Then he heard a clang and a feminine curse. She had a low, throaty voice that he would never tell her how much he liked.
When he looked over, he saw her sucking on her finger. His brows drew together. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just cut my finger. Keep brooding.”
Ignoring her, he strode over. He snatched her hand and they had a brief tug-of-war battle.
“It’s fine,” she insisted.
“Let me see it.”
“I just escaped a bunch of assholes, so I don’t need to deal with another one.”
Maxon kept ignoring her sharp tongue. He was stronger, so he held her hand still while he studied the cut.
It was a ragged little scrape, but not too big or deep. Still, he hated seeing it on her skin. He dragged her over to the sink.
“Cyborg—”
“It needs to be cleaned.”
He put her hand under the water.
She sighed. “Fine.”
He focused on the task, cleaning the blood and dirt away. Then he grabbed a box of medical supplies off the shelf above the sink. He kept the kit on hand for minor scrapes. He pulled out a tube of med gel, then put some of the blue substance onto the cut.
“Looks like this isn’t the first time you’ve dealt with nicks and cuts,” she said.
He shook his head. “I’m always cutting or burning myself. Avarn and I had a few…discussions about them requiring treatment.”
She snorted. “You mean rip-roaring arguments.”
Maxon felt the uncharacteristic urge to smile. “Voices may have been raised. We compromised, and he left me this kit.” He carefully pressed a bandage over her finger. “And I use it, some of the time. There.”
“Thanks, Ace.”
Ace? He mentally shook his head. She was giving him a nickname? No one had ever given him a nickname before.
Suddenly, they both went still, him holding her hand, his thumb stroking over her skin. It was soft skin, although like him, she had several small scars and calluses on her fingers. She was a woman who used her hands.
She was the exact opposite of the soft, fragrant, and expensive woman he’d once promised to marry.
Maxon stepped back. “I need to work this design out.” He scowled. “Stop distracting me.”
Her eyes fired. “I didn’t cut myself on purpose. And I’m just standing here. Does my breathing distract you?” Her tone was one level above snarky.
“Yes, it does.” He turned back to his bench.
She made a low, angry sound, then she elbowed him out of the way, and grabbed his sword prototype.
“Hey!” he snapped.
“You need to lengthen the hilt. Maybe add a bit more weight to get the balance right.”
His scowl deepened. “I’m the weapons master here.”
“You’re the grump master.” She set the sword down, then headed for the door. “I’ll leave you to brood in peace and loneliness.”
She flounced out the door. Okay, maybe not a flounce, more a swagger with a hint of challenge.
Maxon was surprised to find a faint smile on his lips. She hadn’t been as tense and worked up as when she’d first arrived in his workshop. The pain in her eyes had eased.
He looked back at the bench. And drak, she was right about the hilt—it needed to be longer, with more weight added.
Lifting his tool, he got back to work, wondering why the blessed solitude didn’t feel quite as good as usual.
Chapter Five
Bellamy chased little Asha as the girl crawled across the floor. Asha plopped on her butt and giggled.
“Who’s so clever and beautiful?” Bellamy said.
Asha giggled harder.
Bellamy smiled. This precious little girl was loved and protected. Ever had been through the worst of circumstances—abducted, dragged across the galaxy, enslaved, then finding herself pregnant—and here she was now, with this little angel.
And everybody knew that Asha’s cyborg daddy would rain hellfire down on anyone who hurt her.
Bellamy’s dad had split when she was too young to remember. Her mom had been an alcoholic, with a penchant for bad boyfriends and heavier drugs when it suited her. Bellamy had learned to take care of herself pretty young. Then one day, her mom had dumped her on Gram’s doorstep—an estranged grandmother she’d never met before—and Bellamy had barely seen her mom again.
Thank God for Gram. The old woman hadn’t complained once. She’d loved Bellamy in her own, no-nonsense style, bullied her to go to school, scolded her for her wild ways, and did her best to feed and clothe them both.
A fond smile for the old woman crossed Bellamy’s face. Gram had died when Bellamy was nineteen.
“You’re good with kids.”
She glanced up at Ever. “I have no experience, but yours is so cute.”
“I think so. And her daddy thinks she’s the most beautiful, clever child to ever be born.” Ever smiled and handed Asha a toy.
Bellamy had spent the entire day learning every nook and cranny of the House of Rone—the training arena, Medical, the kitchens, the maintenance workshops.
She’d avoided one particular workshop. She blew out a breath. For some crazy reason that made no sense, being around Maxon made her feel good. Even when he was being grumpy.
He wasn’t solicitous to her, didn’t treat her like glass.
Ever and the other women were so awesome, but every cautious, friendly smile made Bellamy remember exactly what she was trying to heal from.
Still, she knew better than to entrust her well-being and feelings to a man. She’d done that once, and it had been a disastrous mistake of epic proportions.
No, she’d keep poking at the grumpy lion who interested her, but it was all just for fun. She had no plans for a cozy, heart-in-her-eyes existence like Ever, Quinn, and all the others.
“I think I’ll head to my room,” she said. “Go to bed early.”
Ever touched her shoulder. “Sleep’s good. Bellamy…”
She looked up into Ever’s light-green eyes.
