeps through all porous materials. Therefore, through the skin and into the bloodstream, effecting the attacker with a pleasant visual hallucination while their body dies of septic shock. The attackers perish with a charming smile on their faces.”

  “That sounds pleasant enough, I guess.”

  “I thought so, too. No suffocation, no bleeding to death, it’s as charming as falling asleep and never waking up.”

  “That makes it sound almost…oh, I get it. You’re clever. All right, I’ll wire you the keleps. I will need the pistols by—”

  Zane cut him off. “The seventeenth. I know.”

  “I would say I’m impressed that you know that, but I’m not. Terrans practically worship birthdays and anniversaries.”

  “That’s right, we do,” Zane said, pleased that everyone believed he was Terran. They didn’t fear him when they met him, and he could easily thorn them, bonding them to him so he had access to their subconscious to gather critical information about them and to refuel himself.

  Zane said goodbye to Riam and noticed that Trent had been inside the luxury galleon for a while. Concerned that something had happened, he opened the door and got out, intending to find out what was keeping him. As he peeked out, he heard a feminine yell. “I didn’t take it!” He turned back behind his Grummer and saw a female beating on the door to a transporter.

  No one on the ship would be able to hear her through the thick hull. But the female didn’t stop. “I didn’t take it! You dirtbogger.”

  Zane chuckled when the female shook her hand, clearly in pain from hitting the metal.

  The transporter the female was trying to get on had started its engines. She backed up and moved off the docking pad, grabbing a black box as she did.

  Intrigued, Zane continued watching the female, who had claimed that she didn’t take something. She stared after the transporter as it ascended into the sky. Once it was gone, Zane expected to see her shoulders slump with regret. They didn’t. Instead, they remained squared. He didn’t understand why she turned and glared at the star, but he saw a look he knew well. Her lips were flat. Nostrils flared.

  Anger.

  That was interesting. Two possibilities came to mind to explain it. One, she had been wrongly accused. The other was that she was guilty, and someone had ratted her out.

  Whoever she was, she must be a regular on the planet. Anyone not familiar with it and stranded on the Demon planet would be panic-stricken.

  Demons weren’t the fabled creatures written about on the Terran planet. No, they were originally called Kirca. There were only fou
r types of Kirca: Red, Night, Roth, and Silk, each one with physical traits that distinguished them.

  Reds had copper-red skin and a penchant for lustful cravings.

  Nights had protruding bones like horns, claws, and long teeth, and were known to do anything to make a deal where the opposite party ended up under their thumb.

  Roths had blue-greenish skin with sensitive spots that lined their spines and were known to like dark places.

  Lastly were Silks. They looked Terran until they got mad. Then, their eyes turned opaque white. They also suffered from Innoyalia, the inability to sleep. To get rest, they had to steal it. And they stole it through injecting a microscopic thorn into a humanoid host.

  Every Silk was born with the ability to continuously produce thorns.

  Once they touched a host with one of their ten fingertips, the thorns lodged themselves inside a host and slowly worked their way into the hippocampus of the brain.

  From there, the Demon could connect with someone’s subconscious, giving the Silk the ability to steal his or her host’s sleep. The connection also gave them the ability to go inside the host’s mind where they could walk in their dreams, making them tell their secrets or urging them to have sex with the Demon.

  Kircas had more stereotypes than any other race. Some things were rumors, others were fabricated to instill fear, still others were truths.

  The basic truth was this: anyone could be anyone given the right motivation.

  Kirca was a hostile, violent, and unwelcoming planet. So much so that when Terrans had first shown up, a Night Demon had lured them to a fake meeting and slaughtered them—just to send a message.

  That message had been received, and Terrans took to calling Kircas Demons. The name stuck, because to the Terrans, Kircas were identical to the demonic creatures of their lore.

  Not every Kirca was that way, though. One group had left the planet to settle on Lotus Adaamas. They’d built it up from nothing and made it a perfect place to find specialty items, entertainment, and a lot of money if you knew how to deliver what customers wanted and needed.

  The popularity was good for business. It also brought the vilest Kircas to the docks.

  Which was why Lotus Adaamas was notorious for being either the best of times or the worst of times for visitors.

  Zane watched the angry female in front of him with her olive skin, thick, dark curls, and steel backbone, and wondered if Adaamas was going to swallow her up, or if she would take a bite out of someone and spit them out.

  The female turned, her pale, almost yellow-brown eyes sharp and full of verve. As their gazes connected, Zane’s Demon instinct kicked in.

  She was standing in front of him, her eyes scanning him from head to toe. Zane looked around and saw that they were in a dark, wet, cement structure. No windows. A single pair of chains hung from the ceiling. Cuffs hung from the ends, broken and covered in dried blood.

  Casting his eyes back towards the female in front of him, he noticed that her wrists were rubbed raw as if she’d just escaped some physical abuse.

  Zane checked his own wrists, they were bare—no chains, and no rope meant that she didn’t fear him at all.

  The vision ended, and Zane knew that whoever the female was, she had more than a backbone of steel. She had developed the strength through years of abuse.

  He could feel her eyes soaking him in. His blood tingled with desire. A confident female with eyes like that would be perfect for a one-night blitz.

  Zane imagined savoring her unique femme cream. With her yellowish eyes, he hoped that she tasted like honey and pim, exotic and familiar. A shudder ran through him.

  He smiled in greeting.

  Her dark eyebrows furrowed before she glanced away. Pivoting towards the exit, he noticed how slowly she walked with the box. Whatever was in it must be heavy. And for the first time in his memory, Zane was more interested in the person than what could be in the box she was carrying.

