by Megan Derr
"Oh, forget it." He climbed off Mendel and stepped away. "I wish you would at least eat so I could worry a little less about you. Would it really kill you to remember that people do worry about you?"
"I have been fine so far, and there is no reason for you to worry about me," Mendel replied. Sean balled his hands into fists, and then forced himself to relax. He watched in silence as Mendel picked at the food but did not bother to actually eat any of it. Sean had fixed his favorites—well, the closest anyone could have to favorites when it came to travel food—but Mendel may as well have been picking at everything he hated for all the enthusiasm he showed.
Sean shouldn't have been hurt. "Of course I should worry about you," he said.
"There is absolutely no reason for you to worry about me," Mendel repeated flatly, and shoved his food away again. When Sean said nothing, he finally looked up—and Sean punched him. Before Mendel could recover, Sean punched him again, then tripped him up and planted a booted foot on Mendel's chest.
"No reason for me to worry?" he yelled. "Is that really how selfish you've become, that you think I have no fucking reason to worry about a man who holds my life in his hands? You work yourself to death, you worry yourself to death, you don't eat, you don't sleep, and every day you get angrier and more hostile. One day, you're going to get yourself killed, and I'll die right alongside you. If you feel so fucking bad that we matched? Try to show it by giving a damn that every time you risk your life, you risk mine. Eat your fucking food."
Not waiting for a reply, Sean stormed off, going back downstairs, past the main level and down to the bottom level. Storming down the walkway, metal grate floor ringing with the force of his steps, Sean kept going until he reached the engine room.
It was always oddly quiet, a testament to the quality of the engines and how well the entire ship had been built. Everything had a muffled quality to it, and it was one of the few places on the ship the other two never bothered to go.
Sean sat down at the engineer's workbench, restlessly picking up and putting down all the tools he had left there the last time he had worked on the engines. Karmikel was one hell of a pilot, but like most pilots that Sean knew, he seemed to have little to no patience for the nuts and bolts of a starship. How the hell he and Mendel had kept the Brilliant running for so long by themselves was a matter of probability or luck.
Sean had not been aboard for more than a couple of weeks before he had found himself playing the roles of engineer and technician. They were contributions that Mendel and Karmikel made full use of, but Sean couldn't remember either one saying anything to him about it. Normally, he took it in stride; they were both self-contained, quick to push people away. Given their personal histories, he could not blame them.
Right then, however, he was more than happy to blame Mendel for a great deal. What in the stars was Sean doing anyway, gallivanting about from planet to planet, untangling conspiracies and working with covert agents? He was a fucking Rehab guard.
Unfortunately, he was also matched to Mendel, and no matter how badly he thought it would be best if he just left, he did not want to leave. He liked the work he was doing, and he wanted more than anything to actually get along with Mendel. Instead, no matter what he did or said, there was always guilt and anger wedged between them.
He was tempted to go back and heal the bruises and bloody nose with which he'd left Mendel, but Mendel was capable of healing himself and Sean would probably just wind up punching him again. Instead, he flopped back down on the bench, pillowing his head on a cleaning rag, and stayed in the engine room until Karmikel called him to the bridge. As he left the engine room, Sean tried to convince himself that he wasn't disappointed Mendel had never bothered to seek him out.
Chapter Four
Planet 2147151 (Bangkok), Red Dragon Pavilion
Einn threw back a shot of Bangkok spiced rum then chased it with a swallow of dark Fornarian beer. He looked around the dive, restless, wanting something—a fight, a fuck, anything to expend energy. It made him antsy that they had been given downtime and their serum a full day ahead of time. They were being prepared for something particularly unpleasant, and he really did not want to know what—but he would still try to enjoy the break.
If only he knew what to do with himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had free time. Lark had vanished, skies alone knew where, but they'd had no company but each other for far too long. Whatever Lark was doing, Einn hoped he was enjoying it.
He scanned the bar again, fingers drumming restlessly. Nothing caught his eye, so he returned his attention to his beer and wondered where else he should try. He didn't really want to go further into Bangkok; he was happier at the fringes. Finishing his beer, he signaled a passing waitress for another and activated his in-lens to see what amusements might be had in the area.
