by Skye Warren
A day was not nearly enough time to do it, but it was all he had.
“I’ll try,” he said gruffly. “No promises.”
“Thank you.” Sebastian grasped both his hands, and Drake hated to see him as a supplicant in this. His throat burned suspiciously.
He gently pulled away from Sebastian and stood. “El Basque. In case—” In case the man was too far gone to speak. “How will I recognize him?”
Sebastian blinked up at him, his long black lashes damp. “You will. You just will.”
Chapter Three
Drake stepped off the cargo transport. Wind slapped him, whipping his cheeks and tunneling into the seams of his thick winter’s uniform. White cliffs jutted across a too pale sky, as if the very air had frozen.
His mind had quieted as it usually did during a mission, which dulled the surprise and frank curiosity that resulted from his actions. Bribery of a transport captain and uncertified travel between continents were both court martialing offenses. Yet here he was a thousand credits lighter and standing in the desolate tundra of Borea Prime.
He gritted his teeth against the burn of the cold, but it was only a physical pain. Less than Sebastian had already suffered in the hands of the Ke’lan and much less than he would if Folsom had his way. If he didn’t make it back in time… if Folsom discovered Drake was missing… hell.
His boots crunched across icy pebbles as he made his way to the shack that housed headquarters. Inside was only moderately warmer, and the man behind the desk was bundled even bulkier than Drake.
“What do you want?” he asked, his dialect slurring the words almost inaudibly.
“I’m looking for a man—” Drake stopped as he realized he was shouting, though it was not necessary without the wind howling around them. “A man called El Basque.”
“We got plenty of men here, soldier. What’d this one do, rape your sister or something?”
Drake stared at the man until he squirmed. “I’d like to purchase him.”
“One man’s good as the next for labor. I can point you to some that works hard and don’t complain none.”
“I want El Basque,” he said flatly.
The man’s large shoulder lifted and sank.
Drake tossed a pre-filled credit chip onto the desk. It landed with a thud, the chemicals mixed to the proportion matching the value it held—heavy to indicate the 2,500 credits. Exactly what the rebels had tried to extract from Sebastian and easily ten times more than a man was worth to the mines.
The man’s beady eyes widened and nostrils flared as he jammed the chip into his own monitor to confirm the contents. He stumbled back from the chair, all swaying bulk, and bustled past Drake out the door. Drake followed him out into the elements, where the man led him to a large iron gate. It was locked in three places and opened only to a short hallway with another gate.
This pattern repeated and reminded Drake of a joke his wife once played on him, wrapping the presents in concentric boxes until he finally reached the small item inside. That was when they still had presents. When he still had family.
He followed the man through a final door. The air shifted, thickened with the stench of stale sweat and desperation. Rows of barracks lined the hall. These men had only a dirty cot, not even a cell. The rustles and coughs proved their occupancy although the fact that none of them spoke, none of them reached for Drake or acknowledged him in any way, embodied the death of hope.
At the end of the corridor, they turned off into a smaller hallway, and the rock surface wavered from smooth planes to jagged edges. A small lamp hung from a tiny cliff, shedding sparse light over a jumble of bodies.
“The infirmary.”
Drake thought he detected a note of embarrassment in the man’s tone, but he was too incensed to give a shit. “Step aside.”
He reached inside and picked through bodies—some stiff, some still alive but unconscious. He didn’t know what he was looking for until he saw it. The man was Sebastian, thirty years older. His face was lined and gray, his hair was mostly missing, but that strong nose, those beautiful patrician features were clearly in evidence. El Basque wasn’t a lover, he was a family member, most likely Sebastian’s father.
Drake reached out, grateful that he was at least warm to the touch. Shrugging out of his jacket, he gingerly wrapped the man inside and picked him up. He spared a glance for the other people, but there was no way he could smuggle more. The air here was thick with despair, but he could not give it any weight without succumbing as well.
