by H. E. Trent
Her body thrummed with want. Again. These men, they were going to kill her with sex or from want of it. At the moment, that seemed as good a way to die as any.
Sighing, she pulled back. “You’re plenty smart,” she said. “I think sometimes you just need to be told what to do.”
“Yes. Tell me.”
“Be still and let him do the rest. You trust him?”
“Without a doubt.” His answer was immediate.
“So know that in the end, he’ll make you feel so good. He’ll give you everything you need.”
“Take…take care of me.”
“That’s right. Like he always does, huh?”
Trigrian ground his teeth again, groaned through them. “Gods…”
Court didn’t bother looking down again. If she did, she’d want some of what Trigrian was getting for herself, and she really needed to be able to get up for work in a few hours. One more orgasm, and she might very well sleep through the apocalypse, or at the very least World War Jekh.
She girded herself against the erotic activity happening just beyond her hips and put all her focus on Trigrian. “You lying here like this…tied up. I like it. I like the idea of you being at Murk’s mercy.”
Trigrian’s chest rumbled with that strained groan again.
“Or mine. I’d have such fun with you. You think you hate me now, just wait and see what I would do with a couple of clamps and a flogger.”
“Courtney,” he growled.
She trailed her fingers down his chest and watched his belly quiver. “Back in Boston, I had this big, heavy bed with high posts. If I had a bed like that here, I’d tie you to them. Wrists and ankles. You wouldn’t be able to move an inch in any direction. I’d stand you up, make you face the empty bed, and then wait behind you quietly for so long that you would go crazy. So long that you’d beg me for any kind of touch.” She drew her hand away.
He tried to sit up to follow it.
She pressed him back down, gently. “No, no. Be still for Murk.”
“Touch me,” Trigrian begged.
“You’re getting all you need.”
“I want more.”
“You’re just saying that because Murk’s delaying your orgasm.”
Murk made that broken chuckling sound. Sexy in its unusualness.
“Have you ever been flogged, Trigrian?” she whispered, keeping her lips deliberately far enough from his ear that he couldn’t stretch for her.
“No.”
“I think you’d like it. I bet the sting on your ass would make you come. I wouldn’t even have to touch your cock. Just my words and the pelt of leather against your backside would make you erupt.”
“Gods!”
And then he must have erupted, because he couldn’t stop writhing, stop shouting in Jekhani, stop pulling at his bindings.
So, Court did look down at Murk and found him, again, cleaning up the mess he’d made.
He nodded to her, winked, and retreated to the bathroom with the cloth, turning off the light as he went.
She undid Trigrian’s bindings and reset the alarm. She’d rather have an extra half hour of sleep than a home-cooked breakfast.
Trigrian rolled over, putting a tentative arm around her waist.
She clasped her arm over his, keeping it there.
He pulled her closer against his still-aroused body and sighed.
“Don’t worry, Trig. I’ll take care of you, too.”
He didn’t respond. But, she didn’t really expect him to. He really just needed to be told what to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Murk wasn’t sure what had possessed him to accept the incoming communication. Perhaps it was precognition. Or perhaps it was the odd ring that he’d only heard twice before—when Erin had called.
He sighed with relief when she appeared in holographic form.
She looked so much like Court. Their coloring was different, but they had the same high foreheads, the same slant to their eyes, and the same generous mouths.
Same fucking cynical stare.
“Well, hello, father of my sister’s fetus,” she said.
He held up a hand, pointed to his throat, and shook his head.
“You can’t talk?”
He shook his head again.
She laughed. “No wonder Court likes you.”
Ha ha. He mouthed, “Be right back,” and ran into the kitchen to grab Trig.
Trig had been obsessively emptying Court’s pantry all morning, putting together travel-stable food packs “just in case.”
“What’s going on?” Trig asked.
Murk took his lover’s hand and pulled him into the office.
Erin pushed up an eyebrow as they approached, staring down at their entwined fingers. “Are you two fucking behind my sister’s back?”
Murk rolled his eyes.
Trig bristled. “No. We fuck right in front of her face. We don’t hide that.”
Erin gaped.
“May as well be honest. Trios are the way of our culture.”
“Are you shitting me? Trust me when I tell you that’s not common knowledge here. On Earth, they make you out to be some sort of reverse-black widow culture. They say you devour your women.”
“We don’t,” Trig said. “We don’t have many to start with.”
“Well, that’s a shame, especially now that they’re all but vanished.”
His hand tightened around Murk’s, and Murk squeezed it back.
Everything’s all right, pretty boy.
“Do we bother you?” Trig asked her.
Murk would have never have believed it if he weren’t there, but Trig sounded almost as if he cared what the woman so many millions of miles away thought.
She shrugged. “No. I’m just shocked she didn’t tell me.”
“I can’t remember her having an opportunity to do so.”
Erin grinned and rubbed her palms together. “My, my. She called me a pervert when I bought her that first vibrator years ago. She was so damned high-strung that she needed the freakin’ thing. As far as I knew, she’d never used it. Perhaps young grasshopper has surpassed her master.”
Murk narrowed his eyes at her.
