Jax grinned. “Can’t cope with being pleasant and cordial?”
Mace grunted again. Those were two words lacking from the man’s vocabulary.
“Weapons shipments are all on schedule,” the big cyborg said. “Maxon is a sand-sucking crudspawn as usual.”
The House of Rone was renowned for making the best weapons. The gladiatorial houses all wanted Rone swords and axes, and the rest of Carthago wanted Rone blasters and cannons. Maxon was their grumpy, temperamental weapons master. They put up with the man because he was a genius at crafting all kinds of weapons.
“Acton?” Magnus prompted.
“All gladiator training sessions are proceeding at high levels of achievement.” Acton’s voice was surprisingly pleasant even though it was devoid of emotion. “The new intake of gladiators for the arena fights are acclimating well.”
The House of Rone spent considerable time and credits acquiring the best gladiators and keeping them trained and ready to fight. Cyborgs were banned from the arena, but Magnus had an excellent team of unenhanced gladiators. Acton was in charge of their training, and behind his back, they often cursed his name thanks to his punishing sessions.
Magnus nodded and turned his head. “Toren?”
Toren was sitting in a chair and straightened. “Our scientists have made some impressive enhancements on the artificial organs. We have several interested clients who want to purchase large orders. We also provided assistance to some Kor Magna residents who lost limbs in a recent fire.”
The third piece of work carried out at the House of Rone was research and development of cybernetic limbs and enhancements. They sold the technology to interested clients, but quietly, Magnus also offered them to the less fortunate who had been injured and couldn’t afford replacements.
“I’ve also identified two potential recruits for our cyborg team,” Toren added. “The male has impressive telekinetic abilities and the female is an extraordinary fighter.”
Magnus nodded. “Good. Put them through the training program.” The imperator looked at Jax, his cybernetic eye glowing neon blue. “Jax?”
“Mina Dixon has remembered some more details.” He saw Mace and Toren straighten, and even Acton looked interested. “The survivors from the Helios were purchased by the Edull.”
“Metal scavengers,” Magnus said.
Jax nodded. “They live in scrap cities deep in the desert. On the other side of Carthago.”
“We know where the human survivors are being held?” Mace asked.
Jax shook his head. “Not yet. Mina remembered seeing her security chief there, a woman called Quinn Bennett. She was sold for escaping too many times.”
“What’s your plan?” Magnus asked.
“I’ll update Zhim and Ryan.” Zhim was the city’s premier information merchant. If anyone could track down the Edull and their city, it was Zhim and his human lover, Ryan. “And Tannon knows of a desert trading post that some Edull frequent. I’m borrowing one of Rillian’s ships to go and take a visit.”
“Need some backup?” Acton asked.
Jax nodded. Acton intimidated people just by looking at them.
Mace pushed away from the wall. “I’ll come too. That way Toren can meet with the clients coming in this afternoon.”
Toren lifted a hand, with only his middle finger raised.
Mace frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Ever taught it to me. It’s an Earth sign.” The faintest smile touched Toren’s lips. “I’m certain you can work it out.”
Magnus rose. “Good luck, and Jax, find those women.”
Jax’s muscles tightened. “I will.” He’d do whatever it took to find Quinn Bennett and the others.
* * *
Quinn looked up as the cart rolled through the huge, metal gates of the trading outpost.
The desert was full of nasty beasts, especially at night, and all outposts were protected. She glanced up at the guns mounted on the top of the walls.
The cart jerked to a stop. With a flap of robes, Sleeja appeared. He roughly pulled her chains off and gave her a shove.
“Bring that box.” He stabbed a finger at an overflowing box of metal parts. “And move it.”
Glaring at him, Quinn heaved the box up. It was heavy as hell. Staggering under the weight of it, she followed Sleeja around some of the simple, stone buildings and into a dusty square.
The trading post was lined with open-fronted stores. Some offered food and drink, with rickety tables and chairs out front. Others had goods resting on overloaded tables, or hanging on wires from the awnings. All the buildings were made of pale stone with domed roofs.
