Enslaved

by Sydney Somers

  It wasn’t uncommon for treasure salvagers to transport artifacts found from lost Exodus ships, but none of them could have crashed anywhere near the Outer Rim.

  She eyed the “outfit” Lorcan had laid out for her. She’d rather stick with the red silk.

  “Problem?”

  Aside from being horribly underdressed for whatever he had planned? “Not a one.” He would enjoy helping her dress a little too much to say otherwise.

  The water shut off and she resisted the urge to look as he emerged from the shower. Which he made rather difficult when he reached past her for a towel, his wet chest brushing her back. She waited—breath held—for him to retreat.

  He didn’t.

  “You missed a spot.” He took the warm cloth she’d left at the edge of the sink and ran it along the back of her shoulder. “And here.” He swept it across the back of her neck, moving her hair aside in the process.

  “Wouldn’t want to embarrass my prime.”

  “Exactly.” His mouth replaced the cloth, his lips closing softly over the tender flesh below her ear.

  She gripped the edge of the sink, determined to think about anything but the hot slide of his mouth. The hot, wet slide of his mouth that made thinking at all highly overrated.

  As quickly as he moved in, he stepped back. “You have five minutes.” He strode out of the lavatory, presenting her with a fabulous glimpse of his ass.

  Exchanging the silk for a top made of two triangles and archaic shoestrings left a lot to be desired. The bottoms offered only slightly more coverage and more strings. She swore that one strategic pull would cause every knot to come undone.

  In the midst of tying the sheer—and pointless—wrap around her waist, she felt more than heard Lorcan in the doorway.

  Wow.

  He offered her a wolfish grin. “Careful, Sentinel. Looking at me like that might give a prime expectations.”

  Looking? Gawking was probably closer to the truth. She hadn’t stopped to think about what he’d be changing into, hadn’t cared. Five minutes ago, she’d assumed nothing could look better than him naked. Wrong.

  Fitted black pants encased his long legs, and the white shirt, open from throat to chest, should have been too plain to catch her notice. Key word being “should” because it definitely caught her notice. She could tell from the mussed look of his damp hair that he’d already run his fingers through it a few times since leaving the lavatory, except for the one stubborn dark brown lock that had a habit of falling across his forehead.

  He shoved away from the door, raking his gaze from bottom to top. Approval flashed in his eyes as he picked up the comb and paused behind her. “May I?”

  “That almost sounded like you were asking my permission.”

  He said nothing, sliding the comb gently through her hair. By the third pass the tense muscles she’d assumed would need a good soak to loosen up started to dissolve. His fingers teasingly brushed the nape of her neck as he worked the comb through, surprisingly careful when he reached a tangle.

  Aside from the occasional stylist, she couldn’t remember anyone but her mother brushing her hair. As Lorcan alternately slid his fingers and the comb from top to bottom, the moment felt increasingly intimate. Being angled away from the lavatory mirror, away from Lorcan’s gaze, made it easy to let her eyes slide shut.

  Somehow, she managed to keep from leaning back against him as every cell in her body grew limp. His fingers grazed her nape again as he moved the comb underneath. Brushing her hair was one of her least favorite chores, yet Lorcan made it feel tender and sexy and …way too intimate.

  An odd sense of relief swept through her when he slowed the sweep of the comb and reached for something on the counter. Having an excuse, she turned, meeting his eyes in the mirror. She frowned at the long piece of purple ribbon he’d left there earlier.

  He set the comb aside and efficiently wrapped one end of the ribbon around the hair gathered at the nape, then separated her hair into three long sections.

  When he began to weave the ribbon into the braid, she couldn’t help herself. “What are you, part girl?”

  He didn’t pull his attention from her hair. A thoughtful smile curved his lips. “I have two sisters. They used to hook me up with their friends’ older sisters in exchange for helping them with their hair.”

  “I thought only mothers and best friends usually did that kind of thing.” At least that was Kaela’s assumption. Seeing as how she’d been raised primarily by her mother’s political staff, with few best friends in the picture until she was old enough to be on her own, her childhood hadn’t been the norm.

  Lorcan shrugged, tying off the end of the ribbon. “I was both.”

  “You raised them?”

  “Our parents were killed when I was sixteen. The twins were only eleven.”

  Silence followed the admission, as though they both realized they’d crossed the boundary dropped into place the moment Lorcan placed his first bid.

  “Let’s go.”

  An order. Part of her wanted to be annoyed by the commanding tone. The other part was grateful those two words served as a reminder of their present circumstances. Something she couldn’t forget simply because the man could brush her hair within an inch of making her moan and managed to surprise her by mentioning his family.

  She couldn’t quite stifle her respect for his raising two young girls, let alone be bothered to do their hair. Two things her mother hadn’t done with any regularity where Kaela was concerned.

  Of course, that didn’t make Lorcan any less of a pain in her ass.

  “Am I going to need these?” He dangled the restraints in front of her.

  She shook her head. Even if she could deactivate the anklet sensor and get to the loading bay, stealing a transport shuttle wouldn’t do her any good until she knew where they were and the ship’s next destination. Slaves didn’t have access to the AI consoles on board without their primes’ approval. Short of knocking Lorcan out and jamming his thumb into the AI’s biomed sensor, she’d have to come up with another way to access the information.