A sudden lull in the barroom din made him look up, and Einn immediately saw the reason for the silence in the doorway. IG goons—they all had the same look about them. They weren't in uniform, but the arrogant way they moved, the close-cropped hair, the way their eyes scanned the room in a way no civilian bothered marked them. Could be criminals, but criminals didn't draw that kind of attention—only someone with the law behind him bothered.
The man on the right was the taller, with dark bronze skin, pale blond hair, dark eyes, a broad build and stern, handsome face. Men hastened to get out of his way, and though he scarcely seemed to pay attention, Einn had the impression that he was very aware of everything going on around him. The man next to him was shorter, more compact, but no less muscled or impressive. They both moved with the fluid grace of fighters and were dressed in the sort of loose, but well-fitted clothing that suited hand to hand combat: it allowed them to move easily but wouldn't get in their way.
Auths, he would bet; only military-type thugs had that particular look about them. He looked again at the shorter one, who wouldn't even reach Einn's shoulders. He was handsome, and if he ever let his hair grow out, eased the tense set to his features, he'd flirt at the edge of pretty. Too bad he was Auth, because Einn probably would have bought him a drink, and then invited him upstairs or out back for a fuck. Einn had always liked them small and feisty.
He watched the men as they settled at the bar and ordered drinks, knowing he should tear his eyes away, but not quite able. The waitress appeared with his new beer, and Einn was momentarily distracted. When he looked back toward the bar, he accidentally met the idle gaze of the shorter man—and froze, startled, when the man smirked at him, a message as old as time.
Einn quirked one brow and took a sip of his beer. Before he could act on the man's invitation, another waitress materialized with a fresh shot of Bangkok spiced rum. "With compliments," she said, and scurried off. Einn laughed and gestured with a jerk of his head for the man to join him.
Clapping his friend on the back, the man left the bar and strode toward him, the dingy bar lights falling across his face in a way that made it truly beautiful for a moment. It sent a shiver down Einn's spine, but not one of lust—of fear. But why? The man reminded him of someone, he realized. Who? Before he could figure it out, the man was at his table. "Thanks for the rum," Einn said.
"Sure," the man replied. "Don't see Fornarians very often."
"No, but I sure as stars hear that often," Einn replied.
The man laughed, and then looked him up and down slowly. His eyes were gray, pale as smoke, full of speculation and heat. Another shiver lanced down Einn's spine, but this time it was equal parts fear and lust. He ignored the former in favor of the latter. "I bet there's a lot you hear often."
"Maybe. Doesn't mean I agree with, or to, any of it."
"So you're saying you're not interested in fucking me?"
Einn stopped with his beer halfway to his mouth; he was used to blunt, but that was remarkably blunt even for his crowd. He rather liked it: no fuss, no muss. So many races could be so fussy about such things, even when they bragged they weren't. It was one of the few things he
missed about home: the simplicity of sex. "I rather like the sound of that offer, actually. I was just thinking I was in the mood for a fight or a fuck."
"I can provide both, but fighting isn't nearly as much fun—too much like work."
Finishing his beer, Einn stood up and dropped a few tokens on the table. "Where?"
"I've got a room across the street, a couple of hours left on it. I'm leaving Bangkok in a few hours, nothing to do until then."
Einn nodded and followed him out, admiring the man's ass the whole way. There was nothing better than spending a couple of hours with someone just as eager as him to fuck and move on. He didn't like clingy types; Lark was the only friend and attachment he needed.
The man led him up a couple flights of stairs to a room even dingier than the rundown bar, but the bed looked clean, and the man's bag was already packed and ready to go. Hardly unusual to spend the last few hours in port getting laid. Veteran star hoppers seldom got the chance for such things and took them where they could. "Got a name?"
"Cyan. You?"
