"What? No! I am inordinately proud of you." Why did his son not see that? "Why would you think I wasn't?"
The youth traced a pattern in the wood. "I figured if you were proud, you'd have wanted to tell people about me." He peeked up under his lashes. "Instead of making me hide."
His son could not have cut out Luc's heart any better with a knife.
"No! That was never why. Son." He reached for Senthys but placed his hand flat on the table. "I promise you." He held his son's gaze, willing him to understand. "I am indeed proud of you. I hide you to protect you."
"You're my father. It's public record. You own the house where I live. You sponsored me into the Guild. I don't see how that's hiding."
Luc sagged in his chair. "Do you have any idea how much it costs to buy off the media? There are almost two dozen planets in this empire. The media exacts a heavy toll on silence when--" He stopped himself. Lowered his voice. "You don't need to know the deals I make and you don't need to make it more difficult--or expensive--for me to protect you from the fame that dogs my every step. A thief can't work in a spotlight." He drew back. "Most of the time, neither can I."
"What you're saying is--you've been protecting me?"
How many times had he said that exact thing? Did this child never listen? With yet another reminder to pick his battles, Luc tamped down his frustration. "Yes."
The adorable blue eyes and shy smile that had charmed Luc when Senthys was a toddler flashed across his son's face and then was gone.
No sweet little kitten remained a kitten forever. No matter how much you wished they could.
"Thanks, Dad." Senthys cleared his throat and placed his hands in his lap. "Okay, so you know about my mother now. Who is she and where is she?"
"Sileenya Antonello was seventeen when you were born. She was fifteen when she had your older brother."
"Geez, that's young. I have a brother and a mom?"
"Yes. All the intel I have on her is in here. I wish it were more." He slid the notereader toward him, but when Senthys reached for it, Luc placed a hand over it.
"Dad, this isn't fair! You always--"
Luc held up a hand. "I am not requiring you to do anything to get this." He tapped the device. "I could have. It's time for your weekly injection, but I wouldn't use anything this important to coerce you into cooperating. It isn't all good news. I wanted--" Luc turned his head, took a long, sighing breath.
"You wanted what?"
This was the hard part of being a father. The part no one warned you about when you adopted a child. No one warned you one day you might have to crush the hopes of your son because you refused to tell him a bald-faced lie.
Luc faced him squarely. "I wanted to be the one who told you where she was."
Chapter Four
Miraj City, Crooktown District
Sofftem 16, early morning
The night before, Khyff Antonello had smiled his way through the list of clients his master required him to serve. The unending litany of oh thank you so muches and oh wow you are so awesomes and oh my god you are so beautifuls set his teeth on edge. He forced himself not to hurry, even though every part of him wanted to cut and run.
He took no pleasure himself. All clients wanted was a body that performed. His did. Caring about any of them? Not happening.
The house didn't advertise him as the Machine for no reason.
Being a parolee-slash-pleasure-slave meant you serviced the clients sent to you, or you suffered for it. In Khyff's case, refusing meant risking prison.
He would never go back there, no matter what they made him do here.
The bite of sex enhancers in his veins and the monotony of face after face had pushed him to his limit of patience, but he endured. At least no one had paid to hurt him this time. He'd gotten through the night without adding to his sordid collection of bruises and scars.
The only thing worse than getting a scar was someone pitying him because of it.
It was finally morning, he had the entire day off, and that client who said he knew Senth Antonello had come through.
A meeting was scheduled at a local coffee shop in a few hours.
Khyff had showered between every client, yet he took one more to ensure he looked clean and his hair smelled fresh. He didn't want to show up smelling of some woman's stale perfume or with the lingering stink of a man's cologne.
He scanned his limited street wardrobe.
Should he go with the I'm so trashy I'm hot collection, or the you know you want to eat me grouping?
