by Ava Argent
Nothing happens. I can see where we're going, and how long it's going to take to get there, but no matter what I do, I continually get the “access denied” message. The steering wheel won't rise from the panel.
Encoded to M'anu's prints.
I slap the panel. Damn. That is smart. Is there anything else encoded to him?
I bring up the program and start to read as the call to Betty 'rings'.
Click. “Who the fuck is this?”
“You really need to work on your phone manners,” I say as I continue to scan the information.
“Babycakes! Where are you calling from?”
“Ever heard of M'anu the Ferissian?”
“Oh. Shit.”
“Yep. Apparently the bounty is from his brother and this is all a big twisty plot to get you into Ferissian clutches. What the hell did you do to that guy?”
“What can I say?” My sister is the queen of flip. “I'm popular.”
“Whatever. I've got control of the bridge—don't ask me how—but I can't change coordinates. He's got the—” My eyes widen. “Motherfucker.”
Betty is instantly on alert. “What?”
M'anu has voice control over shield mechanisms. He can open the door with just a word.
I get up and dash to the bridge's door, an old fashioned metal number, pulling the barrier shut with a clang and slamming the bar into place. There's a small window, and I have no doubt in my mind that it's going to be filled up with ticked off Ferissian face in less than a minute. “Listen Betty, can't talk. Lock onto this ship's grid and follow the trail. Bring the cavalry. Bring guns. I don't care. Just get here.”
I hear the banging of boots. He's not running, but he sure as hell isn't taking his time. “I'm out, okay?”
“Got it.” Betty hangs up without another word. Just in time. M'anu's arrived.
Whether he heard my 'distress' call or not totally escapes my mind when I see him framed in the window. His eyes pierce me through the glass, his chin lowered, and it's clear he's picked up the gauntlet I laid down. He says something—I can't hear it, but it looks like a very enunciated, “Open. Up. Now.”
I should be terrified.
Maybe I am.
But if I'm going down, I'm going down with style.
So I give him my biggest grin and point at my chest, then his floor. “I've. Got. Your. Ship.” I snap my fingers and then I'm off, doing a victory dance right there on his bridge.
I shimmy. I shake. I basically bust out every move I learned dancing in clubs in Europe. I close my eyes and purse my lips into an excessive pout, swishing my hips from side to side before I turn and wiggle my booty. I hum my favorite club tune. And just because I haven't dug myself in deep enough, I do the Running Man for good measure.
I wish I could take a picture of the look on M'anu's face right now. It's priceless, like he's witnessing the most bizarre thing he's ever encountered and doesn't know how to feel about it. I just...it defies description.
I've still got the upper hand though, and I dance/skip my way back to the chair. I disco turn on my heel and plop down. Let's see how he likes having someone's back turned on him. I'm going to see what other goodies I can get this baby to give up.
I interlace my fingers and pop them high above my head. “Let's see here...”
I retrace M'anu's digital signature and come back to the last call he made. My lips twist. Well, well, big brother's phone number. What the hell is his name, anyway?
I use the number to dig through a few pertinent records, ignoring the way space is zipping by my viewscreen. Without manual control it doesn't interest me much; the ship knows when there's dangerous proximity to another object. It'll avoid it automatically and if it's a real emergency, I can always let M'anu back in.
I'm not looking forward to that option, but it's still a choice.
There's a beep and an image of the brother fills the screen. Feruz of the House of Tipprov. Looks must run in this family. Of course this guy isn't as pretty as M'anu. He's a little rougher, heavier set, with a shaved head and truly amazing eyebrows. I mean, they're like thick slashes of black paint across his face. Very decisive. I think I see a hint of a tattoo on his scalp, but I can't be certain. He's a beast, that's for sure.
I cock my head. Betty's type?
Maybe. Guy amounts to a space warlord. She likes the confident ones.
I feel like I should hit this dude where it hurts. You know, for instigating this kidnapping thing and giving my sister guff. I drum my fingers on the display.
Ting-ting.