"Einn. Get naked," Einn ordered, stripping off his own shirt. He started to undo his belt but got distracted by the sight before him as Cyan shucked his clothes to reveal a tight, honed body that bore more scars and marks than Einn could count. His eyes went to one in particular, a long, jagged tear that could have only been made by a very particular kind of weapon—a weapon that was found in only one place in all the IG. "You're not an Auth—you're fucking Rehab."
"Is that a problem?" Cyan asked, pausing with his shirt still in his hands.
Einn contemplated all the reasons it was stupid for a criminal to be anywhere near a fucking Rehab guard—then eyed that exceptional Rehab's chest and decided that 'fucking Rehab' really was the only thing he wanted to do. "No," he said.
"Good." Cyan threw his shirt aside and shoved his pants down, then stepped out of them and toward Einn at the same time—and shoved. Einn stumbled back, hit the bed, and fell down on it, swearing softly. Any complaints, however, were immediately forgotten in favor of focusing on the man suddenly on top of him.
He grunted as Cyan kissed him, a bit surprised, but recovering from it quickly and returning the kiss with pleasure. It wasn't something most of his crowd bothered with, and it was always nice to find someone who did bother. Einn liked kissing as much as liked all the rest of it.
Speaking of the rest of it…he slid his long fingers along Cyan's skin, loving the softness of it, the ripple of hard muscle beneath. Reaching his prize, he grabbed Cyan's ass tightly and pulled him so they were flush together, rubbing their hard cocks together and causing Cyan to moan. Einn tore his mouth away and lapped at whatever skin he could reach. "That's right, Rehab, moan for me." He got a hand between them and wrapped it around Cyan's cock. "You handle criminals all day, every day, don't you? Is this what you do on your off time, make yourself the bitch?"
Cyan let out a huff of laughter—then made Einn jump by leaning down and biting his shoulder, hard. "I'm no one's bitch, rock spider."
Einn just snorted in amusement and let go of Cyan's cock to get a better grip on him, then abruptly turned them over, pinning Cyan to the bed. He settled between Cyan's legs and bent down to kiss him again, biting down on his bottom lip, making Cyan grunt. Drawing back a bit, he asked, "Got anything?"
"Be prepared for anything," Cyan retorted, the motto of the Rehab guards. He shoved a hand beneath his pillow, and then tossed something at Einn. Uncapping the small tube, Einn slicked his fingers and shifted to slide one inside Cyan. "I'm not fragile," Cyan said.
Laughing, Einn added a second, stretching Cyan quickly. He grinned when Cyan tugged at him impatiently. "Do I look delicate to you, rock spider?"
"You look like you could leave me for dead if you felt like it," Einn replied, grinning as he removed his fingers and lined up his cock. He hovered there, waited until Cyan started to yell at him again—then thrust inside in one sudden move, all the way to the hilt, making Cyan arch up into him, swearing. "Better?"
Cyan just held fast to his shoulders, digging in with his short nails, gray eyes flashing as he said, "It'll be better if you move."
"Bossy, I like that," Einn said, and kissed him hard to stop whatever threat was about to come next. Pulling back, he lifted Cyan's legs to his shoulders, held tightly, and began to fuck him in earnest, pulling out and slamming back in, moving faster, harder, and Cyan ordered it, giving all that was demanded, all that Cyan seemed to want to take.
It had been a while since he'd done anyone who could so easily take it all and just beg for more. Einn dragged it out as long as he could, savoring it, wanting a good memory to jerk himself off to on solitary nights, but at last it all became too much, and he finally sank into Cyan's tight body one last time and came with a muffled cry.
He took one last kiss, loving the way Cyan returned it, then finally drew back and slipped from Cyan's body. Einn flopped down on the bed, shoving strands of his light blond hair from his face and staring up at the cracked, dirty ceiling. "I feel there should be a saying about Rehabbers and fucking them, but none comes to mind."
Cyan laughed and slowly rolled out of bed. "Better to fuck us than fuck with us?" Einn snorted in amusement, idly admiring the ass he'd just ridden before Cyan vanished into the washroom. He reappeared shortly and gathered up his clothes. When he was dressed, he slung his sole bag over his shoulder, and then glanced at Einn. "Room is good for another hour. Thanks for the ride, rock spider. Good luck in your travels." He waved and was gone.