“What?” Trig asked, and canted his head from evident confusion.
She swatted a dismissive hand. “Earth thing.”
“What’s a vibrator?” Trig asked.
“Likely something she doesn’t need since she has the two of you. Have. Mercy.” She clucked her tongue. “Do all the men on Jekh look like you two? ’Cause the news here lied. You don’t look like the pictures they showed us.”
“What pictures did they show you?”
“Tall, gangly, red, creatures. Long faces with flat features.”
“Those are the Tyneali. You should know the difference.”
“I only know what I’ve been shown. Granddad always said you guys looked more like us than not, but Internet monitors pretty routinely strip any image references of you guys. Makes it easier to recruit male settlers instead of female ones, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be dense. You guys are extra-fuckable.”
Murk would have forced out a laugh if his throat hadn’t been too sore from his nighttime endeavors. He was out of practice with deep throating.
“Don’t tell my sister I said that. Shit, I would have tried to hop onto that shuttle with her if I thought the gene pool there looked so nice.”
Murk wrote, “I’m certain a pair of Jekhan men would enjoy having you as their mate,” and held the tablet up for the camera.
Her gamine smile ebbed slightly as she read, but then she looked back up at them, her mood having returned to its former jocular state.
She seemed to actually be giving what he’d written some thought.
Interesting.
“Anyway, I called because I got a weird message from the match office concerning Court, and it just seemed so aggressive and…” She shrugged again. “Angry. Made
me worry.”
“What did the person say?” Trig asked.
“Hold on. I wrote the exact words down before I deleted the communication. It’s easy enough to make them think I never received the message. Allows for plausible deniability.”
Murk grinned. He was starting to think the McGarry cynicism really was a genetic thing.
She patted her zipped jumpsuit pockets, and finally pulled a folded square from one in the front. Opening the note, she read, “Ms. McGarry, as you are aware, your relative Courtney McGarry was listed in our registry and per our contract, we made a suitable match for her. She has removed herself from the registry for reasons by law we cannot make known”—Erin looked up and rolled her eyes—“however, we must do our due diligence for the individual she was paired with. It is our policy to seek assistance from the emergency contact listed on our registrants’ travel documents. Would you please do us the favor of acting as an intermediary? It is important we resolve this misunderstanding as soon as possible.” She refolded the paper and stuffed it into her pocket. “Whaddaya think of that?”
Murk thought someone needed a fist to the face, and that it was a good thing he couldn’t talk so he couldn’t say so. Court had already said no to the match. What more did they expect from her? And what kind of man would demand she make good on a contract even after another man had made her pregnant?
“Not liking that glint in your eye, Murki,” Erin said.
Trig cleared his throat. “Are there clear consequences for not participating in an arranged match?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I have a copy of the contact Court digitally signed. The whole thing fits on one page, and the agreement is very gently worded. Most people on this end will tell you that being registered is just a routine thing you do just in case there happens to be someone compatible for you when you get to Jekh.”
“That doesn’t seem to be true.”
“At least not for Court. Because I’m naturally inclined to be paranoid, I got an ex who works in government to do some additional snooping around about Court’s match.” She added in a mutter, “Dude’s gonna be holding his breath for a while for me to pay up on those favors.”
Murk had to work hard to unclench the fists he’d reflexively formed.
“What’d you learn?” Trig asked.
Erin cringed. “Suffice it to say he’s bad news for a McGarry.”
Suffice it to say wasn’t enough. Murk wrote out a message on his tablet for her. “More words, Erin.”
She huffed. “Never met a man who wanted me to talk more, but okay.” She counted off on her fingers, “One, I found out this guy’s father or great-grandfather—I couldn’t tell which because they had the same name—got into it with my and Court’s grandfather over the settlement shit. When I say got into it, I don’t mean civil discourse. I mean a street fracas of the sort a big Irishman wouldn’t start, but would definitely finish. Granddad beat the hell out of him, and was intent on sending him there, too, but my grandmother wouldn’t let him.”
Murk liked the sound of the guy.
“Two, there’s no way her match wouldn’t know that, or who Courtney is related to. He either wants her as a trophy or because he wants to make her life miserable. Mark my words.”
“He can’t have her,” Murk wrote, and held up the tablet.
Erin squinted at the words and nodded. “Well, that goes without saying. Three, he’s got a record of domestic violence—though against who isn’t clear because that information has been buried—and he’s a government contractor who runs guns and who knows what else for a living. I don’t want Court anywhere near him. Are those enough words, Murki?”
Plenty. He cracked his knuckles.
“He’s got a extremely large network,” Erin said, “so even if he isn’t on Jekh at the moment, he’s got contacts. He can have people…do things.”
“Like skulk around Court’s house, rattle doorknobs, and look in the windows?”
“That happened?”
He nodded. Murk tugged at Trig’s sleeve and wrote, “We need to go.”
“We’re trying to. We can’t exactly walk.”
“Hello,” Erin said. “Still here.”
Murk sighed.
Trig turned to her. “Staying here isn’t a good idea.”