He pulled out a white shirt he wore as part of a favorite costume. Women loved pretending to rescue and then seduce a good boy gone bad. He'd gotten the name brand shirt secondhand, so the worn cuffs and collar were to be expected. Besides, wear added to the effect. If no one looked too closely, it wouldn't matter.
He chose plain black leggings. Over that, he donned a black velvet jacket that he'd bartered for at a shop downtown.
The quickie in a dressing room had taken minutes, but the jacket had brought him more than a dozen regular clients. The plain boots from the copbot costume pinched, but they'd been a bargain and he rarely kept on shoes longer than it took to walk into a room.
Over it all, he slipped on his favorite coat, a long black leather number that felt smoother than butter on the skin. He'd bartered for that, too, and it had cost him far more than a few minutes. He was still paying for it, in fact, but he deemed it worthy of the time. Besides, the woman who made it to fit him was gorgeous and he didn't get many of those.
A bargain at twice the cost.
He couldn't spend money on clothing. Not when he needed every drak to buy his freedom.
Khyff hadn't slept, so his eyes were bloodshot. Drops fixed the problem, and he blinked away the sting. He bit his lips to darken them and ran fingers through his hair to straighten it. Satisfied he looked presentable, he gathered his ID, and then opened a panel in his closet.
He'd discovered the hidden compartment one night while chasing a rat. It held a flat blade wedged into a grip made of wood. Perhaps once part of a costume, it had grown rusty. It had an old feel. As if it had been there, unseen, for years.
Khyff had polished and sharpened it, waiting for the right time. The right reason. He could tolerate abuse if it enabled him to buy his freedom and escape this nightmare forever.
But Senth?
After what Khyff had gone through because of him... No, to avenge himself on Senth, Khyff would risk any punishment the parole board meted out.
He slipped the knife into a boot and slid the pant leg down over it and his slave shackle. The unit would broadcast his location, so there was no running away once he did what he was going to do. That was fine.
For vengeance, he'd pay the price.
Senth was the reason Khyff's mother had abandoned him.
Senth was the reason she was still missing almost two decades later.
Senth was the reason Khyff had been a slave since age three.
If this wasn't his brother, if this was some imposter, Khyff wanted to hear why. And if it was Senth, when Khyff got his hands on him, he'd find out where his mother was and why she'd never come back for him. And then he'd make sure, once and for all, his halfbreed brother got what he was supposed to get the day he was born.
What he deserved to get.
Dead.
* * * *
Going down the back stairs, Khyff avoided speaking to the female slakes heading up. They gave him strange looks, as if he were a client and didn't belong here.
Dressed this way, maybe that's how he looked.
At the base of the stairs, he stepped outside and walked right into the master who owned the slake house.
Why today of all days...
"Antonello." The man put his hands on Khyff's shoulders and stepped back, eyeing him. "Well, well. Where do you think you're going?"
Khyff fought to keep breathing. Keep smiling. "It's been thirty days, sir. The law says I'm entitled to a day off."
"I'll decide if you get a day off. You look ready to work the business district. Where'd you get that outfit? Where are you going? You're not working the streets on your own, are you? I'd have to talk to your parole officer about that."
Three parole officers came to the house every week and Stalkos let them have their pick for free. Khyff's always chose him. "The way I see it," the guy once said to him, "I get to screw you twice."
Before Khyff could answer, a chime sounded, and an announcement rang out. "Antonello, you have a client in the front office."
"You have work to do."
"But, sir, I have an appointment across town."
His master turned him around. "Not until I say you do. Back inside."
"Sir, I--"
"Move it, Antonello, or it's the parole board for you. You're here to serve out your time. You don't want me telling them you violated your service terms, do you?"
"No, sir." Maybe he could make it quick, and duck out. Unseen this time. How had he missed having an appointment today? "I'll do as you say."
"Of course you will. You're mine until you serve your time." He pointed. "That way."
In the front room, two male workers gawked out the front window, pointing and whispering. At this hour, most of the female slakes were off duty. The few who weren't stood in a huddle, watching a man in a chauffeur's uniform waiting near the entry.