Einn smiled faintly, then dragged himself up and went into the washroom to clean up. Pulling his clothes back on, he activated his in-lens to check the time and saw he had a message from Lark telling him to get back to the ship.
Stifling a sigh, pleasant buzz from the last hour dying as he was dragged kicking and screaming back to reality, Einn double-checked he had everything and left the cheap room. Weaving his way through the crowded streets, he left the Red Dragon Pavilion, left behind the glamour of the towers and their surrounding glitter altogether, heading down to the more familiar grit and grime of the port.
Weaving his way through the seeming maze of ships, warehouses, yards, and guard outposts, he finally reached the section where the Dragonfly was docked. Walking up the gangway, he met Lark at the top. "What's up?"
"I just got back, there's a message waiting for us. Figured I should call you before I listened to it. You look rested."
"Slept all of yesterday, and…expended some energy today," Einn smirked. "You?"
Lark shrugged, his way of saying he'd done essentially the same. If he hadn't gotten laid, he would have been a hell of a lot more grouchy. "Come on, then, time to get back to kidnapping."
Einn made a face, but obediently followed him into the ship and to the bridge.
Custom class starship X-11944654, the dragonfly
Lark moved to the comm and punched a couple of buttons, calling up the message. Einn read the numbers that flashed up on the screen, and then punched another button, downloading the two files that had come with the message to his in-lens. He grunted. "Another Draconis and his match."
Einn felt sick, knowing they were responsible for the missing Draconis that the news feeds kept mentioning. The story had not caught major interest yet. Missing people were an all too common occurrence, but Einn wasn't stupid. They were kidnapping matched Draconis and scientists—some of them very famous, like Bikendi. The public might not have been aware of everything that was going on, but the IG would have noticed a correlation by now.
It was only a matter of time before IG officials showed up to arrest him; he was damned lucky that Cyan really had been just a fuck. Einn wondered if he'd been hoping for arrest. Not that it would have done any good—the poison would kill them long before anyone could get a real antidote to them, given they had been assured the poison was unique. Einn always wondered just how many people had died because of it and how many others would die after them.
He hated being helpless. If
he ever got the chance to kill the bastard—
Einn cut the thought off, knowing rage would accomplish nothing. The best thing to do was cooperate until they found an opening. Sitting down at the comm, he began to prepare for departure. Several minutes later, they were away from Bangkok, and he was reading through the files on their latest targets. "Looks like they just left Bangkok as well. They're on a ship called the Huntress, X-82142089. Why didn't he tell us sooner? We could have grabbed them on Bangkok."
"Hardly," Lark said. "It would have been a mess, and you know it. We'll have an easier time of it taking them in space." His eye flashed while he reviewed the data himself. "It's a harmless custom class, looks like a converted leisure class to judge by these specs. It won't have real weapons; they wouldn't dare risk not registering firepower. It'll be tricky, but we've handled worse."
Einn nodded. "Locate it, then. Let's get this over with."
In reply, Lark simply took the pilot and navigation seat, and set to work. An hour later, he said, "Got it. Punching coordinates now."
"Bringing up anti-tracking shields," Einn ordered, rapidly punching buttons, eye flashing as he transmitted codes and protocols to activate the weapons and defense systems that were not strictly legal on their civilian ship. Beautiful as she was, though, the Dragonfly was nothing like the ship he had lost when his crew had been slaughtered, leaving him and Lark enslaved.
"Approaching now," Lark said. "Ready on my mark."
Einn nodded, hands poised to strike. When Lark said, "Now!" he fired, sending stunner pulses at the ship in front of them, three bursts of fire that completely disabled it, leaving the ship little more than a floating casket in the middle of space.
Standing, he followed Lark from the bridge and to the transport room, moving to the platform while Lark keyed in the necessary information at the control panel. Minutes later, they vanished from their ship—and Einn barely ducked in time as someone swung a punch at him when they reappeared on the Huntress.