Chapter Twelve
Derrick leaned against the wall just outside the kitchen, listing to the conversation inside. He didn’t bother to be offended when Vienna called him a big, dumb ox. He was more interested in Kyra’s opinion and was gratified to hear she’d enjoyed last night. He’d never had any problem with control; he’d always been able to turn off the part of his brain that demanded sexual release until he was good and ready. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy sex; just the opposite. He liked it a great deal; he just didn’t get out-of-control excited about it. Or, at least, not usually. With Kyra, though, things had been different.
And he certainly hadn’t meant to fall asleep—and stay asleep. When he’d woken, it was morning and time to tend to his chores, and he’d missed the opportunity to make up for his shoddy showing. She didn’t seem to have minded much, though, based on what she was saying to Ivy. He couldn’t help the self-satisfied grin that sprang to his face. Well, if she had liked that, round two was bound to impress her even more.
Then Vienna spoke; his grin faded just as quickly as it had bloomed. He wasn’t romantic? He didn’t want to settle down? What did she know? Vienna didn’t know the least thing about his feelings on the subject. Sure, he’d never much thought about marriage—it didn’t tend to be a priority out here in space—but he wasn’t opposed to it. He’d just never met anyone before that made him think on it.
He pushed away from the wall. Nothing worth listening to in Vienna’s insults, and it was time to get to work, anyway. He had some chores to finish, and he wanted to run back to town to pick up a few items. He’d taken the notion into his head to use some of his half of the winnings from last night to buy Kyra that blouse she’d admired in the market—and maybe pick up some more fresh produce for her to experiment with. So there, he thought defensively. I can be romantic.
“I don’t have any skills that are needed on a Second World and Derrick doesn’t have any for a First World. There’s no future there anyway.”
He paused, a chill sweeping over him at he caught the tail end of Kyra’s words. She didn’t believe that, did she? He strained his ears, but Kyra didn’t say anything further. He heard footsteps; Vienna was heading for the hallway. Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, Derrick moved quickly back down the hall to the flight deck and then down the next hall to the cargo bay. He turned over what Kyra had said as he walked, an unfamiliar heaviness gnawing at his gut. She weren’t wrong. They didn’t have much in common. He’d spent his entire life drifting from job to job with no particular aim or goal. He was a spacer—born in space, die in space. Life was lived in the here and now—the next task, the next meal, the next paycheck. Kyra, though, was looking to put down roots and build a future. She had been born and raised on rock, and that’s what she aimed to return to. And she had a chance at making a life—a proper life—on New Dominica. There wasn’t much future in the monotony of crisscrossing the New Victoria territory, transporting fares back and forth, out-running raiders, and scraping by on a stripped down old bucket of bolts that was just one accident away from the scrap heap.
On the other hand, the crew of the Mercy was as close to family as he’d ever had. And it weren’t a bad life—it wasn’t luxurious, but they lived a hell of a lot better than colonists and settlers. Plus, they got to see the universe. There was plenty of time on stopovers to visit the various Capital Cities and the planets below. And they had their freedom, no overseers breathing down their necks as long as they made their runs on time and got the people and the cargo where they needed to go.
He hadn’t really thought ahead to what happened next with Kyra, but now it struck him there was only three days until they reached New Dominica when Kyra would leave for good—unless he could convince her to stay.
And he wanted her to stay.
He thought about Ivy’s idea, of having Kyra stay on as crew. Ivy’s point about them attracting a better class of customer if they served gourmet food was valid. Better customers meant more money, which meant a better life. Kyra could use her cooking skills like she wanted, but they could stay out here in space where he wanted. It might just be the middle ground that would let them be together.
Vienna had shot down the idea—in part, because Hunter didn’t have the pull to make it happen. Everything on the Mercy was regulated by the Company—including personnel positions and pay. Hunter was just a lowly captain—just a jumped-up roughneck, really, a cog in the machine and easily replaced. And, certainly, Derrick didn’t have that kind of pull, either.
But he knew someone who did.