  “That’s not normal,” he mumbled.

  “What’s not normal?”

  Zane didn’t realize that his associate had returned from stocking the ship. His stomach constricted as he remembered how Trent had betrayed him.

  Trent had been working for him for two years. The only person in a long time who had picked up the logging system Zane had created. Trent knew the buyers and the orders as well as Zane did. He was possibly the best damn associate Zane had ever hired, except the man was also a thief.

  It had taken a year to figure out why he was getting complaints of items not working or not lasting as long as they should.

  Zane had spent days, nights, months checking and double-checking the products he bought wholesale to resell. Months of checking had garnered no answers. It wasn’t the product—or at least the high-performance parts he purchased had been tested and passed each quality check.

  He didn’t think anything was happening to the product once it arrived in his warehouse either, but he had installed a new camera with night vision, motion detection, and infrared spectrum just in case.

  The camera had caught Trent pilfering the latest purchases. Zane had watched the video that very morning. He had been livid when Trent walked into work like nothing was wrong. The bastard had stolen half the alloric pulsars that powered the engine part. It was the second time that particular client had bought the item.

  The first time, the client had told him about the quick burn-out, and they’d both concluded that it was a dud part. The second time, the client wasn’t happy, and neither was Zane—to the point where Zane had promised that he would replace the part for free.

  Trent had known the entire time that he was the one destroying the product. Which meant that he also understood he was ruining Zane’s reputation, something Zane had cultivated for years. And here Trent was, ruining it on purpose. The disloyalty had hit Zane so hard and so deeply, he knew he wouldn’t recover until Trent suffered.

  The fact that Trent dared to even be in Zane’s space enraged him. The slimy, backstabbing bastard was a walking, lying Terran. “What’s not normal?” Trent repeated.

  Thinking quickly, Zane lied. “This heat.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s been hotter than usual,” Trent agreed with an absent nod.

  “You finished?”

  “Yep, left the engine booster and hydro-cleaner in the cargo bay, and then left your gift for the captain on the bar.”

  “Good.” Zane opened the door to the Grummer and got in. Trent sat beside him. The automatic engine vibrated slightly as the energy sources engaged and the vehicle moved forward. Leaving the docks, Zane watched the woman slip through the gate. She turned right and followed the outside fence that ran parallel to the main highway.

  It was a good twenty-seven to thirty miles to the city. She had a long walk ahead of her. Zane checked the sky. The hot star was heating the air and ground. By the time she got to the city, it would be long past dark.

  “You’ve been quiet today,” Trent said, taking Zane out of his head.

  Zane didn’t give the male an excuse or fill the air with fake platitudes.

  Forty minutes later, Trent spoke again. “I think we missed our turn.” He pointed at the street they were passing. “Is this thing malfunctioning?”

  “It’s a Grummer. Don’t insult my vehicle.”

  “Where are we going, Z?”

  Zane didn’t answer.

  Trent sat back and shrugged. “I thought we were past the surprises? What are we picking up? And from who?”

  “Checking out,” Zane said coolly. Trent had no idea that the item he planned to drop was him. And by the end of it all, it would definitely get bloody.

  3

  Down but Not Out

  Adelia felt the sting of angry tears in the backs of her eyes. Exiled and forced to leave everything behind two years ago had been horrific. This time, she was flat-out pissed.

  Rotten-dick, backstabbing, cowardly dirtbogger.

  If she saw Captain Eriben again, she would find so
mething hard and dull and dig out his eyes and then stomp on them.

  Everything was gone. Again. No one cared. Again. If Seth were as honorable as the Yunkins believed, he wouldn’t let this keep happening.

  Puss-sucking, knuckle dragging, sandeater.

  The box was getting heavy, and her biceps were on fire. She set the container down in the middle of the dock walkway, lifted the top, and pulled out the homner. She stuffed the ball into her pocket and returned the lid to the box.

  Then she picked it back up and walked to a disposable bin to tip it in. Whoever was looking for the valuable liquid would never find out what had happened. And she delighted in that fact because they had inadvertently screwed her over.

  Now, all she had to do was find a buyer so she could sell it. This was Lotus Adaamas. It was full of merchants. With any luck, she would have it sold by the end of the day and could be on a ship tomorrow, headed to a decent planet that she could settle down on.

  At the gate, she was surprised to see that the guards didn’t say anything to her as she left, but they were busy checking everyone trying to come inside. Outside the docks, she saw miles of white sand. Not flat expanses, but smooth hills of it. Her feet sank in as she walked through the small granules. Keeping to the road that ran parallel to the docks, she mentally braced for the long trek.

  She couldn’t see the city buildings in the distance. Not that she had seen them firsthand before, but she had seen pictures of Adaamas at night in photographs from her Minky watch. It looked nothing like that now.

  Hours into her walk, her throat had stopped stinging from the acidic air. Now, it was numb. Her mouth was dry, and her skin dripped with sweat. She felt gross and overheated.

  It was a unique feeling, to be overheated. Yunkin, the planet she had grown up on, was cold. Summer temperatures peaked at fifty to sixty degrees Fahrenheit. This heat felt like it was burning her skin—or maybe it was a combination of the heat plus the acidic air.

  “Hey, you with the knife,” a female voice called out.

  Adelia had been so wrapped up in her mind, she’d forgotten to pay attention to her surroundings. A female with blueish-green skin was sitting on her street hopper. The hopper was hovering four inches off the ground, a small engine at the back, handlebars at the front, and a thick bench seat.