“How many did you kill?” Though rocked by the movements of the hopper, she studied him through the blurred gap between her eyelashes. All those women.
Scarred man. Battle or a private brawl? Acid attack from a jilted admirer? At least here on Aerthe she could rule out falling into a wood chipper. Parachute accidents, bear attacks too. Everything here happened indoors. Unless you escaped like Emery, into the countryside she’d seen through the scarce portholes and windows. Though she’d been caught and returned, for a while Emery had been free.
The man remained mute.
Silence slopped back and forth a while longer before the assassin deigned to answer. “Enough. Only enough.”
“Never more?”
“No.”
Somehow, she knew that was important to him. A man who killed only enough, never more. “You’re...strange.” She’d almost sworn at him.
An eyebrow rose. “Your arm survived,” he observed from inside the hood. “You’ll live.”
One side of his mouth fed into a landscape of corrugated scar tissue, where thin snakes of blue faded in and out. Ghosts of blue. What could cause those?
Fearsome, yet her natural curiosity made her wonder what he’d done. Or what had been done to him.
Her curiosity had made her who she was, gained her employment on Earth...and had brought her trouble, here.
What does the rest of you look like? Those words came to her but her head and stomach filled with a lurching, heavy sea. She was going to vomit or pass out.
Blackness fell.
Time passed as she surfed in and out of consciousness, aware of being carried and pushed around, fastened down with straps she glimpsed before her eyes blanked. Slowly she surfaced.
So quiet.
Sitting up. In a chair. That much was clear.
Someone gave her something to drink. The lip of a cup met her mouth. She dribbled some but swallowed most then gulped down more. Just water. The coolness soothed the inside of her throat.
Slowly, the room gained focus.
Yes, she was strapped down – ankles, chest, legs, arms, but no longer was she forced to keep herself upright to avoid hanging herself by her collar. She sat in a metal chair with soft, black padding. The white lace over her lap and the fabric rubbing on her shoulders told Gio she still wore clothes. Blinking away the smear across her vision, she raised her head.
The man waited, sprawled in a throne-like seat, his hood and jacket removed. She chose not to look at him.
He scared her. He was ground zero. The executioner. The harbinger of death, or worse.
Throat knotted with anxiety, she looked beyond his shoulders, to left and right – everywhere except at him. This was a large room with the usual riveted steel walls of this Mekker landship. No curtains, no windows. Timber-colored cupboards lined the walls, and those walls were hung with implements. Things of black metal and leather. Devices with circular dials and buttons and prods. Hoods and harnesses. Much of this she had no exact idea what it was for.
Be honest. Torture. These would likely be for torture.
A door to the left and to the right. The right one was solid metal, the other door was wide and made of inch-thick bars. A cell for prisoners, she assumed. For her, possibly...probably.
She needed to understand her situation. She flexed the muscles in her arms, straining against the straps, making new pain, waking herself.
In the middle... Yes, ewww. A grille-covered drain, tainted with rust-red spots, lurked in the middle. Was that blood? How much blood had gone down there? Above, bright squares of hanging lights dazzled.
And there he was.
She’d come full circle.
Strapped down as she was, in the harsh bloom of the lights, he must see the minutia of what she did. Every twitch and breath.
She swallowed as furtively as she could, saw him shift forward as if he noted that too.
Fuck. But if she was torturing someone, she’d do it like this.
Her body chose that second to remind her of the blood snack room and the drug.
Her heart thudded slower, lusciously, hot, pushing up her nipples.
They bumped at the soft lace. With every rise of her chest, her nipples frictioned against the cloth and excitement blossomed.
Eyelids wavering, she shivered, alive with sensations.
From the crooked, up-curve of his ugly mouth, he knew.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Between her legs, her lips swelled. Wetness dribbled down her slit, heading for the seat. Invisible though, it must be. When she tried to wriggle and squeeze her thighs closer together, she found the back of the dress had ridden up and her ass was stuck to the seat.
“Awake?”
Startled, she angled her head higher. His hand was at his chin. For the first time, she could truly study him.
With the hood gone, she could see where scarring overtook his natural features and turned them to a mix of corrugated flesh and deep ravines. The latter must be from lacerations. Only the left side was affected. The left eyelid was contorted though both eyes were clear. The right was brown. The left seemed impossibly dark. What man, even a Mekker, had a black iris?
His hair was blond and cropped close to his scalp. Two scars scored across his forehead and temple and into his hair.
“I asked if you were awake.”
Gio weathered a stretch of quietness before nodding. Blinking before this predator seemed unwise. Doing anything might be folly. She didn’t know what he wanted.
“Good.” He stood, stretched. “It’s been a while since I took you. I was beginning to think what they injected you with didn’t work.”
He walked to her, boots tapping – taller than she remembered and confident in his stride, but then he would be. He had her imprisoned, tied down. If he was merciless and wanted to do something awful, she couldn’t resist. He stopped beside her.
“Being a human must have changed your reaction to the drug. It makes me wonder what else your species make-up will alter.”
He leaned in. From the reach of his arm, he searched for something at the back of her chair. The front section of the base of the chair jerked, squeaked, then moved outward as if it had split.