All the eyes along the walls followed Drake as he carried a man out—one of the few to leave still alive in their lifetimes—and pushed through the icy gales until he reached the transport ship. He tucked the man into the lower deck and settled in for the flight, praying that the old man would at least live until he could see Sebastian again.
The flight took longer on the way back, as they detoured to avoid an impromptu checkpoint. Twenty rotations passed by the time he carried the frail man up the steps. He was relieved he’d thought to keep up his rental on his rooms, that the house was still standing, and the old woman met him at the door, still well.
Officially, Drake lived in officer housing near Ke’lan headquarters, but he’d held onto this room, dutifully sending the pittance Maria charged for rent. When she’d been drowned by the exorbitant land ownership taxes, which was a fancy term for blackmail, he’d purchased the house. Something had compelled him to use a pseudonym and convoluted channels for the transaction.
Maybe it would always have come to this.
Having a space that wasn’t under surveillance by the Ke’lan would help him now. Hell, he needed a whole block, a city, an entire life free of them. He’d joined them voluntarily but leaving, after he knew their secrets, was an impossibility. And yet even knowing this, his mind circled the question. Examined it from every angle. Conjured images of dark, flashing eyes—too hopeful for their circumstances—as a means of inspiration.
His stomach tightened at the reminder. Sebastian waited, staked in a pit of vipers. It had damn near killed Drake to leave him there, but Sebastian had begged for this. What did it mean that he’d put the wishes of another man above his own?
He settled El Basque in a bed while Maria bustled to get supplies to tend him.
“Why?” The words were expelled from El Basque’s chest on a loud, rickety breath.
Drake studied the deeply lined face, absent of anything that could be called pallor. “Sebastian sent me.”
Rather than comforting him, the words made the old man struggle.
“Calm yourself,” Drake said.
Glassy eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly. “Where is he? Can I see him?”
“I’m going to get him now. You must rest while I’m gone.”
El Basque fell back onto the bed all while barely moving a muscle. Maria brushed past Drake and began peeling the thin gray cloth away from El Basque’s thin gray skin.
Due to the seclusion of the house, far from the Ke’lan gates, it took two tense rotations for Drake to reach headquarters. The final crystals of sand perched at the top of the hourglass, ready to fall, but he had made it back in time. Now he only had to accomplish the impossible and break Sebastian from his prison.
He went first to his office to retrieve the key to the cell. Out of habit, maybe, or more likely a gnawing desperation to look upon the face of a certain man, he flipped on the monitor. Sebastian was nowhere to be seen. Drake scanned the shadows of the cell, but the cameras were designed to encompass every spot.
The room was empty.
* * *
Sebastian grunted as the blow glanced off his ribs with a small but alarming crack. But these men were far too well-trained to break anything. At least, anything that would be necessary for him to live long enough to tell secrets he didn’t have.
He had his answer, then.
Drake had offered to set him free. Sebastian had begged him to find his father. Drake’s response had been these beefy g
entlemen, kindly offering their fists to the cause.
So be it.
Sebastian was too jaded to feel disappointment. This jagged, gutted feeling was just the result of the uppercut. Gods, but he wasn’t lucky enough to believe his own bullshit.
He’d thought for a moment that Drake was going to help him. What an idiot. The blow to his jaw was almost a relief, a physical outlet for his own self-castigation.
The man was a Ke’lan general. Drake had been toying with him. It would almost have been a compliment, if he hadn’t fallen for it. Pain ripped through Sebastian’s chest.
Right now Drake was probably laughing about his folly. Or worse, maybe he’d forgotten about him altogether. Run the mouse through his claws and tossed him away in search of worthier prey. A kick to his groin would have brought him to his knees—thank the gods for the chains, he thought wryly, there to hold him up when his own strength failed him. It was almost as if the chains were on his side, supporting him. Keeping him grounded. Wrapping him in their steely embrace. And now he was hallucinating.
Damn.