The man-- Scrap that. The android -- and a good one too -- came to attention. "Mr. Antonello?"
Khyff's master stepped between them. "And who might you be?"
The android gave Khyff's master a once-over, then turned back to Khyff. "My name is James, Mr. Antonello, and I'm your driver. Mr. Saint-Cyr asked me to escort you to your appointment." He gestured toward the door. "This way, please."
Elation flared in Khyff's heart. In the past few days since he'd heard Saint-Cyr's name, Khyff had asked around. He'd learned not to expect this. If anything, he'd anticipated being barred from ever meeting Senth.
"Not so fast." His master got between Khyff and the exit. "You're not going anywhere until I say so. As for you--" he turned to James "--you think I'm letting my most expensive slake walk out the door without so much as a drak in my pocket?"
"Sir. You'll find the full day's receipt in your booking system. Your..." James glanced around, back at Stalkos "...'establishment' has been paid in full for the day, plus twenty-five percent house gratuity."
Khyff clamped his tongue against the roof of his mouth, fighting the smile ready to burst.
His master looked like he'd bitten into a relic left by a mangy dog. He jabbed a finger at the driver. "You tell the Man this doesn't buy him the right to take my best slake out of work for the whole day."
"Mr. Saint-Cyr asked me to express his regrets that he could not attend himself, and asked me, should you inquire, to inform you that according to Mr. Antonello's parole license, today is his thirty-day leave. He is, therefore, entitled to the day without pay. In which case, these monies are in fact a bonus for your house. Now, if you'll excuse us? Mr. Saint-Cyr does not wish to be kept waiting." James opened the door and placed himself between Khyff and Stalkos. He bowed to Khyff. "After you, sir."
Khyff went. Even if Stalkos beat him later-- Khyff had no illusions that he wouldn't--the expression on his master's face now made it worth it.
Outside, Stalkos barged in front of Khyff and planted a hand on his chest. "You're going to need delousing when you get back. Do you hear me, Antonello? Expect a personal scrub down. Inside and out. From me."
Fighting back had landed Khyff in prison. As hellish as this place was, it beat that. Although, depending on how it went with Senth, Khyff might end up behind bars anyway.
Swallowing the bile that choked him, he nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Show me the shackle."
What if his master found the knife? With care, Khyff slid his right pant leg up to show the shackle marking him as a pleasure slave.
"You put that on the outside. Not the inside. That's the law. You tell everybody what you are. A convict. Worthless. You hear that?"
"Yes, sir." Khyff squatted and rearranged the pant leg. When he stood, the man flipped a hand at him.
"Now you can have the day off."
Khyff started to step around him.
"Hey! I expect an answer."
Keeping his head down, Khyff clenched his teeth. "Thank you, sir."
"That's better." Stalkos stepped back. "You can go."
James led Khyff to a shiny black hoversine the length of a ruckball field. "At least that part is over, sir."
Khyff drew in a shallow breath. Nothing was over until Senth paid what he owed, but he nodded to show he'd heard.
The driver opened the rear door. "Mr. Saint-Cyr thought you might appreciate coffee, sir. There's a fresh pot, plus cream and sweetener in the center console. The mugs are spill proof." The door shut.
Sounds of the city cut off, and the plush seat cradled him. Khyff didn't realize the car was moving until the scenery changed outside.
Khyff touched nothing. He dared not relax. Not until this was over.
The coffee smelled like the real thing, but who knew what might be in it? Locked inside a hoversine, drugged and helpless, and not expected back for a full day, Khyff could be taken anywhere and anything done to him, with no one the wiser.
No, Khyff would sit here with his hands folded in his lap, and not move. If anyone tried anything, at least he'd have his wits about him.