I accept the intership communication. “I've got a question,” I say as I start establishing contact with the Tipprov tub. “Are you guys meat eaters?”
“Open the door, female,” M'anu utters in a low, raspy voice.
“I'm about as amendable to that as you giving me the scoop on Feruz and Betty. So—meat eaters? Vegetarians? Omnivores?”
A pause. “Why?”
“Well, I'm a little pissed off about this whole whacked out plot, but Betty would kill me if I steal away her chance for payback. I figure some sabotage is in order.”
He growls in warning. He does that a lot. I think about the way he paced the perimeter of my cage earlier, inspecting me with that hard stare, and I get a little flushed under my tank. Not good. I've been on this ship less than two hours and I'm developing a...well, I don't know what to call it, but this BS is not acceptable.
“Leave my brother alone, Agmoiria, or you will not like my reaction.”
That ticks me off. “You know what, family solidarity isn't a concept reserved only for Ferissians. Your brother messed with my sister first, and then you were all 'it's an honor to tangle with your mother'.” Seriously, the nerve. “Heads up about the Jenners; we don't take that kind of shit lightly. The gloves are off.”
I click the food replicator and get to work. “I am going to take an educated guess about the diet and go with carnivore. So from now on your brother is going to get a steady supply of tofu and vegetable based products. Congratulations, Feruz is a vegan.” I hit enter and lock, then hold my hand high above my head so he can see the middle finger I'm flipping him. It probably doesn't mean anything to M'anu, but he's smart enough to figure out this isn't saying hello.
What I did to Feruz isn't satisfying by a long shot, but it's all I can do without blatantly announcing that I've taken over the ship. These Ferissians aren't stupid. He would know right away that I'd warn Betty first thing. Instead of chasing her, he's now going to be sitting in Earth's orbit waiting for nothing and thinking his food processor is on the fritz. It's a teeny tiny vengeance, but it's better than none at all. I'll leave the rest to Betty.
And Dad. And Mom.
By the time this is all done, Feruz and M'anu are going to wish they'd never heard of the Jenners.
There's radio silence. “Still there, you gigantic jerk?”
Nothing.
Frowning, I lean over the chair's arm and peer back at the door. The window is empty.
I slowly spin in the seat and get up. I don't trust it, but I've got to check, so I approach gingerly. Part of me thinks he's going to do something immature like jump out and scare me. The other part scoffs in a sort of, Bitch, please, he's a badass alien. You're lucky he hasn't shot you yet.
Too true.
I don't think M'anu is all that interested in killing me, but that doesn't mean he hasn't fantasized about blasting a toe off. I did stab him. And nut him. And headbutt him.
To be fair, he had it coming, but I doubt he sees it that way.
I lift myself up on my tippy toes and cautiously look through the thick glass. I see metal parts and a catwalk, but no M'anu.
Curiouser and curiouser.
I pick up the duffel he threw down earlier as I walk back, dragging it along to the console. I access the system and locate M'anu within seconds.
He's back in the mess.
I'll be damned. He's eating. Scarfing it down like it's going out of style. What, pow
er of suggestion or something?
I disconnect the video feed before he notices me, my stomach growling. I glance at my watch. I have to ditch phones a lot, so unlike others of my generation, I actually rely on an actual timepiece to tell me the time. It's about four in the morning. I'm overdue to eat. Now that all the excitement is on pause, I'm also suddenly wrecked. It hits me like a ton of bricks.
There's a small bank of folding seats diagonal from the main console, and I schlep over to it with sagging shoulders. It's not going to be the most comfortable bed, but there's no way I'm sleeping on the floor. I fold one seat down and start digging through my duffel. I've got protein bars in here somewhere.
I try to work up some enthusiasm when I find a couple. It's better than nothing and I really am hungry. If it's not steak and mashed potatoes, fine. I'll live.
