by Sara Page
I decide to give Striker the benefit of the doubt at first. Maybe he has to do something in the ship so we can take off quickly? Maybe there’s a protocol, some type of procedure he’s forced to follow before we leave? But when I take a seat on the bench behind the pilots chair and he sits down beside me, I jump up.
I place my hands on my hips and ask, “What’s going on?”
My question must not compute because Striker simply stares at me as if I’m daft and says, “We’re taking you home.”
I shake my head. “We? No, I don’t think so.”
Beast comes stomping up the landing ramp and into the ship. “Is something wrong?” he asks and hits the big button on the wall. The landing ramp beeps and retracts.
Stars, give me strength. I walk over to Beast and he cocks his head as he watches me. I punch the button on the wall. Ow. The landing ramp beeping skips a beat then it starts to unfold once more.
I grit my teeth against the pain and hiss out, “You forgot to let Striker off.”
“I’m coming,” Striker says coldly and begins to put his safety harness on.
“No,” I say and shake my head. I turn to Beast and say more forcefully, “No. He is not coming. This is not going to work.”
“He’s coming,” Beast says and hits the button on the wall.
I want to scream so bad. I’m already freaked out about my father. I’m on the verge of having a full-force princess meltdown.
“Why is he coming? Why? Shouldn’t he stay here? Isn’t he the next ranking officer for the Harpy’s Talon?”
“We’ve already decided. Everything has been taken care of. Please sit down,” Beast says as if he expects me to accept that and give up.
“No.” I will not sit down. I will not budge on this. Who does he think he is? My father? And that thought just feels like another punch to the gut.
“I don’t want him to come.” It sounds too whiney when I say it but in all honesty, it really makes no sense for Striker to accompany us. He had control of the Harpy’s Talon, he was the Captain before Beast commandeered it. Shouldn’t he remain onboard?
“We’re wasting time,” Striker says and I swing around to glare at him.
I try to glare Striker down but I swear his eyes are even brighter than Beast’s are. “Get off.”
Striker smirks. “No.”
What a jerk. I turn back to Beast and plead with him, “Please. Please make him get off.”
“Sit down, Ameia,” Beast says and crosses his arms over his chest to show me he’s not going to budge.
I look between Beast and Striker. What choice do I have? I can’t take them both on. They’re too big, too strong. And no matter how much I want to I can’t fly this ship by myself. So when it comes to choices I have none. If I want to return home to my father without starting a war, I have to go along with this. I have to accept that despite my wishes and protests, Striker is coming along.
I give Beast a dark look. How could you? Then spin on my heel and stomp my way over to the bench. Striker, jerk that he is, continues to smirk at me and has the nerve to pat the spot beside him.
I snort. “I rather strap myself to the hull.”
Striker laughs.
Beast says, “That’s enough.”
I choose the furthest seat from Striker, two seats away, and sit down. Satisfied that I’ve taken my seat, Beast nods his head and takes his seat in the pilots chair. As Beast secures himself and begins flipping switches, I secure myself in my safety harness.
Beast barks out a long sequence of numbers and a voice booms back through the speakers in barks and grunts. I grab hold of the straps crossing over my chest and look around. From what I can tell this ship appears to be used for transport. There’s another bench behind us, but little room to store cargo or goods. Grey safety suits hang from the walls, along with several massive guns. The guns fill me with a feeling of unease. If I hadn’t been so focused on Striker I would have asked Beast to toss them out before we take off.
The ship begins to roll forward, it’s a smooth movement. I even feel us turning without any jerking, yet now that we’re actually moving, I’m starting to feel a bit sick to my stomach.
As my fingers clench around the straps, my knuckles going white, I have a nauseating flashback of my escape pod rolling and being forced upside down.
“Ameia?” Striker asks but I can’t seem to turn my head to look at him.
I feel like I’m frozen in place, my heart racing with fear. The pulse in my veins is pumping so hard I’m afraid it’s going to burst through my skin.
“Is something wrong?” Beast asks from upfront.
“She turned green.”
“Are you alright, my princess? Do you want me to stop?”
I swallow back the excess spit in my mouth and somehow say, “No, I’m fine.”
“She doesn’t look fine,” Striker says.
I swear he wants me to strangle him.
“Ameia?” Beast asks, sounding unsure.
I swallow again and say, “Take me home.”
“Take care of her,” Beast tells Striker, and before I can say anything smart we burst forward.
* * *
My heart jumps into my throat. I feel my body being pushed back against the seat. After what feels like a couple of minutes, I start to adjust. We’re just speeding forward after all. Picking up as much propulsion as possible from the boosters before we enter space to conserve fuel.
But then, without warning, we drop. It feels as if we’re falling.
It goes on and on.
Oh, stars, we’re falling into deep space. Something must have gone seriously wrong.
I wasn't prepared for this. I didn’t know… how could I know? I must black out or pass out because suddenly I’m not in the transport ship with Beast and Striker, I’m in my escape pod.
The siren is blaring. The screen is flashing red warning words at me. I’m trapped in my safety harness and I can’t get out.