He’d grunted, even moaned, but gods, let it be over before he begged or completely humiliated himself by calling out Drake’s name.
The dim light blinded him briefly as the man moved away. To beat his backside, no doubt. But then the space was filled again—shorter. And wider. Sebastian squinted his puffy, bruised eyes and managed to focus on the portly man in front of him. His frilly uniform proclaimed his rank in the Ke’lan hierarchy even if his disdainful expression and corpulent body hadn’t already done the job.
“You have something I want, boy.”
Sebastian swallowed the tang of blood. “A single chin?”
The man nodded at the brute beside him, and Sebastian’s head was knocked back so hard he saw lights.
“No?” Sebastian’s voice sounded far away, even to himself, but he pushed on. “Hair, perhaps.”
He grunted and coughed at the knee in his stomach.
“Still not right?” he wheezed. “Maybe you’d like a pair of balls, but I’m not sure—”
The rest of his quip was cut off by a punch to his trachea. His body jerked and strained to take in air like a veritable puppet.
When Sebastian had choked out most of the blinding pain, he felt his head get yanked up. The man’s eyes reminded him of a rat, though no animal on the streets could ever be so well-fed.
“Is this what the rebels are growing these days?” the man sneered. “A street urchin who whores himself out for a bite to eat?”
Sebastian blinked.
“That’s right,” the man pushed further, dug the claws in deeper. “You think I don’t know about your little interlude? I just didn’t know how cheaply you sold that sweet body of yours.”
Groping fingers reached into the hem of his pants. Sebastian acted out of instinct—he jerked and landed a kick to the shins. The man howled in pain and released him, even as the large brute pulled back to punch him.
This would be the end. All that power, all that force directed right at his head would snap his neck. He’d failed his father. He’d failed himself, and the fact that it would be over in a matter of seconds was very cold comfort. He closed his eyes.
But the blow never came. A scuffling sound was followed by a loud grunt.
Sebastian snapped his eyes opened and saw Drake slice across the brute’s neck. Blood splattered the one of higher rank, who began screeching incoherently. Drake unlatched Sebastian’s restraints, but this time he didn’t let him fall—he caught Sebastian in his arms. Even that small drop pushed a groan from Sebastian’s lips. His body was sorely battered.
“You came back,” Sebastian whispered.
“I never left,” he murmured. “Not really.”
But Sebastian didn’t have time to ask what that meant because Drake pulled off his uniform jacket and wrapped it around Sebastian. He shouldn’t take it. It was Ke’lan, after all. But he was so cold, so chilled to the fucking bones that he pulled it tighter around him.
Drake herded him to the door.
“Stop,” the official shrilled. “Don’t you leave.”
Drake turned, as slow and deliberate as a timepiece. “You are lucky I don’t kill you, too. I still might change my mind.”
The man’s florid cheeks paled considerably, but he pressed on, the imbecile. “You can keep the boy. No one will begrudge you a pet. Just put the weapon down, and we can forget about all of this.”
Drake said nothing, moved not at all. Sebastian held his breath, terrified that Drake would yield to the suddenly oh-so-reasonable idiot. Despite the man’s ingratiating words, as long as Drake was with the Ke’lan, neither of them would be safe.
“I cannot forget,” Drake said. “I don’t think I want to.”
Drake nudged Sebastian out of the room and followed him into the hall, carefully closed the thick iron door, and locked it. As if on cue, incessant banging and indignant yelling began on the other side.
Sebastian smirked and immediately regretted it as pain shot daggers through his torn skin. He groaned softly.
Drake snapped a look at him. He didn’t say anything, but rage rolled off him like storm clouds. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “Can you walk?”
Yes. Sebastian took a step forward and promptly crumbled. Drake caught him and bit out a curse.
“Just a second,” Sebastian mumbled.
“We don’t have a second,” Drake said. “Come on. Try to walk. I’ll support you. I’d carry you, but I need my hands free in case we run into anyone.”