Sleeja walked straight toward one dirty-looking store, with a stone table out front that was covered in metal scrap. The trader waiting for them was wearing the typical uniform of the desert—loose-fitting trousers and shirt the same color as the sand. He also had a light scarf wrapped around his neck.
The trader ignored her, focusing on Sleeja. His skin was deeply tanned by the desert suns, and his cheeks were painted with brightly colored dots. “Sleeja.”
“Narth.”
Quinn dumped the box on the sand with a loud rattle. The man flicked a glance at it, then started picking through it, making small talk with Sleeja. She tuned them out and scanned the outpost.
A small group of men sat at one of the restaurants. They looked unhappy, bored, and mean. No doubt waiting for their chance to cause trouble.
Sleeja and the man started haggling. When Sleeja paused, he turned to Quinn. “Get the hexium drive and the cando distributor off the cart.”
Calling him as many different names as she could think of in her head, she moved back to the cart. She rummaged around in the crates, smiling when Nebu moved to help her. Nebu had the crappy task of sorting and cleaning pieces from Sleeja’s last purchase. Scraping off rust was not a fun job.
She found the parts Sleeja wanted and headed back, her sandals kicking up dust.
In her head, she was planning her revenge. She let herself imagine beating Sleeja with his parts, but sighed. In the middle of a trading post wasn’t the place to do it. You’ll get your chance, Quinn.
Suddenly, there was a roar of sound overhead.
Her heart leaped and she looked up to see a ship. A ship. Her mouth went dry. It was shiny, with sleek lines. She hadn’t ever seen a ship in the desert.
A rough slap hit the side of her head.
“Get over here.” Sleeja grabbed her robe and jerked her closer. Quinn fell to her knees and he yanked the parts out of her hands.
She shot him a nasty look. She was so taking him down, hard and painfully.
A few curious people wandered out of the trading post buildings, all looking toward the gates. The ship had landed.
A moment later, three men walked in.
Quinn went still.
They were all big, powerful, and muscled. Long legs were covered in dark-leather trousers, and their hard chests were bare, except for leather harnesses. Her gaze lingered on the center man. He was wearing a red cloak that fell off broad shoulders.
Gladiators. Nebu loved telling her stories about the famous arena in the city of Kor Magna. Apparently, people came from all over the place to watch the gladiators fight.
Sunlight glinted off metal. One of the men had two metal arms, and half of his face was metal, as well. The other man was huge—a few inches taller than the other two, with bulging muscles and a tattoo down one side. None of them were guys you wanted to meet in an alley on a dark night.
But her gaze was drawn back to the man in the center. A flutter of appreciation tumbled in Quinn’s belly. He had a face designed to drive a woman giddy. He had a dash of metal along one sharp cheekbone, which only enhanced his handsomeness. She swept her gaze downward, finding more metal on his shoulder and chest.
They were cyborgs.
None of the three men showed any emotion. Their faces were blank as their gazes swept the trading post. The lead one was so damn gorge
ous, however, and Quinn let herself drink him in. That lean face added to a perfectly-formed body with a heavily ridged stomach, and honey-gold skin.
Her gaze ran over the fascinating tattoo on his right arm. She was too far away to make out the design, but it covered his arm from wrist to shoulder.
The men strode across the square, looking around. No doubt taking in the location of every person, threat, and object of interest. A moment later, they moved over to talk to a store owner.
“Lazy slave.” Sleeja kicked her.
Quinn swallowed a curse and doubled over.
“Pull your robes up and cover your face.” He yanked the stained fabric over her head. “We can’t have that frail skin of yours burning, can we?”
She glared up at him. He’d let her skin burn plenty of times before. Hell, the bastard had laughed about it.
Satisfied, Sleeja went back to haggling with the trader. But she realized that he was tense, a little jumpy. He lifted his mask with a jerky move and sucked in air.