The only question was whether or not Kyra would go for it. Would a life tethered to this old ship—and to him—be enough to satisfy her dreams?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
Time to make a call.
Kyra hurried through the hallway to the cargo hold and then looked around for a plausible excuse for why she’d be here. She hurried to storage and pulled out her last remaining crate. She popped it open, reached in, grabbed several items, and scattered them on the floor. She knelt amid the debris and tried to look like she was busy sorting and organizing the crate’s contents. She’d passed by the stairwell to the engine room and heard voices drifting up from below. Ivy had asked Derrick to help her with something and he’d said he’d do it later as he needed to go into town. So now, when Derrick came through the cargo bay on his way to the airlock, she wanted to look like she was busy, but not so busy he wouldn’t invite her to go into town with him. She was hoping for another night similar to last night. They only had a few more days until New Dominica, and she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible before they parted ways. If she was at hand when he headed off ship, he might ask her to tag along.
She hadn’t seen him all day and had briefly wondered if he were avoiding her. Was it like Vienna said? Did he know she had developed feelings for him? If he thought she were getting attached, he was likely steering clear of her. Or maybe her company—or the sex—hadn’t been that great, and he wasn’t interested in a repeat engagement.
Her fears were confirmed a few moments later when he strode into the cargo bay. She watched him from the corner of her eye. He glanced in her direction but barely seemed to register her presence nor did he break stride. He headed for the door, moving with purpose.
Kyra frowned. Where was he going in such a hurry?
She scooped up everything she’d spread on the floor and dumped it haphazardly in the crate. She slammed the lid shut, engaged the lock, and then jumped to her feet. She hurried to the airlock, through the transport hanger, and out the exit to Main Street.
She looked in both directions; it wasn’t hard to spot Derrick. He stood a head taller than everyone around him, and the crowd just sort of parted around him as he walked. She hung back, following him down the busy street and then around a corner to the marketplace. He was moving quickly and with purpose, clearly with a particular destination in mind. He strode past all of the market stalls and barkers without so much as a glance.
Kyra was so intent on watching Derrick and not losing him in the crowd that she didn’t look where she was going. She bumped into a trash can and jumped back, startled. She smacked into a woman behind her, who stumbled and dropped the bag of produce she was carrying. Appleberries rolled every which way, getting under foot. Several people stumbled and slipped on the wayward fruit; they all fell down like a row of dominoes. Kyra covered her mouth in horror as shouts and curses rose from the pile up. She had enough presence of mind to duck behind a stall as Derrick stopped to look behind him to see what the commotion was about. He frowned and scanned the crowd with an exasperated look, and Kyra had the distinct impression he was looking for her specifically. Why did he automatically suspect she was behind the accident?
Derrick turned away and resumed striding down the hall. Kyra grabbed a couple of the close by wayward appleberries and pressed them into the owner’s hands with a hurried apology. The woman scowled at her, but Kyra didn’t have tim
e to apologize further. Derrick was rounding a corner, heading for the entertainment district. Kyra jumped to her feet and hurried after him.
He bypassed several bars without pause, so, apparently, he wasn’t looking for a drink, a game, or a fight. She was well and truly mystified as to where he could be going.
Finally, he turned down a side street, and stopped in front a store front with very clear signage. It was a high-end brothel.
Kyra blanched slightly as she watched him from around the corner. She felt like an idiot, pressed against the wall, trying to avoid being seen. And yet, she couldn’t seem to stop herself. A stomach-churning wave of dismay washed over her as she watched. A statuesque woman, closer to Derrick in age than Kyra, with a long cascade of curling blond hair and sly, knowing eyes framed by thick lashes stood in front of the brothel, talking to what appeared to be a departing customer.
The woman turned to Derrick as he approached and smiled warmly. Her voice carried as she called out, “Well, if it isn’t the mercy man! Been a while, Derrick!”
“Jezzie!” Derrick put his arms around the woman, grabbed her by the ass, and lifted her up in a bear hug.
