by Mel Teshco
He cleared his throat. “Actually, it was more guesswork and vague memories than anything close to skill.”
Cloey smiled, and ran a hand up and down his arm. “When you possess skills like yours in other … facets, I wouldn’t worry too much about coffee-making.”
He smiled down at her even as she licked her lips. He bent his head, then pulled away as Jasmine cleared her throat behind them.
“Well I don’t know about you Cloey, but I love a man who knows how to make a great cuppa. That was one thing Daddy excelled at—well, aside from fucking every halfway pretty woman in his radius.”
Silo frowned at Cloey’s stricken face. But he could do little more than press the partly filled coffee cup into her hands and watch as she took a grateful sip.
Damn it to hell, he didn’t want either of these women hurt, but he knew better than to interfere. Jasmine clearly wanted the issue resolved—yesterday. Besides, he knew how secrets could fester. Cloey really needed to open the scab, needed to expose the wound she didn’t want Jasmine to see.
At Cloey’s thin-lipped silence, Jasmine pressed on. “Yeah, my daddy loved the women, didn’t he Cloey?”
Cloey frowned. “I … yes.” She stared at Jasmine. “What is this all about?”
“You talked in your sleep last night. I believe you referred to my father as a monster.”
The cup clattered as Cloey all but dropped it onto the tiny bench. “Oh my god.”
Jasmine continued. “You were warning your mother away from him.”
Cloey stepped toward the table and sank into the nearest chair. “I never meant for you to find out like this.”
“I trusted you!” Jasmine shot back.
Cloey’s face paled as her hands fisted on the table. “I didn’t want to hurt you any more than you already were when your mother left.”
Silo pressed another cup of coffee into Jasmine’s hands. Lord only knew he had to do something. Regrettably, another round of fucking wouldn’t solve the problem.
Jasmine drank her coffee down in a couple of gulps that must have burned all the way down to her belly. No doubt she wished the drink was something much stronger. “From now on—I don’t care how much it hurts—I don’t want you hiding things from me.” She turned to Silo. “I want, need, to trust you both.”
For a moment Silo couldn’t breathe. So even in the cold light of morning—if there was such a thing in space—the women still wanted him in their lives. Never in a million years had he considered they’d want something long-term … something more than a bed partner.
Never in a million years would he have imagined wanting it himself with an elite. He managed a nod. “You have my word.” Trust wasn’t something he’d ever shied away from, much to his detriment.
Cloey’s eyes brimmed with tears when she added quietly, “And mine.”
The third cup beneath the coffee machine was almost full when a sharp rap on the door interrupted their three-way heart-to-heart.
Jasmine sent the door an aggrieved look. “The damn guard chooses to show up now?” She turned to Silo. “Have your coffee, it’s the least you deserve. I’ll tell the guard to wait.”
Silo didn’t disagree, though he wondered if going along with her would put him off-side with the guard. He’d always stayed out of trouble, kept his nose clean … until he’d been forced to fight in the rounds.
Then he’d let his inner demons loose. In their own way, the violence of the rounds had soothed his soul.
He turned off the machine as Jasmine opened the door. He heard her address the guard, but he tuned her out for a moment and stepped toward Cloey. “Are you okay?”
She sighed. “Yes. I’m actually kind of glad it’s all out in the open.” She looked up at him, the spikes of her lashes studded with tears like tiny diamonds. “No more secrets.”
He gently clasped her chin and bent low, claiming her mouth in the kiss he’d wanted earlier. It was chaste, and yet her soft lips and even softer moan peeled away another layer of defense around his heart.
He pulled back and straightened. Damn, coffee tasted so much better off her lips. He could kiss her all day long … then turn to Jasmine and kiss her all night.
He smiled. Yes, that’s what these women were. So alike in so many ways, and yet in others as different as night was to day.
Jasmine’s voice broke into his thoughts, clear, and sharp with warning. “And as I said before, you’re early. I’m not asking you to give the prisoner five minutes—I’m telling you!”
Beneath her bravado he sensed genuine fear. His hands balled into fists as every single protective instinct hurtled through his body. No one intimidated his women.