“We’ve all been where you are right now. I know you see all of us happy and you think you’ll never get there, but trust me, you will.”
Bellamy hunched her shoulders. Shit, she’d thought she’d been hiding her discomfort. “Thanks, Ever. I just need to give it some time, right?”
“Right.”
Pausing, Bellamy shoved her hands in her pockets. “Has Magnus talked about plans for destroying the battle arena?”
“He’s still gathering intel and planning,” Ever said. “If you want to be a part of it, just tell him. Our overprotective cyborgs make a lot of noise about keeping us safe, but they’ve always let us help them when we’ve needed to.”
Bellamy liked the idea of that. No, she needed it. She needed to be a part of taking the Edull down.
The metal-scavenging aliens would pay—for every life stolen, every beating, every family broken apart, every person destroyed.
She waved goodbye and headed to her room. Once she got there, she drew a bath and had a long soak. She’d never been a bath person before, but being denied the opportunity for so long meant she didn’t mind indulging.
When she climbed into the soft bed, she was surprised that she was actually relaxed and sleepy.
Being thrust awake by a vicious nightmare a few hours later was not so welcome.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Bellamy scrambled out of the bed, her chest heavy, her heart racing.
“Fuck.” She rubbed her face.
She’d dreamed she was locked in a racing battle bot. She’d been screaming, something had been on fire and the smoke was choking her. The screams of the other dying slaves had rung in her ears.
“Get a grip, Bellamy. It was just a lousy nightmare.”
Rising, she went into the bathroom and splashed some water on her face. It didn’t help.
Her heart was still pumping like she was running for her life, her mouth as dry as dust.
Needing to move, she wrenched o
pen the door to her room. She had no conscious thoughts, just walked down the hall, then up the stairs.
Light glowed from his workshop.
She broke into a jog. By the time she reached the door, she was running.
Once again, Maxon was shirtless. His head lifted. He had some goggles over his eyes and he pushed them up onto his head.
Thick brows drew together. “Bellamy—”
She flew across the workshop, straight to him.
A part of her wondered if he’d shove her away, but strong arms closed around her.
She pressed her face to his chest, absorbing the warmth of his skin. She breathed him in. He had a woodsy, masculine scent, overlaid with a touch of healthy, male sweat from his work.
“Shh. Drak, you’re cold.” He held her closer.
She hadn’t realized that her hands and feet were like ice. Suddenly, he lifted her onto the bench. He rubbed her hands in between his big ones.
“Here.” He shoved a mug into her hand.
It was half empty, but still warm. She sipped it and made a humming sound. “It tastes like nothing I’ve ever had before.” A little bitter and woody, with a faint hint of sweetness.
“It’s called erca.”
Apparently, whatever it was, he liked it strong.
“Nightmare?” he asked.
She nodded and turned her head, staring at the stone wall.
“It’s a normal reaction after being rescued from the situation you were in,” he said matter-of-factly.
“When your family abandoned you, did you have nightmares?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Yeah.”
Damn, now she felt guilty about making him relive something that was clearly painful. Then she realized how close they were. He was standing between her legs, while she sat on the bench. Her legs were mostly bare, her sleep shirt draped over the rest of her.
Heat washed over her, and she saw a flicker in his eyes that looked like melted gold.
Then Bellamy reached up, and tugged his head down.
She didn’t dive right into the kiss, which was her usual MO when she wanted a man. She nibbled at his lips. They were full, well-shaped. Yummy.
He made a low sound, then his mouth covered hers.
Everything exploded—he was heat, light, desire. Their tongues stroked; his hands gripped her hips. She moaned into his mouth and he angled his head, taking the kiss deeper.
Yes. That one word vibrated through her. Nothing had felt this right…ever.
Suddenly, he wrenched his head away.
Bellamy blinked, feeling bereft. No, dammit. She wanted this. A mindless, hot fuck would erase her nightmare, help her not think for just a little while.
Maxon’s face looked like rock, his eyes turning to steel.
When she reached for him, he gripped both her hands with one of his. Then he scooped her up and carried her over to a battered couch resting against the far wall.
“You need sleep,” he growled.
She just looked at him. With jerky moves, he snatched up a blanket and covered her with it. It smelled like him.
She could picture him sleeping right here, when he’d worked too long and didn’t want to leave his workshop.
“Now, go to sleep and quit distracting me.” He stomped back to the workbench.
She watched the flex of muscles in his tight, muscular ass.
Strangely, she lay down and fell asleep, feeling warm and relaxed.
* * *
The next morning, striding down the corridor to Magnus’s office, Maxon was still thinking about Bellamy.
Drakking woman had invaded his head, like she did his workshop.
When he’d woken this morning, he hadn’t been surprised to find the couch in his workshop empty. The blanket had been folded neatly over the back of it.
A house worker exited a doorway and smiled at him. He glowered back and she hurried off.
Bellamy didn’t even blink at his scowls.
And she’d kissed him.
At the memory, his body surged to life, his cock lengthening against his fastenings.