“Go. As soon as you can, go. Have everything you need to take waiting by the door and leave as soon as you can. And hell, if you have to walk? Fucking walk. If you let anything happen to my sister—”
“Okay.” Trig put his hands up.
“Soon, Trigrian.” Only a deaf man would have missed the cold warning in her tone.
Another scary McGarry.
Trig cringed. “Um. Tonight, then, if we can manage it.”
There was no way they could manage it, but Murk knew Trig had to be just placating Erin. She wouldn’t let them go without extracting that promise.
“Fine,” she said. “Run program O3McG when I disconnect. That’ll erase the connection record.”
“Fine.”
“And Tell Court to get in touch with me whenever she can. Some dipshit there is trying to recruit our brother Owen, and he’s considering biting just so he can be there to keep an eye on her.”
“And I’m certain you’d follow so you could keep an eye on him.”
“You’re smart, Trigger. Can I call you Trigger? I’m going to call you Trigger. Bye.” She disconnected.
Trigrian ran the program as commanded, and turned to Murk. “Now what?”
Murk drummed his fingers on the desktop a few beats, thinking. Then, the plan that came to him seemed too obvious. Why hadn’t we thought of it before? He wrote, “Didn’t her friend Amy have a flyer?”
“Ah.” Without another word, Trig rooted through the com panel’s directory and found Amy’s contact information. “Hope she won’t mind.”
Or Courtney, for that matter. She’d probably be perturbed, indeed, when she learned Murk and Trig were making arrangements behind her back.
“Let’s hope she’s within contact range.”
“Voice-only call,” the computer said. “Receiver is not near holographic relays.”
“Fine. Connect.”
The connection clicked. Buzzed. Murk thought it would drop, but then came the warm chuckle.
“Well, what a lovely surprise,” Amy said. “I’m on a stinking shuttle with some quote-unquote soldiers of fortune and they keep trying to pinch my ass. I’m hiding in the galley. What’s up, lady?”
“Uh…” Trig’s brow furrowed. “Sorry, this isn’t Courtney. This is Trigrian.”
For a long while, there was quiet on her end. He’d thought perhaps she’d disconnected or that the call had dropped.
Trig looked to Murk. Murk shrugged.
“Amy? Are you there?” Trig asked.
“Um, yes. Sorry. You took me by surprise, is all. We’ve never spoken before. Is…Courtney all right?”
“She’s fine. I hope you don’t mind us calling you like this, but we need a favor. We need to get out of town, and we thought you were in a position to help.”
“I take it you don’t just mean for the weekend.” Her voice was practically a whisper.
“No. For good. We’ve got some trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Courtney is pregnant.”
“Oh, my. Shit. Um…well, I’ve got some contacts that could put you up for a few days.”
“No, we don’t need lodging. We have a place to go. We just need a way to get there. The location is quite far.”
“How far?”
“Past Little Gitano. Do you know where that is?”
Silence again, but Murk knew she was still there. He could hear the thumps, the whir of a big engine.
“Fuck.” She sighed. “Um…I know of the area. Haven’t been there personally.”
“Can you help? Normally, I wouldn’t be so blunt, but…”
“But you’re desperate. I understand that. She’s…having a Jekhan baby?
” Amy’s voice was practically a whistle—high and strained.
“Gods willing.”
“Oh fuck.”
Then came that unnerving quiet yet again.
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” She let out a ragged breath. “May your child root deeply and bloom eternally wherever he or she is planted.”
It was Murk’s and Trig’s turn to be quiet. They looked at each other, each probably knowing full well what the other was thinking.
Amy’s words were an old Jekhan blessing, often uttered by old women patting an expectant mother’s gravid belly. The statement wasn’t one that was made by the young, except for the ones trained in the old ways. The ones with wealth like Murk’s family once had. The ones with specific educations.
Either Amy wasn’t who she claimed to be, or she was in deeper within the resistance than she’d made out.
“Who are you?” Trig asked.
“My flyer is stored in a garage in Zone Two. Courtney knows where. The flyer will accept two pilot profiles. One is mine, obviously. The other is open. I can remotely program the slot for the second pilot, but before you start the flyer, you’ll need to feed a genetic sample into the computer to lock the coding in. Spit will do, but a smudge of blood works better. Have you coded a flyer before?”
“Yes,” Trig said. “Flyers and farm equipment.”
Those biological theft deterrents were why the Terrans hadn’t yet figured out how to work them. No Jekhans ever stole the expensive vehicles because they knew they couldn’t be started without proper coding, and the coding couldn’t be stripped without removing the core of the flyer itself. If only they’d used the same diligence on their space-worthy ships and commuter shuttles. The problem with those was that they had too many pilots and couldn’t be easily recoded.
“I’m putting in the code now,” she said. “The numbers are in the inscription written on the underside of Courtney’s bracelet. Does she still have it?”
“Yes.”
“Make sure she keeps it on.”
“Why?”
“It’s important. I can’t help her when I’m not there, but that’ll keep her at least a little safe. At least from other Jekhans. It shows she’s been vouched for.”
Murk suspected that wasn’t all the bracelet was good for. He scribbled a note for Trig to relay to her, and Trig nodded.