  Glancing down at the barely-there outfit she kept catching Lorcan staring at, she wondered if she could convince him to let her stay behind. She dismissed the possibility as soon as it formed. Admitting to any discomfort would only make him enjoy dragging her into public that much more.

  They passed few people as they left Lorcan’s quarters and took the lift a few decks up. Music drifted down the long corridor, soft waves of percussion instruments that reminded her of the rhythm dancers who performed on Solara. Dim lighting and deep shadows gave the ship’s banquet hall, already jammed packed with other passengers, a ghostly, exotic feel that fit the seductive music.

  “This way.” Lorcan slipped his hand through hers and led her toward the bar.

  People chatted and laughed around long tables piled high with food. Many sat in the far corners, and more than a few looked intoxicated and ready to indulge in any manner of public indecency. In one sweeping glance she noted more than a dozen couples locked in intimate embraces that looked close to spilling over to anyone interested in watching the show.

  Half the people in the room were slaves, she realized, noticing the same twin-sun tattoo that she bore. Those same men and women were as scantily clad as she was, offering her some small measure of comfort. She’d been in more unnerving situations than this, and oddly enough, would have preferred a high-stakes recon assignment that left her outnumbered and pinned down by enemy fire. Then she’d at least have some kind of objective to focus on, unlike now. Thinking about Lorcan, she’d decided, was already off limits.

  She took the drink Lorcan handed her without argument, quickly draining the glass, the rich wine sliding down her throat to heat her stomach. Alcohol rarely soothed her rough edges, but after the day she’d had, she’d give anything a try.

  A familiar face streaked past her peripheral vision, and she turned her head. Three tables away, and with one woman straddling each
leg, sat Varek’s slave dealer.

  Sonofabitch.

  The man was supposed to be in one place and one place only in three days—Varek’s villa. Could that be Lorcan’s destination? Had he somehow secured himself an invite to Varek’s gala?

  Considering the scrutiny the shady ex-chancellor had come under recently, current intel suggesting he helped to facilitate the distribution of crystalline for the Battalia, it shouldn’t come as a shock Lorcan might be on the guest list. Dealing in stolen cargo required contacts, and without them, the minor players got busted by the Dominion or swallowed by the bigger fish.

  Maybe things weren’t looking so grim after all. She hadn’t believed Lorcan when he said they were headed for the Outer Rim. Assuming Varek’s dealer wouldn’t be disembarking at the next spaceport, Lorcan might have given her a one-way ticket to meeting her mission objective without even realizing it.

  A cannon blast exploded off the cruiser’s port side, the concussion wave slamming into the ship.

  What the hell?

  Lorcan locked one arm around her middle, keeping her upright as the cruiser rocked to the left. People stumbled and screamed as another blast, this one a little farther off, echoed in the banquet hall.

  The music stopped. Panicked voices rose in volume and the privately hired security gave up on blending in, withdrawing and arming their fusion pistols.

  Her gaze met Lorcan’s as the purpose of the cannon fire sank in. A warning shot. Probably from a Battalian combat cruiser. The tight grip he kept on her arm slowed the instincts that had kicked in the second the first explosion sounded, forcing her to reevaluate her next move.

  She wasn’t armed, didn’t have access to the ship’s AI consoles and sported a brand that marked her as one of the last people any explanations would be given to.

  Fuck that.

  Surprisingly, Lorcan didn’t try to stop her as she made her way toward the main door, but followed with his hand tightly threaded through hers.

  A member of the ship’s staff cut them off. “No one leaves the banquet hall until the captain authorizes it.”

  Kaela shoved her hand to her mouth and gagged, the other hand moving to her stomach.

  Lorcan’s hand curved across her lower back. “Unless you want her throwing up on you and anyone else in the vicinity, I suggest you let us pass to reach the closest lavatory.”

  The man frowned, tripping over his own feet when she managed another gagging sound that actually made her throat close up. “Go there and stay put,” he ordered, turning his attention back to monitoring the AI console on the wall behind him.

  “Hang on. We’re almost there,” Lorcan said, steering her into the corridor.

  She straightened, cast a quick glance over her shoulder and moved across the hall. Lorcan stayed on her heels the entire way, the doors sliding shut as they found themselves in a small conference room. Taking his hand, she pressed his thumb against the biometric sensor to access the ship’s computer.

  “Passengers don’t have free-for-all diagnostic and communications access—” He stopped, watching the grids light up on the screen as her fingers sailed over the keys. “Damn.”

  She smiled, just a little bit pleased he seemed impressed by her hacking skills, which were mediocre at best. It helped that passenger cruisers weren’t hard to breach. He watched without comment as she accessed the visual feeds with little effort.

  “Battalian combat cruiser.” She frowned at the images. “They’re going to board us.”

  “Why?”

  Why indeed? The Battalia were notorious for pirating but usually targeted smaller vessels, not passenger cruisers. Being that bold would invite more Dominion patrols in the vicinity. As much as the rebels were spoiling for a major showdown, too much attention before they were ready would hinder their efforts and everyone knew it.