I’m going to die! I scream inside my head.
Only it must not have been inside my head because I feel someone grab my hand and a soothing deep voice telling me, “No. You’re going to be all right.”
That voice yanks me out of the memory.
Keeping my eyes closed because I’m afraid of what I’m going to see, I ask, “What’s going on?”
The world was spinning but now I feel myself coming back down. I’m grounded by the hand holding my hand, by the skin touching my skin. The hand is warm and electric. Is Beast not driving? Jolts of electricity sizzle across my palm and shoot up my arm.
The hand starts to slip away but I grip it and whimper, “Please don’t let go.”
“Everything is fine,” Striker assures me. “We just went through a wormhole.”
My eyes fly open in surprise. It’s Striker touching me, not Beast? He’s the one comforting me? I almost can’t believe what I am seeing. Striker is kneeling before me on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
Striker’s eyes lift from our entwined fingers to lock on my face as he says, “Protecting you.”
My hand continues to tingle, practically humming with energy.
I try to pull my hand away but his fingers only tighten. “You can stop now.”
“I will never stop protecting you,” Striker says so vehemently I gasp.
“Ameia?” Beast calls out from up front. “Are you better now?”
“Yes,” I call out to Beast. Then I lower my voice to an angry hiss for Striker, “You’re hurting me.”
The grip of Striker’s fingers loosens but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes his surprisingly soft lips across my knuckles. “I’m sorry.”
A thrilling zap flows through me at the touch. It steals my breath and strikes me in my very core.
This is not right, I tell myself, I have to remind myself. I don’t know why I’m responding to him the way I am. It’s too much like the way I respond to Beast. And what Beast and I
have should be special, something that is shared between just us. Even the whole kissing my hand… it felt too much like it did when Beast did it those days ago.
We can’t do this. I shouldn’t encourage this. Striker is literally kissing me behind Beast’s back. I don’t need them fighting, I don’t need this confusion in myself. I have enough turmoil tearing up my insides and beating up my heart. I don’t want Striker’s attentions or affections. I’m not even asking for it.
Yet somehow my traitorous body likes it. It even wants it, no it’s begging for more.
“Don’t’ do that,” I snap at Striker and take advantage of his loosened grip to yank my hand back. I have to stop this. I have to stop him because I don’t fully trust myself. Because I like it.
Bad Ameia.
“I’m going to take care of you, whether you like it or not.”
He moves as if to grab me again but I shove my hand under my butt and sit on it. Before he thinks to grab the other it too goes under my butt. Striker smirks, amused and I get the feeling he’s enjoying this far too much. As if he let me win the battle but he’ll win the war. My actions are making this like a game for him. I’ll have to be more careful.
Without a word he rises from the floor. It’s one fluid movement, he’s a blur of inky darkness. It’s frightening how fast he is and how he can move so nimbly for being so large. I hold my breath, waiting for him to walk back to his seat. I seriously need to figure out what just happened between us and I can’t think straight with him so close. But instead of returning to his spot two seats away, he turns and plops his big alien butt down in the seat to my right
“Why are you sitting next to me?” I ask and try to scoot away. Why won’t this guy give me a break? Doesn’t he get the hint? Do I need to write Not Interested on my forehead? Maybe I need to carve Not Interested in my heart because the traitorous thing speeds up.
Striker slips his safety straps over his shoulders and says as if I should already know, “It’s obvious you need me close.”
I can only move away so much. The safety harness limits my movements and limits how far away I can scoot. And unfortunately, Striker is so big he takes up more room than his seat can provide so naturally he decides to take up some of mine.
Now it’s almost impossible to keep from touching him. I stiffen my arms, afraid to move them lest I inadvertently brush against his arms. But already my hands are starting to tingle, it won’t be long before they fall asleep and go numb.
“I don’t need you,” I feel the need to whisper even though Beast must know what’s going on back here. He can probably even see it on a monitor. Yet he’s been quiet, hasn’t said a word. This is all too weird. Maybe the wormhole dropped us into another dimension and Beast forgot the word Mine. He beat Striker bloody for touching me without my permission when I woke up on the Harpy’s Talon. Maybe he can’t see what’s going on?
It only gets weirder when Striker says as if he truly believes it, “You need me more than you know.”
I don’t dignify that statement with a response. It’s ludicrous. Me need Striker? Ha. I need him like I need a punch to the throat. But if anything, he is a distraction. I spend so much time worrying and focusing on not touching him, I forget about what’s waiting for me when we reach my home.
Minutes pass and soon enough my hands fall asleep. It feels as if they’re being stabbed by a billion needles. I pull them out and bend my fingers. It’s painful and I grimace as I get the blood flowing again.
“Ameia?” Beast suddenly calls out.
“Yes?” I answer back.
“We’re about to go through another wormhole. Hold on.”
How am I supposed to hold on? I wonder as I stare down at my useless fingers. Before I can figure it out we drop again and everything goes dark.
Chapter Five
The darkness is all, it is never ending. It is everywhere and I am becoming one with it.
It feels as if I just keep falling
and falling
and falling.