The woman shrieked with a laughter and swatted his shoulder. “Put me down, ya big lug!”
Jealousy knotted in Kyra’s stomach, but she tried not to jump to conclusions. Maybe she was a friend or his sister.
Derrick set the woman back down. As soon as her feet were on the ground, she leaned in, wrapped a hand around the back of his head, and pulled him in for a deep, full-mouthed kiss.
Okay, definitely not his sister.
Kyra put a hand to her stomach, trying to still the churning. It was stupid to feel jealous. She wasn’t anything to him—nor he to her. It did sting, though, that he was so warm and friendly with this woman, kissing her so enthusiastically when he’d been all business with Kyra. But then, what did she expect? He could hardly even stand to be in the same room with her. Since he ended up injured every time they interacted, he must have needed a rut pretty badly to risk being alone with her, especially since he had “Jezzie.”
Kyra wondered why he hadn’t just gone to see Jezzie yesterday instead of spending the evening with her. The answer came to her immediately: he hadn’t had the funds.
The game of pool.
Her heart sank. She’d helped him win the funds to pay for this visit. Then, since she’d been at hand and it had been late, he’d bedded her for a quick release, knowing full well he’d visit the brothel the next day.
She really was the biggest idiot.
Kyra shook her head and turned away. She was a fool for thinking there had been anything between her and Derrick. She wanted to append “beyond one night of great sex” to that statement, but it couldn’t have been that great for him if were here at a brothel the very next day.
That realization felt even more like a punch to the gut.
Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and dismay as she hurried back to the Mercy. She’d gone and fallen in love with a man who wasn’t only annoyed by the very sight of her, but who had used her without a second thought. Boydren really was right: she was the saddest sack in all the universe.
Chapter Thirteen
Derrick poked his head into his quarters, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Kyra would be there. The thought did put a tingle of hope into his loins, though. He’d checked the mess and her quarters and the cargo bay and the flight deck. She wasn’t in any of those places.
She wasn’t here, either.
He paused for a moment, lips twisting in a frown. He hadn’t seen her since he’d gone into town the previous afternoon. She’d been messing around with a storage crate when he’d headed into Capital City to meet Jezzie. It had been late when he’d come back after finishing his errands; he’d thought of going to her room but wasn’t sure she’d appreciate him waking her up. He’d spent the night alone, wound with tension and nerves. Then, he’d spent the morning sorting out the new passengers and getting them stowed as they prepared for departure from New Antigua.
Something tugged at his belly; he didn’t want to call it unease because he didn’t get uneasy, but something definitely didn’t feel right.
He spied Rigger coming down the hall toward him, and he called out to her. “You seen Kyra?”
“Kyra? No. Not recently. Why?”
Derrick didn’t bother answering. Jaw set, he turned on heel and strode down the hall toward the stairs to the bridge. The sounds of his boots against the metal grating rang in the narrow corridor.
He climbed the ladder and squeezed himself through the narrow door, having to turn sideways to do it. Harlan was at the wheel; Vienna was leaning against her console, talking with him.
“Either of you seen Kyra?”
“Kyra?” Harlan echoed in surprise, his hands falling away from the controls for a moment as he half turned in his seat.
“Yeah, Kyra. You know, short, clumsy, cooks.”
Vienna folded her arms over her chest and gave him a dissatisfied frown. “That’s your best description of the girl?”
Derrick shot her an annoyed look. He wasn’t in the mood for Vienna’s “banter.”
“Kyra got off at New Antigua,” Harlan said, turning back to the controls.
“Okay, but have you seen her since?”
“No, I mean, she got off in New Antigua. Broke my heart, she did.”
“Did she get back on?”
Harlan swiveled in his seat. “Are you hard of hearin’? I mean she got off permanently. She ended her voyage there. She has debarked. She has reached her final destination.”
Derrick stared at him in disbelief. “Bullshit.”
“It’s true,” Vienna said.
“You just left her there?”
“I didn’t leave anybody. She wanted to get off.”