Under her lashes, Quinn looked back at the gladiators. Then her breath caught in her chest.
The handsome cyborg gladiator was staring at her.
She stared back.
Chapter Three
Jax stared across the dusty trading post. Acton and Mace flanked him, both cyborgs alert and prepared for anything. Jax eyed the dirty woman. She was clearly a slave, and a muscle in his jaw ticked.
But as Magnus often reminded him, they couldn’t rescue everyone all at once.
When the scavenger with her kicked her, Jax took an involuntary step forward. Her head was covered by a stained strip of cloth, but when the woman raised her head, her gaze met Jax’s with an electric click. Even from a distance, he sensed her defiance.
The scavenger shoved a heavy box at her and she looked away.
“Sorry, not seen any Edull in months.”
Jax turned back to look at the storekeeper who’d spoken. He studied the man, and Jax’s enhanced senses picked up that he was perspiring, and his pulse rate had increased.
“You’re lying,” Jax said.
The man’s eyes widened. “No… I…”
“Do you want to make an enemy of the House of Rone?”
The man shook his head vigorously.
“You’re a long way from Kor Magna, cyborg.”
The deep voice made Jax lift his head. Nearby, a big, brutish-looking man was sitting on the top of a table in front of a makeshift tavern. The man held a large hunting blade in his hand, and was using it to whittle at a piece of metal.
Jax saw others in the shadows behind the thug. He sensed Acton take a step forward. The cyborg’s cybernetic eye glowed in the metal half of his face.
Fighting a smile, Jax swept his cloak back. A fight was just what he needed. Something he could use to work out the gnawing frustration building inside him before it reached a breaking point.
He looked at the storekeeper again. “The Edull?”
The man let out a shaky, resigned breath. “They come here sometimes.”
“What about females with them? Have you seen any females of a small species with smooth skin?”
The storekeeper shrugged.
“Enough.” The thug rose to his feet. “Go back to your own domain, metal man, and stay away from ours.”
The other rough-looking men rose to flank their friend.
Jax felt Acton and Mace tense. Jax smiled. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
The thug spat on the ground. “Six of us to three of you.”
Beside Jax, Mace snorted.
One of the thugs was bouncing on his heels, perhaps under the influence of some drug. He charged forward with a loud cry.
Jax punched him. The man flew backward and slammed into some tables and chairs, knocking them over.
The other men all roared. They yanked weapons out from their belts—swords and axes. The pitiful quality of them would have made Maxon grimace. The larger thug in charge, pulled some metal over his knuckles. He was smiling.
“Let’s show these cyborgs they aren’t welcome here.”
“Let me deal with them,” Mace murmured.
“I object to Mace doing this alone.” Acton’s voice was as cold as steel. “I want to fight, as well.”
“The others are yours.” Jax crossed his arms over his chest. “I want the leader.”
The desert men all cheered and charged forward.
For the next minute, the air echoed with hits, kicks, and grunts. Mace used vicious, brutal strikes to take his two opponents down, leaving them writhing in the sand. Acton moved fast. He dropped low and swiped the legs out from under one attacker. The other rushed at him with a shout.
Acton lifted both his silver-metal arms. There was a shimmer in the air and the attacker rose several inches from the ground. His face went white and he kicked his feet futilely. Acton moved his arms to the side, and the man went flying, rolling through the dirt.
The leader stood there, waiting, a muscle in his jaw working. Then without a sound, he lowered his head and charged Jax.
Jax dodged to the side. The man swiveled, and Jax gripped the back of his neck, and shoved him face first into the dirt.
“You made a big mistake attacking us,” Jax said. “Say sorry.”
The man was on his hands and knees, his head hanging down. He made an enraged noise. Then he spun and tossed a handful of sand into Jax’s face.
Jax was momentarily blinded. A hard blow slammed into his side and he went down on one knee. His systems were already redirecting blood flow away from the minor injury.