Her legs were strapped to the moving sections. Horrified, she watched as her thighs were forced open. When he ceased winding, her legs were spread wide.
Coolness bathed her lower lips and she’d felt them part, as if inviting something within.
“I could make them go further, but this will do.” He stepped away. “I wonder how long this will affect you.” Not for a second did his gaze rise from between her legs. “A pretty slit. In a few hours you’ll be dying to have it filled.”
A blush raged across her cheeks.
If she clenched below, if her breasts felt heavier, it was the drug, not that a man stood between her legs.
He leaned over her again and gently rearranged the neckline of her dress until it scooped beneath both breasts, revealing them, holding them higher.
Her breaths became ragged and humiliatingly deep.
Jaw tensing, Gio glared.
“I see teeth. Would you kick me in the balls if you were free, girl?”
“Yes.”
The man dared to chuckle and came nearer, until inches from her face. “You’re going to be fun to play with.”
Her pussy squeezed in. She wasn’t sure if that was from terror or lust.
Touching her neck with his lips, he murmured soft words and her disloyal body heated.
“What if I put a finger there, Gio? Just inside your cunt? Move it in and out, and in some more, a little deeper. If I leave it there? Would you like that?”
Suffocated by his whispers, by his scent, by his rough promises, she denied him with thoughts. Of course she wouldn’t.
Except she would, fuck yes. God, yes. She imagined his finger spreading her lips, circling her there. Her thighs tensed against the straps, pushing toward him, a little.
Not enough that he’d see.
&n
bsp; “What do you want?” she asked, desperate for distraction.
“You. Only you, Gio.”
“Who are you?” Words were her only refuge.
“My name is Ryke, and I’m the King’s Own Lawgiver. No one knows I exist except the king, the king’s advisor, and my current client. Which is you.”
“So...” She stalled a second. He must have had others. “That means, you will kill me when you’re done with me.”
“Strangely, the answer is no. I’m to let you live. You’re too valuable but...” He touched her chin, held it. “Don’t think I can’t hurt you and do things you don’t like.”
And that was a world of chilling possibilities.
“Why?”
“They want me to discover everything you know about portals.”
“You’re a cruel man.”
“I’m dutiful. You have time to think about your answers. I’m going to read.”
What?
“Drette left diaries that someone high up has discovered. Diaries that suggest you are far more than a clueless slave. Think, girl. I never torture anyone before I know the inside of them better than they do.”
She shouldn’t speak, but she was a drum beating with despair, with futile anger, with a constant rabble of looping thoughts. Where was this going? Don’t trust him. He lies. He’ll kill me, he will.
Her mouth pressed together but a second later the words vomited out. “I hate you. I hate you already. So much.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. And you know, I lied. I don’t torture often. I let people wallow in their own pleasure and shame, until they beg me to end them.”
That couldn’t be true. She needed facts. If he lied...
“I don’t understand.”
“I never thought you would.”
She was so tired. The whole side of her face ached where the bruise disfigured it. She’d been hung up like a side of meat for hours and drugged and now this? The world glitched randomly, fuzzing out.
What was she doing? What was he? Talking to her while she was exhausted was ideal for him. Gio catalogued her bonds, their firmness. She wasn’t getting out of them by herself.
“Let me rest, please?” Oh, she’d whined. She hated that.
“Maybe later. I like you, like this.” He winked – a disturbing gesture and his most human one yet. “Messy, tired, begging to be fucked.”
Her teeth scraped her lower lip. Her toes scrunched in. How true his statement was.
Never had she been so conscious of her femaleness. Every nerve surrounding her pussy entrance seemed supersensitive. How wet she was. How open. She could feel the drift of air when he shifted nearer, moved his leg, or when he put his hands on the arms of the chair and kissed her forehead.
Just as he’d promised, Ryke returned to his high-backed chair. He settled there, lopsided, with one leg looped over the armrest and the diary in his hands.
Whatever he intended, it was planned. Perhaps he was waiting for the drug to affect her more intensely. If so, it only made her more nervous and aware as time slid past.
Her thighs were spread for his view and her breasts uncovered. Every thud of her heart seemed to inject a turgid desire into the air connecting her to him.
Surely he only pretended not to see the display he’d made of her.
Her breaths grew ragged when she strived not to visibly move her chest.
Not to squirm.
Yet she craved penetration by something and she knew the scarred man, Ryke, had a cock. Imagination rampant, no matter how she deflected, she saw him fucking her.
Her pussy needed. Her clit throbbed, protruding far more than it should – she could see it when she looked because he’d rucked up the skirt... Fuck him. A tongue, a finger, the mere presence of a male within a five-feet radius might get her to come.
She pursed her lips to keep herself from moaning as her slit leaked wetness and her pelvis tilted back and forth by infinitesimal amounts, kept in place only by the straps. How many pages were turned and read before she gave in and spoke simply to get her mind away from the concept of fucking?
“How much are you lying to me?”
He met her eyes and cruel desire writhed from pelvis to breasts to her mind, cramping her with want.