“She was going to New Dominica!”
“And then she changed her mind. Said she found a job and was staying.”
“Bullshit!”
“I don’t know what you want us to say,” Vienna said impatiently. “The girl got off in New Antigua.”
“Well, turn around! Go and get her!” An unfamiliar feeling clawed at his belly; it took him a moment to recognize it: panic.
“What?” said Harlan. “Are you crazy? We’ve got six minutes to slingshot. In fact, you should be strapped into your seat—”
Derrick’s hand moved almost of its own volition. He reached for his sidearm and pulled it, training the muzzle at the back of Harlan’s head. He flicked the safety off.
“Turn. Around.”
Vienna raised an eyebrow but didn’t straighten up from her casual pose. “Are you sure you want to be doin’ that, Derrick?”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“If you blow his brains out, who’s going to pilot the ship? You?”
Derrick glared at Vienna. “You shut up! This is all your fault. I heard you talkin’ at her in the kitchen, puttin’ ideas in her head.”
Vienna rolled her eyes. “Heaven forfend, a woman with ideas.”
“We was just fine without you stickin’ your oar in!” Anger flared through him as he remembered what he’d heard. Vienna had done her level best to convince Kyra that he weren’t any good for her, and now she’d run off. Hardly a coincidence. It was already going to have been an uphill battle to convince Kyra to stay, but apparently Vienna had torpedoed any chance he’d have had.
“Derrick, how about you put the gun down, and we all talk about this like civilized people!” Harlan’s voice ticked up an octave with alarm.
Hunter elbowed his way through the narrow doorway. “Vienna—” He stopped short when he saw Derrick’s gun. “What in hell is goin’ on in here?”
“Harlan left Kyra on New Antigua!” Derrick snapped.
“I didn’t leave anybody!” Harlan protested. “She wanted to get off!”
“Bullshit!”
“Captain, we’re four minutes from slingshot,” Vienna said levelly with a meaningful
glance at Derrick.
Derrick jabbed the gun at the back of Harlan’s head again. “Call the station and tell them to hold!”
“You want to think about this,” Hunter said. His voice was level but there was an edge of menace to it.
“There ain’t nothin’ to think about. We ain’t leavin’ her behind,” he said flatly. “Now call off the slingshot or I start shooting.”
“Captain,” Vienna said laconically, “I think Derrick’s right; we should turn around and fetch Kyra.” Though she said the words with a straight face, she was clearly holding back laughter.
“Glad you think this is funny,” he said through gritted teeth. He didn’t want to hurt Harlan, but he might just shoot Vienna for the fun of it.
“Oh, really?” said Hunter, surprise evident on his face. “And why’s that?”
Derrick couldn’t fathom why Hunter hadn’t pulled his own gun. In the confined space of the cockpit, it would be easy for Vienna and Hunter to rush him at the same time and disarm him. Likely the only reason they hadn’t was because they were afraid his gun would go off, injuring Harlan or shooting a hole in the window.
“Three minutes to slingshot!” Harlan said, his voice quavering.
“Because,” said Vienna with a smirk. “He’s in looovvvveeee. It’s the first human emotion I’ve ever seen out of the man. He’s growing as a person, and I think we should encourage this.”
“Anger’s an emotion,” Derrick retorted levelly. He pulled the hammer back on the gun. “Now, we gonna turn around or what?”
Hunter frowned. Then he gave a quick nod to Harlan. “Do it. Call them and tell them to hold on the slingshot, we’re returning to the station. Tell them… we have a mutineer for processing.” He reached out and plucked the gun from Derrick’s hand. Derrick let it go without a fight. Getting Kyra was all that mattered. She was getting farther away by the minute. She could be anywhere—she could have taken the cable down to the planet’s surface, she could have arranged transport on another ship heading to New Dominica—or to anywhere in the territory. If he didn’t get to her before she left the station, he might never find her. Once he found her, said his piece, made sure she was okay, well, after that, he’d accept the consequences of his actions. But not a minute before.
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