I unwrap the bar and get to eating. Now that I've got downtime, the events of the night rush through my mind in a tumble. I should call Dad and let him know I'm alive. I wonder what's going to happen to the pub. It will be a few days before I get back. By then the kidnapping will have been reported. There were a ton of witnesses. With some decent investigating the police will find the tunnel under the pub. That will be hard to explain away. I'll bet people are going to think I'm a mob daughter or something. They wouldn't exactly be wrong. It's hard to admit, but I think it's pretty clear I can't just reappear out of the blue and claim it was all a mistake.
That part of my life is over apparently.
My head sags back against the wall. Dammit. I really liked that pub. I really liked my friends and the life I've built for myself the last little while. Now it's all gone and I've got to start over because someone's got a hard on for my psycho sister.
I wish I can say I'm surprised. Not really. I'm kind of used to it, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about the way it turned out. I worked hard. Owning a pub is about more than giving drinks out to people. It's making deals, taking deliveries, getting drunks the hell out before they break something or get themselves arrested, calling cabs, cleaning up vomit, and sometimes cooking. It's long hours and trying to find reliable help. It's having your life center around something that can't love you back, but you throw yourself in anyway.
Tears prick my eyes. I'm not a crier, but I think I've earned a second or two of self-pity tonight.
I sniff and take another bite of my bar. I swipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, sniffing again. I swallow hard. Okay, life isn't fair. Time to move on. Get some sleep while I can. I don't think M'anu is going to spend the rest of the trip eating his guts out.
I pull a bottle of water from the bag and uncap it to suck down a few gulps. It makes me feel a little bit better, as cliché as that sounds. I go ahead and also retrieve the ibuprofen I put in there ages ago and take two. I have a feeling I'm going to need it in the morning. Might as well wash my face too. Get some of the blood off. It stings a bit, but there don't seem to be any leftover splinters. Good. That would have been unpleasant.
I put everything away and pull down the rest of the seats. Oy, this is uncomfortable. I sigh. I didn't really think this mutiny thing through. I should have taken over the bridge and a room with a bed.
I sigh again, closing my eyes, hoping luck will be on my side when I wake up.
Chapter Four
I am not without my tricks.
I have also never encountered a female as utterly baffling as the Agmoiria.
Those two notions are not unrelated.
As I eat (I do not believe in finding solutions on an empty stomach) I think on the truly outlandish display back on the bridge. I do not know why an angry human female would perform a mating dance after she has taken over my ship. I also do not understand why, after tempting me so, she refused to let me in.
But...as I have seen with Feruz and Bethina, daughters of Moiria Jenner are more strange than usual. It is what attracted Feruz. I should hardly be surprised to fall under the same spell.
Perhaps my shock was too pronounced. It was the last thing I expected her to do, after all, and I grappled with confusion and an arousal so biting it swept my puzzlement away, leaving only too-hot skin and a cock that strained against my trousers.
The female is not as lacking in intelligence as I surmised. No one of dim mind could commandeer a ship's controls that quickly. Therefore she must have enticed me intentionally. It is the only answer. She saw my attraction to her and decided to use it to torment me.
How long did she spy on my ministrations on my leg before I noticed? She stared at my cock with open admiration. Her mouth parted, her lashes sweeping down, she looked like sex personified. I wanted to grip my dick in my hand and lift it higher for her to see, to show her just what I could offer.
Instead she turned away. The Agmoiria flaunted her grace, then barred me from my own bridge and shook her luscious ass for my enjoyment. By doing so she issued a challenge. Come and get me.
Strange as the timing of her declaration of interest is, I will not turn away from it. When I lay my hands on the delightful globes of flesh that are her backside, I have every intention of punishing her for her teasing.
Never tempt a hunter, Agmoiria.
It has been over an hour since I left her. I have taken my time eating, wanting to relish the taste of good food in case she decided to turn the same dirty trick she played on Feruz on my own ship. If she is as talented with the computer as that sort of thing implies, by now the Agmoiria will have realized she cannot steer the ship. She will have no choice but to sit and wait on the bridge. Part of the thrill of the hunt is the expectancy that builds with waiting. It is late by the female's time standard. She will feel safe and secure behind the thick door she has used to prohibit me.