The endless drive up and down streets soon had him lost. He'd been nowhere in this city, but he'd been in fancy cars like this back on Tarth. There, anytime anyone sent for him in one of these, he'd come back exhausted or flogged. Or both.
Rich people treated him worse than poor people, every time.
Saint-Cyr was rich. What if Saint-Cyr met with him instead of Senth? What if Saint-Cyr found the knife? What if he reported him? Any one of those things could land Khyff back in prison.
The Harbinger had a well-won reputation for ruthlessness. Each person Khyff had talked to had told him different things, but they all had one piece of advice in common when it came to Luc Saint-Cyr.
Don't screw with the Man.
Chapter Five
Kelthia, Miraj City, Central City District
Luc sat before a bank of screens in an office he still kept at the Guild. He'd read the reports James sent, and now considered his options as cam-bots inside the hoversine displayed his son's half-brother.
While being driven, Khyffen touched nothing. The young man didn't open compartments or peer into pockets on the seatbacks. He didn't look around. He didn't touch the coffee. He sat with his hands folded in his lap and waited.
"You're smart. Must be a family trait. And you have serious trust issues." Luc leaned back in his chair. "Considering who you work for, that's not surprising."
Stalkos had been Luc's business partner until Luc discovered the man was embezzling and had him tossed in jail. He'd gotten out, and then--although it hadn't been proven--had worked with his nephew to coordinate an attempted hit on Luc's lover, Wulf Gabriel. The nephew had ended up in prison. Stalkos was still out there.
How such a disreputable person had managed to get a parolee-monitoring license was beyond understanding. Apparently, there was no end to corruption in Miraj City.
"Most disappointing." Especially since Luc had paid off so many of the same city officials that Stalkos would have paid.
A few taps of his mobile brought his security liaison at idBot into holographic view.
The image of Shohn Lexius sat at a desk across from him, as realistic as if she were in the same room. The full-blooded Kin warrior flicked her catlike ears twice in greeting, set aside a stylus and leaned back. Unlike his son, velvet furskin covered Shohn's body, and bone-slicing claws hid beneath human-looking nails.
"Good evening, Mr. Saint-Cyr." She poked one of those deadly claws at a panel. "A small correction. It's still morning where you are."
"It is i
ndeed, Shohn." Luc steepled his fingers. "The information you provided about Khyffen was most helpful. Thank you."
She inclined her head. "Can I do anything else for you, sir?"
"Yes. I need a bit of help protecting him. My driver, James, sent me a disturbing report. Stalkos is apparently abusing the lad."
"Do you want the threat eliminated?"
Was that not the question of the year? Eliminate Stalkos once and for all. There could be no better reason for celebration than picking that vexing grain of sand out of his shoe.
Permanently. Irrevocably.
"As satisfying as that might be, I cannot take action against Stalkos without revealing Khyffen's true relationship to my son or me. Better he thinks I have less pure interests for now. I intend to win the boy his freedom as quickly as possible, but in the meantime, he must remain where he is. It's petty being concerned about publicity when someone's safety is at risk, but the media would hound the boys relentlessly and that could gain Khyffen more unsavory attention. To spite me, I have no doubt his master would wield the law like a club to prevent Khyffen from gaining his freedom."
"Not to question you, sir, but I have ample staff at the ready. There would be no end of volunteers for the opportunity. That man is no one's favorite."
"I imagine not." He rearranged the items scattered on the desk, straightening them while he considered various unsavory ways the man could die, but in the end, he wiped the smile from his face. "No, Shohn. If the man died, his assets would be redistributed and that would include Khyffen. I might lose touch with him altogether. In addition, I regret other events I'm brokering are near conclusion. Stalkos could not have chosen a worse time to remind me of his miserable existence."
Luc had massive business undertakings he could not set aside without bankrupting other people. A loss for himself, he could absorb, but he refused to endanger the livelihood of those who trusted him.
He motioned toward her. "Tell me what can be done on your end. There must be actions we can take to protect him with no one being the wiser."
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