Sebastian snorted at the thought of anyone carrying him. Even half-starved, he was not a small man. “I’d like to see you try.”
“We’ll put that on the list,” Drake said as they hobbled down the hallway away from the muted shouts.
“Which list is that?”
“The list of things I’m going to do to you when you’re a free man.”
Sebastian’s heart stopped, that’s all there was to it. In only a second or two, it stuttered to an unsteady rhythm, but the damage was done. He fell in love with this man.
Which only served to make his words a lie, because Sebastian belonged to him, completely. He would never be free of those deep blue eyes. Just like Drake had said. He could not forget. He wouldn’t want to.
They made it three corridors down before they were found out. A young man with baby-smooth skin saluted Drake then peered at Sebastian curiously. “Sir?”
“Carry on, soldier,” Drake ordered, though a resigned inevitability seeped into his command. The evidence of their treason was written all over Sebastian, in the mass of bruises covered with Drake’s coat.
The man shuffled, clearly reluctant to countermand his superior. “Sir,” he stuttered, “official regulations decree that prisoner transport occur through proper…”
“I don’t suppose you’re the type to be swayed by a bribe?” Drake asked.
The boy’s eyes widened in innocent shock, making the soldier’s garb all the more ill-fitting.
“What are you doing?” Sebastian demanded, even though he was in no position to be anything other than a supplicant. Even though his exposed cuts marked him as little more than a slave, a peon, he spoke to Drake like an equal. “Let’s put him in a room, just like the other.”
Drake sighed. “I don’t think so.”
The young man’s eyes darted between them, just as confused as Sebastian about things like mission objectives and pecking order. He started to slide away, slink down the hall.
“Are you… are we just letting him go?” Sebastian asked.
When the soldier got far enough away, he broke out into a run. The latent anger in the back of Sebastian’s mind simmered over. He had no right to be angry. He had no rights at all, but his mind never took well to helplessness, no matter how much practice it got.
“This way.” Drake started to turn away, but he saw Sebastian standing still and sighed. “He would’ve gotten in trouble. If we restrained him, they’d
punish him.”
Sebastian felt himself soften at that. Drake fought like a soldier, but he cared like the best of men. Whatever had hardened Drake’s heart, Sebastian knew what was inside. Sebastian hadn’t taught Drake anything, he’d only needed him.
Sebastian allowed Drake to pull him back down the corridor, but they had only made one corner before a loud whirring sound battered his ears. Red lights sprayed up from the baseboards.
Drake pushed him through a small metal door. The stairs were metal too, and their steps made such a racket that they could be heard over the alarm. There was no use trying to be quiet—they banged up the steps like a dramatic composition played on an out-of-tune pedalboard.
At the very top, Drake opened a door to the outside—five floors up. Cold winds swept into the crawlspace, biting at Sebastian’s open wounds.
Drake stepped out onto the ledge and turned back.
Sebastian looked out at the purple-hued mountains in the distance. “You’re crazy.”
The corner of Drake’s lip turned up, not unkindly. He reached out his hand.
“And I’m just crazy enough to follow you.” Sebastian ignored the hollow in his stomach and took Drake’s hand. He didn’t look down, not even when his foot scuffed the stone ledge. They started a slow shuffle along the wall.
“I wasn’t always like this, you know,” Drake said conversationally.
Sebastian inched beside him, as rigid as the brick that pushed at his back. In the chilly air and even colder panic, he couldn’t even feel his injuries.
“I made my living hurting people. Killing them. I didn’t care about the grisly fates of upstanding young soldiers or innocent prisoners.”
Sebastian breathed deeply, but the air seemed too thin to sustain him. He realized that Drake was trying to distract him and forced his mind to center on the words. “What changed?” he choked out.
“It’s the craziest thing.” Drake reached a rope that hung from the roof. He latched it around Sebastian’s waist then looked straight into his eyes. “I met a man who taught me better.”