The solitude, the silence, and the hour will lull her into complacency.
That is when I will strike.
I stand and stretch lazily, savoring each pull of my muscles. The aches are still present, but I own them, marks honorably earned in conflict. I purr as I lower my arms, scratching my belly. The meal has sated me, and I look upon the coming battle with the Agmoiria with eagerness. My impression of her has been altered. She is a wily female, unpredictable. I like that.
Tease or not, my predatory interest has been engaged.
I stroll to the supply closet. There is no reason to hurry. If my instincts are correct—and I have been known to trust them more than hard facts—there is plenty of time. It takes mere moments to locate the toolkit within, tucked between certain canned goods. It is a heavy canvas bag that has everything I need: drill, hammer, nails, a crowbar, the sundries. What concerns me are the various sets of screwdrivers. The door may be thick and blast proof, but it cannot ignore basic mechanics. Old fashioned doors use hinges.
Hinges require screws to be held in place.
I could of course cut through with the metal slicer, but why do unnecessary damage to the ship? It is for all intents and purposes my home away from home. It is my haven, my fortress, and my kingdom. One little half-human, no matter how cunning, is not going to cause me to destroy any part of that realm.
As I walk along the corridor, I take pride in the consistent hum of the engine and the occasional pop or thunk that breaks the drone. Every inch I walk upon is mine, and each sound tells me that the vessel is working hard to perform to my standards.
My heavy boot steps are somewhat muffled by the white noise, but I still take care as I climb the last set of stairs and approach the door. I do not wish to alert the Agmoiria that I have come. The element of surprise, I am beginning to find, works best in dealing with her.
I glance through the glass and do not see her in the captain's chair. I tilt my head to the left. There is the bag she carried, and I see a hint of hair peeking around the corner. She is lying on the chairs. I watch for a moment, but detect no movement. Asleep, just as I had calculated.
I waste no time getting to work. Each task is precisely and exactly carried out. Again, I am in no hurry, but my goal is in sight. I find my min
d wandering to the near future, when I am within and there is nowhere for her to run.
Naturally I hope she will try anyway. Ah, the chase. The sweet, sweet thrill. I pause in my ministrations, closing my eyes and allowing a hum of predicted enjoyment to escape. A female like the Agmoiria will be an exciting lover. It is an unexpected bonus of this trip, but I cannot claim to be unaffected. She is attractive, fierce, and contentious. Perhaps she is not as quick to assimilate information as others are, but she has proven her mental capability through her—admittedly diabolical—computer manipulation.
An acceptable female with which to dally.
I look forward to untying that knot of hair and investigating just how deep I can bury my fingers within the strands.
When the last screw is removed, entry is a simple matter of grasping certain protrusions and using them to push the door inward. I am careful to be quiet, not wanting to wake her. Little by little I use my significant strength to ease the door and its bar to the edges of the brackets that hold the bar in place. A gap appears between the door and the wall. Cool air floats out. I now have enough clearance to simply lift the door free of the restraints.
It works just as I expect. This is, after all, my ship. I know its nooks and crannies as well as I know my own body.
I step over the threshold with silent movements, cautiously propping the detached door against the wall. I will have to reassemble it later, naturally, but for now I focus on the female currently occupying my bridge.
When I am satisfied the door is secure, I move stealthily across the shiny floor. She appears to me in increments: knotted curly hair, bared shoulders. I keep to the opposite wall so that I may see her more fully as I advance. I want to observe everything. She is curled up, her knees drawn towards her chest, one hand hanging limply over the edge. She is cold, one arm hugging her torso.
I come forward. One step. Two. She does not stir.
I am inches from her, and she is so deep in her sleep that she cannot sense me. No, this woman is not a warrior. I stand for several minutes, watching each soft exhalation. This is the moment in which she is the most vulnerable, and I marvel at her ability to sleep on. I do not know if I should call it a strength or a weakness, but I am grateful for the opportunity to study her at my leisure.