  “They can’t be friendly. Not if they resorted to firing their cannon,” Lorcan said, keeping an eye on the rebel faction as they initiated docking protocol with the passenger cruiser.

  Although the passenger cruiser would be capable of tactical maneuvers that would make docking difficult, she doubted the captain would do anything to trigger retaliation. Kaela tapped into the inner-ship communications to monitor any information passed to senior staff not on the bridge or preparing to greet the impending rebels.

  She noticed the biomed information in the upper corner of the screen. “Warron Barclay? Why am I not surprised you had your chip programmed with an alias.”

  Lorcan shrugged, nodding to the top visual feed. “It has to be a good sign they haven’t shot the commanding officers.”

  “Maybe.”

  Rebel forces began exiting the boarding tunnel.

  “Maybe not,” she corrected, scanning the information as it was sent throughout the ship. “Shit.” At Lorcan’s frown, she added, “They’re looking for a woman, a Dominion sentinel they have reason to believe is on board.”

  How in the hell did they know she was here?

  Only a select group of people had access to the details of her mission. That meant the traitor was either a commanding officer they’d foolishly assumed wasn’t involved, or the traitor had somehow gained access to highly classified information.

  Either way, the traitor had likely tipped off the Battalia rebels in the quadrant about her suspected presence. Letting the rebel faction deal with those who posed a threat to their business dealings made sense for the real guilty party, especially if they wanted to continue to fly under the radar.

  And there wasn’t a doubt in her mind exactly how they’d deal with her. This wasn’t the first assignment that threatened Battalian interests, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think they couldn’t tie her to past missions that had left them severely compromised. Odds were more than one Battalian commander would enjoy a serious one-on-one with her, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

  Men continued to filter through the tunnel. “They’re going to search the ship.” She pulled up more visual footage, tracking the progress of the first rebel soldiers already sweeping the ship. “Five of them will reach this floor in under two minutes.” Pulling up the ship’s schematics to find a way to bypass them would take time she didn’t have.

  “That’s a shame,” he drawled, terminating her access with a stabbing keystroke before stepping away from the AI console.

  “You’d just hand me over to them?” She searched his eyes for the truth.

  He shrugged. “If there’s something in it for me.”

  Had she really expected anything less? Within hours of their first meeting, she’d discovered stolen artifacts. He’d bought her off the auction block purely for spite and planned on rubbing elbows with Varek. “So, you bought me, refused to sell me back at the spaceport, and now you’re eager to wash your hands of me?”

  A calculated gleam shone in his eyes, and in the space of three heartbeats, she realized she hadn’t given him enough credit.

  “What was your mission objective? Why were you so eager to auction yourself off?”

  On top of stealing and associating with suspected criminals, she could add blackmailing to the list. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  He nodded at the doors. “I know you have a hard choice to make.” He crossed his arms. “Tell me and maybe I can be persuaded to keep quiet when they come to search this room.”

  She shook her head.

  “Then there’s nothing I can do. Having the Dominion breathing down my neck at every checkpoint is enough. I don’t need to piss the Battalia off too.”

  Nothing on his face betrayed any hesitation. The only chance of salvaging her mission was to remain on board, whatever she had to agree to, with the exception of revealing mission details.

  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  He scoffed. “Is this where you promise you can make all my Dominion troubles magically vanish again?”

  “No.”

  “Then I think you’re pretty much out of bargaining chips, Kaela.”

&n
bsp; Not even close, not when he went out his way to make it impossible to forget the way he looked at her, touched her—wanted her. “There’s one thing left that might be of interest to you.”

  “And that would be?”

  The offer nearly stuck in her throat. “Me.”

  Surprise registered on Lorcan’s face.

  “You wanted a slave in every sense of the word…” she paused to be sure her meaning was crystal clear, “…you’ve got one.”

  * * *

  In over your head.

  Lorcan ignored the warning that wrenched at his gut. Easy enough to accomplish with Kaela’s enticing proposition ricocheting through his mind.

  “No tricks,” she continued. “No games. If you want food, if you want silence, if you want—”

  “You in my bed,” he finished for her.

  He couldn’t deny the appeal of having her willingly. The brand on her hip meant nothing to her but an inconvenience. The laws that legally made her his would be easily bent and manipulated when her employer reentered the picture. He’d known that from the beginning.

  “In your bed,” she agreed, sounding only a little breathless.

  He strode toward her, catching her chin in his hand and tipping her face up. “Are you lying now, Sentinel?”

  “No.”

  The truth, he decided, but suspected there was more to it. More than the threat of the Battalia getting a hold of her that triggered the spontaneous proposition. She was too sharp for him to believe otherwise. Since leading her from the stage on the spaceport’s promenade, she’d remained attuned to her surroundings, assessing everything she could use to her advantage, all the while looking unconcerned. Resourceful and determined, two factors alone that guaranteed she wouldn’t make a move without it being to improve her situation.

  “You have my word.”

  It didn’t escape his attention she hadn’t stipulated how long she would remain agreeable. “Lay back on the table.”

  “Now?”

  “You either trust me on this, Kaela, or you don’t. Make your choice.”