“Cyborg, watch out!” It was a woman’s voice.
Instinctively trusting it, Jax rolled to the side.
He ended up on his back, and watched a metal pipe slam down into the sand beside him. The thug leader’s face was twisted with rage.
Jax was about to kick the man, when there was a flash of dirty robes close by. The woman appeared, and landed an impressive kick to his attacker’s jaw.
The man’s head snapped back.
Under the robes, Jax caught a glimpse of bold, attractive features smudged with dirt. Wisps of blonde-brown hair framed her face.
She had green eyes, flecked with gold.
Suddenly, the thug caught his balance. He roared and came forward, swinging the pipe.
Jax’s patience was finished. He shoved the woman aside and surged up. Then he used his cybernetic leg and kicked the man.
He caught the leader in the gut. The kick lifted the man off the ground, the look on his face almost comical. He hit the wall of a nearby building, the force of the collision obliterating the stone and sending the wall tumbling down on the man.
Jax turned. “Anyone else want to try?”
Mace was standing among the groaning bodies, his arms crossed. He was scowling, as though he wished the attackers had posed a greater challenge. Acton, as usual, showed no emotion on his cold face.
Jax turned back to face the woman.
His stomach dropped.
She was gone.
* * *
“You never listen.”
The steel part smacked into Quinn’s back, then her shoulder. Pain tore through her and she gritted her teeth.
Sleeja had two hands clamped in her robes and another one clutching the piece of scrap. He struck her repeatedly, as he dragged her toward the cart.
“You never interfere in the desert.” Spittle flew from Sleeja’s mouth. “And you never go anywhere near any gladiators.”
She looked up, tasting blood in her mouth. She’d bitten her tongue. “Why?”
He hit her with the metal, the blow glancing off her temple. She saw stars. She wanted to attack him, beat him to a pulp, but she knew that damn cat of his would come after her.
“Don’t ask questions!” He dragged on his mask and sucked in a deep breath.
He dumped her on the ground beside the cart and swung the scrap part again. It slammed into her side, and she felt a flare of sharp pain. Damn, h
e’d probably cracked a rib.
Dragging her up, he threw her on the cart. Then he scowled. “Why isn’t this scrap sorted?”
Nearby, Nebu made a whimpering sound, stepping back.
In a rage, Sleeja lifted the arm clutching the metal part and went after the young man.
“No.” Fighting her pain, Quinn tried to stand.
As Nebu cried out, she dragged herself across the cart. It was her fault that Sleeja was angry. She watched the scavenger hit Nebu, who curled up in a ball.
“Stop it,” she yelled. “You’ll damage him.”
Breathing heavily, Sleeja straightened and lifted his mask. After a few deep breaths, he dropped the scrap part. He landed one last kick to Nebu before he turned.
“We’re leaving. Finish tying everything down.”
“I am going to take great pleasure in killing you one day,” Quinn spat.
Sleeja sneered, jumped off the cart, and strode toward the tandu.
Quinn hobbled over to Nebu. She pulled him close, wiping the blood off his face. He was sobbing softly.
She reached into the pockets buried in her robes and pulled out her secret pain pills. She’d managed to get them at the trading post a few weeks back without Sleeja realizing. There were only two left.
Pushing down her own pain, she held them up to Nebu. “Here.”
“You’re hurt, too.” The young man’s voice was shaky. “Probably worse than me.”
“I’m fine.” She forced the pills into his hand and curled his fingers over them. “Take them.”
“Your mouth is bleeding,” he said.
She swiped at it. She didn’t tell him that her ribs were burning and her head was aching. She was pretty sure Sleeja hadn’t broken her ribs, but they hurt like a bitch.
Nebu swallowed the pills, and she got him some water from the bladders Sleeja had given them. The junker was at least sensible enough to know a lack of water in the desert would kill slaves quicker than anything else.
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” Nebu whispered.
Sentinel: Galactic Gladiators: House of Rone #1 Page 3