Drak. He dragged in a breath. His body had been revved and oversensitive all morning. For the first time in a very long time, he’d taken himself in hand in the shower and stroked himself until he’d spilled. As he did that, he’d been imagining Bellamy Walsh’s hands and mouth on him.
“Enough,” he muttered under his breath.
He’d stopped the kiss last night because she’d still had the shadows of her nightmare in her eyes. She’d come to him, upset and shaken. Even he wasn’t enough of a crudspawn to take advantage of that.
He’d had sex—both before and after becoming a cyborg. Before, he’d wanted it all the time, as he guessed most twenty-year-old young men did.
Afterward, he hadn’t wanted anyone close to him. A few times, when his body’s urges got too hard to control, he’d found a woman. He’d kept it brief, barely touching them, and got the job done. But it had been a long time since he’d done that.
Until now.
He stepped into Magnus’s office. All the elite cyborgs were already there, and so was Bellamy. She was talking animatedly with the handsome, young Zaden. The powerful telekinetic cyborg had been abandoned to the House of Rone because his powerful natural abilities needed to be leashed by his cyborg enhancements.
Bellamy looked…fine. Like her nightmare had never happened.
She glanced over and their gazes met. His desire roared to life in his gut, which made him angry. He looked away.
He didn’t want this. He didn’t want all this disruption in his life.
The door opened again, and Galen and Raiden entered.
Galen looked his usual rugged self with his black eyepatch over one eye and his black cloak framing his battle-ready body. His champion gladiator, Raiden Tiago, was hard and muscled, showing why he dominated the arena. His cloak was red. Both men were from the same planet, and had intriguing tattoos across their torsos and arms.
“All right, we’re all here.” Magnus leaned against his desk. “Bellamy asked to join us. She has a vested interest in seeing the Edull and the battle arena go down.”
“And the House of Galen wants to help,” Galen said. “The Edull’s arena is an abomination.”
“We need to ensure total destruction of the battle arena,” Magnus said.
Bellamy nodded. “I have a few ideas, but the place is huge. We need to get the captives out. They deserve to be free.”
“They will be set free,” Raiden said.
Bellamy glanced his way and smiled. “I’m Bellamy Walsh.”
“Raiden Tiago. And this is Galen.”
Did she have to smile at the gladiator like that? Maxon crossed his arms over his chest, feeling irritated.
“Galen and I, along with all our allies, are trying to find out every scrap of information on the battle arena,” Magnus continued. “We can’t just blow it up. We need to free the slaves first. And it needs to be destroyed in a way that will cripple the Edull and their business.”
Galen nodded. “The Edull have their share of enemies.”
“But they also have allies,” Maxon said. “All the sandsuckers willing to spend money to attend the races. People who buy their scavenged metal.”
“True,” Magnus agreed. “I’ll speak with Rillian. We’ll see if there is a way to cripple them by making their flow of customers dry up as well.”
Bellamy straightened. “I can share other things I know about the battle arena. There are parts of it I’ve never seen, but I was in the power generation area once. I didn’t understand the tech they use, but maybe there’s a way to overload it?”
Magnus nodded. “We’ll see what we can come up with. In order for this to be a success, we need all the intel we can get, and a plan for how to destroy the arena. Without that, we can’t launch a full-scale attack.”
There were nods all around.
“I want to be on that mission,” Bellamy said.
�
�No,” Maxon growled.
All heads turned to face him. He focused on Bellamy as she swiveled in her chair, her chin jutting forward.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“You can’t go.”
Her green eyes narrowed. “I may not be a cyborg gladiator, but I know the arena better than anyone here.”
“You were kept captive. Almost killed. If they see you, they’ll try to kill you again. And all of that is messing with your head.” Maxon turned to Magnus. “She’s not in the right headspace to go back there.”
He heard her suck in a sharp breath.
“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do—”
“For the last two nights, she hasn’t slept well. She’s wandered all over the house, upset and angry.”
Bellamy made a sound and he met her gaze. He almost flinched at the betrayal he saw in her eyes, but he shoved the emotion away.
He had to keep her safe. He’d just gotten her out of there, and he wasn’t going to let her run back in.
The other cyborgs all had to cope with the other Earth women going on missions and putting themselves in danger. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake.
“He does not speak for me.” Bellamy’s words were clipped. She shot to her feet.
“There is no mission yet,” Magnus said carefully. “When we decide to go in, we’ll discuss it again at that time. Bellamy, all of us here want to help you, remember that.”
She nodded and turned. She strode straight up to Maxon and he tensed.
Then she rammed her fist into his gut.
It barely hurt, but he did grunt.
She’d made her point.
Eyes shooting daggers at him, she strode out.
Chapter Six
She was going to her first arena fight.
Bellamy walked through the wide tunnel, flanked by Jayna and Sage. The other House of Rone women had already gone on ahead to the House of Rone’s seats. Right now, Bellamy wasn’t thinking of stupid men and bone-headed cyborgs.
She was still incandescently angry at Maxon. His controlling actions made her want to punch him again. She knew all about men who thought they were in charge and had the right to boss her around. She’d started to trust the idiot, then he’d ripped her open and exposed her vulnerabilities to everyone.
Weapons Master: Galactic Gladiators: House of Rone #6 Page 4