Answer me soon, please. Fucking please. She squirmed and slipped on the liquid pooled beneath her ass.
Every drug wore off. When would this end?
Chapter 3
Ryke half-closed the book, inserting a finger to keep place, and looked at her again, pretending to notice her nakedness and exposed position for the very first time. Then he rose, took a needle from the packet in his shirt pocket and slid it into the top corner of the page. He put down the book and went to the wall, eyeing the equipment.
As if he didn’t know precisely what he wanted. He’d been stifling himself, reading, ignoring the half-naked woman a few feet away. She’d leaked so much of her cunt juices the padding shone in the lights.
He opened a low cupboard and rolled out the frame on wheels.
“You said something?”
“How much did you lie?”
While screwing the two-inch-wide black dildo to the end of the long stick, he answered her. “I haven’t, yet. Well, there was that once I already mentioned.”
“You said you weren’t to kill me. That’s a lie. It must be.”
Ryke attached the stick to the frame so it became a blunt spear pointing forward and wheeled the frame to her, until the end of the dildo nestled near her cunt. Not quite in, but touching.
She eyed it greedily, though she jerked her gaze away.
“What’s that for?”
“Hmmm. For saying something stupid...” He withdrew the dildo by an inch, but then went around the chair and loosened her waist strap. Then he stroked her hair, gently removing knots, smoothing it. “If you try really hard, you can reach it.”
“Fuck you. Did you lie?” Her eyes seemed cast downward to the device.
“I might lie, but I haven’t.”
“Take it away.” Her voice shook.
“Afraid? That’s the whole point.” He tugged at her hair, forcing her to look up at him.
“This won’t get me to talk.”
Ryke smiled down at her, placing his hand over the front of her throat. By hair and throat he kept her still. “In the proceedings of my employment, you’re mine to toy with. You’ll learn it’s best to please me. Do. You. Want that in you?”
This close, he could clearly see the confusion and anguish he’d caused. Despite her recent abuse, this slave was still new to being a possession. Curious. Drette had been a poor master.
“No.”
But her hips had moved, undulating forward. Not far, but the stretch of the straps betrayed the smallest change in position.
He wasn’t sure if this would make her talk but didn’t care. “Now you are the one lying.” Though she flinched as if expecting a blow, he bent to kiss her mouth, her neck, the unbruised side of her face.
When he lifted his mouth from her, he could see that her face had softened and how he’d puzzled her, which was all part of the game. The arousal drug was accelerating the process.
Gyle almost always sent him people who’d messed up politically. Potential traitors or simply those whose actions might hurt the king or Mekker society or the swathe. People the courts couldn’t touch. Not everything legal was right or good. What he did wasn’t that either, but it was endorsed by the king, and by the king’s advisor, Gyle.
The King’s Own Lawgiver was a man outside the law.
He loved who he’d become, if not the day he’d forsaken the Underdeck.
Most of his clients were men; few were women. Unfortunately. Long ago he’d discovered he loved playing with women when he had them like this, helpless, with no one to tell him to stop. Making them orgasm despite their protestations made for a perfect interrogation.
His results and loyalty meant Gyle cared not. He could string people up and disembowel them and
Gyle wouldn’t care. He didn’t. Maiming was a last resort, and it would disgust him. He didn’t need to maim or disfigure. Executions were performed by others.
He’d wring gold from rusted steel, his interrogations were that perfect.
This slave girl wasn’t his first female client. She was however his first human and his first slave. She was also perfect.
The movement of her thighs and breasts when she shuddered. Her hair, her lips, the plump pink circles of her nipples. The way she resisted. He wanted to rip her to the wildest heights then leave her crying. Even her voice made his balls tighten. She’d be screaming for him before this day was over.
This slave might have been sent from the stars above to taunt him.
Ryke placed both hands over her shoulders and she gasped. It was a raw sound – equal parts panic and desire. He waited, massaging her muscles, watching her struggle to contain her reaction by grabbing only tiny morsels of air, until her breasts heaved convulsively and a soft moan escaped.
“That’s it. Relax. I want you to fuck yourself, Gio. Fuck yourself, and I’ll let you eat and have some rest.”
“Go. Away.” A whisper but her voice gained strength. “You fuck yourself.”
He took his hands from her and he walked to his chair and sat, picked up the book and began to read.
Chapter 4
Was humiliation his aim, or did he simply like seeing her aroused? She couldn’t tell. Maybe both?
Gio stared at the blunt head of the dildo, fearing it as much as she might a snake. This would only bite her if she moved. How she wanted to do that – impale herself.
To dream perchance to fuck herself on it.
That misquote of Hamlet had come to her randomly and she resisted giggling. The drug ate her sensible self. But...to fuck herself, to feel that thing squeeze inside – so large, it’d feel good if an inch poked into her entrance. More of her moisture decided to trickle onto the inside of her thighs.
She swung up her head, although her neck shook and her thighs trembled. She wriggled. The bastard was reading. She’d bet he really wasn’t. The fucker wanted to see her break and do nasty things on his big plastic tool. Mustn’t give him that satisfaction.
Branded Possession (The Machinery of Desire Book 3) Page 2