I can’t see anything, not even myself, but I can certainly feel what’s going on.
At first I’m afraid I’m going to crash. I keep bracing myself, expecting impact. Knowing that at the speed I’m falling, there’s no way I’ll survive. I’ll break into little pieces of Ameia.
But the darkness keeps going on and on. Sucking me down while my stomach is working its way up to my throat. And after an eternity I begin to hope I crash. I pray for it. I pray that this fall comes to an end. Even if it means I break. Even if it means I die. Anything to stop this sensation.
Anything to stop it all.
“Ameia,” a voice rumbles in the darkness.
I reach out, delirious and convinced that somehow I can reach the voice as if it was a physical thing and grab on to it.
“Come here, you,” the voice growls.
Inside me, I feel a tug.
“Stop trying to get away. You’re mine.”
The darkness tightens around me and squeezes.
My eyes pop open and I gasp.
What the hell was that?
I can see again, suddenly my eyes are working once more.
The first thing I see is Striker grinning down at me. “Welcome back.”
“What the fuck?” just flies out of my mouth.
Striker starts to laugh.
I quickly realize that I’m no longer strapped in my safety harness or even sitting in my seat. Now I’m straddling Striker’s lap and he seems entirely too happy about it.
Way too happy if that hard thing poking me is what I think it is.
What the hell just happened? Did I imagine all of it? I couldn’t have… Yet, that’s three times weird shit has happened to me in the past few hours.
Maybe I do have a touch of the space madness.
I shiver at that thought.
“Are you cold?” Striker asks and his hands start to rub my arms.
“No,” I frown at him. “I’m quite warm.” Then I realize why I’m so warm. Because he’s warm and we’re entirely too close.
I push at his chest so I can stand up. Striker immediately stops rubbing my arms and grabs me by the hips to stop me. “You should sit for a bit. Take some time to recover.”
I scowl at him. “No way. Let me up.”
“Stop, Ameia,” Striker warns me. “If you don’t rest you’ll make yourself sick. His fingers tighten, digging into me. I’m still sore there and it reminds me that it’s because of him. From the last time he grabbed my hips?
I stop trying to pull away. “This is so messed up.”
Striker smirks and as I let my weight settle on him his fingers relax.
“Did I faint? Did you knock me out? Seriously, what’s going on?”
“We’re hopping wormholes.”
That’s a thing?
“Why?” I ask and shift on his lap but I just can’t escape the bulge.
“Because we can. Because this way the antiquated systems of your planet will not be able to track us back to the Harpy’s Talon.”
“So that’s what the darkness was? A wormhole?”
Striker nods and his red eyes flash brighter at me. “Yes.”
I look away from him and find a spot on the wall to focus on. “I heard your voice.”
“I pulled you out.”
He called me mine.
“Thank you,” I say softly. He deserves it, even if I’m confused about what’s going on. Even if he’s making me sit on his lap and he has a very big, very obvious hard-on. If it wasn’t for Striker I would still be falling. The more I try to think about it, try to figure it out, the more it just makes my head hurt.
“You’re welcome.”
I try to relax. I try to get comfortable. I shift and I wiggle. It only seems to make the situation even worse.
“Stop squirming,” Striker growls as if he’s angry with me.
“I can’t help it,” I huff. “I’m not comfortable.”
Striker grunts and he shifts, causin
g his bulge to rub against me. A strong jolt of sensation slams into my core. I freeze.
Striker groans.
I clench my teeth. “I need to get up.” Using my knees this time, I start to raise my butt up.
“Don’t move,” Striker groans. “We need to be touching.”
Stars help me, I don’t want this. An unwelcome ache is beginning to grow in my core. “Why do we need to be touching?”
“Because if you’re not touching me,” he says through his own clenched teeth, “You’ll get lost in the wormhole and we’ll never find you. I’m your anchor.”
“Oh.”
“So. Sit. Still,” he hisses.
And I try, I really do, but I’m too aware. He’s hard and so big. I can’t just sit here and feel him and not imagine what it would be like…. What does he look like? What does it feel like? I know Beast is big, the way he fills me and stretches me. I bet Striker would be….
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“I can’t sit like this, I just can’t. It’s not going to work.”
“Fine,” Striker snaps and grabs me by the hips again. Before I can move myself he’s spinning me around until I’m sitting on his lap with my back against his chest. Now his erection is digging into my ass.
“This is even worse!” I cry out.
“Too bad.” Striker’s arms tighten around me. His arms are as strong as flexible steel, I’d need a laser torch to cut myself out.
“This is what you get when you complain,” he breathes into my ear and I can’t help but shiver. My skin prickles with gooseflesh.
“I get your cock in my ass?” I ask and Striker laughs.
I squirm and wiggle, grinding against him, honestly trying to escape. He groans again and a part of me, a very sick part of me, likes it.
Stars, I’m so fucked up.
Eventually I stop. Fighting is truly only making it worse. The jolt to my core has turned into a steady throb and I swear I can feel his bulge pulsing in return.
A couple of minutes pass by then Striker is breathing in my ear again. “Giving up so soon?”