Chapter 9
Jasmine stared at the guard, only barely veiling her growing outrage and fear. She’d never met this uniformed man before, but he stared back at her as though she was dog shit under his shiny boot. She’d never seen such utter contempt and disgust.
It wasn’t an experience she was used to, and it certainly wasn’t one she enjoyed. Her father would have whipped the insolence out of him at the very least. More likely, though, he’d have thrown the man to his employees like a lamb to wolves, to do with him as they pleased.
Her belly clenched. It didn’t even bear thinking about. Her father might have lived up high in the towers, but on the humanity scale he was the lowest of the low. She might carry his blood in her veins, but she wouldn’t use that as an excuse to stoop to his level.
Her eyes narrowed. It didn’t mean she had to take crap from this man, either.
The guard gave her a hard smile. “I’m thinking a certain leader might request your company, along with your girlfriend. And believe me, where we’re going, dykes won’t be any better than anyone else, elite or otherwise.”
What the hell was he talking about? And dyke? That term was so yesterday, not to mention offensive.
She threw her shoulders back. She would not be intimidated by this disrespectful maggot. If that meant she had to once again revert to her father’s connections and power, then so be it. “My father, Kennedy Hewitt, helped fund this trip. My girlfriend and I won’t be going anywhere we don’t choose to go.”
The guard’s expression filled with scorn before he idly caressed the butt of his electro-whip. “We shall see.” His hand dropped away, and a smirk pulled at his thin lips. “For now, prisoner 322 is required immediately.”
Jasmine felt Silo behind her even before she heard his footfall. But the hairs that prickled up on the back of her neck had little to do with the magnetism between them—not this time. He fairly bristled with raw violence and barely suppressed aggression.
“You dare to disrespect this woman?” Silo bit out softly. Somehow it was more dangerous than any raised voice Jasmine had ever heard.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Thanks to her father’s shadier side, she’d seen what could happen to men who dared to cross a line, and Silo had more than overstepped his mark.
The guard stepped back, then straightened, and curled his lip. “I see the women have got you trained like a whipped dog.” He shook his head. “Did your dick forget to remind your head that they’re elite? They don’t need your kind of loyalty.”
Silo prowled forward. “Jasmine and Cloey have far more going for them than being elite, but I’m guessing someone like you will never find that out.”
The guard’s chest puffed out before he blustered, “Yeah, I guess I won’t. Ladies like that only fuck cons so they can walk on the wild side for a short time. Then you’re back in your cell with nothing but dirty memories and a cellmate sucking your hard-on.”
Jasmine all but ground her teeth as she turned to Silo and said, “He doesn’t act like any guard I know.”
Silo studied the guard. The man didn’t act like any guard Jasmine knew because he wasn’t one. The uniformed man was a prisoner, the same as Silo. His name was Jake, or Jack—no, Jackson—a bucketload of trouble who hated authority and weakness in equal measure.
; The name stitched above the pocket was the identity of the guard who’d escorted Silo to Jasmine and Cloey’s cabin the night before. Another garrote victim?
“So … Jackson, is it?” Silo asked, deliberately using the man’s real name.
The guard nodded. “Yeah. What of it?”
Silo shook his head. What a dumb ass. “That’s odd, your name tag …”
Jackson’s eyes widened even as Silo lifted a fist and drove it into the man’s face. Bones crunched and blood splattered. But the “guard” was aware enough to depress the button on his utility belt.
Silo heard a whirr before his whole body was slammed to the ground via the magnetized cuffs on his wrists. His breath hissed out, his body winded by the impact.
It was the least of his concerns.
“Leave him alone!” Jasmine shrieked. Silo thought he heard Cloey’s alarmed voice too. Except this time, neither woman was obeyed.
Not even a second later the lash of the electro-whip hit Silo’s chest. The blinding shock that followed caused his muscles to cramp and his body to convulse, an explosion of pain filling him from the inside out. A scream built and as quickly died in his throat. Sticky wetness streamed from his nostrils even as blessed darkness enveloped him.
*
Silo woke slowly, gingerly, his muscles balking at the slightest movement. The throbbing burn on his chest and the tenderness in his hand reminded him all too vividly of the prisoner who’d disrespected Jasmine.
He groaned with outrage as much as pain. He only hoped Jasmine and Cloey were safely tucked inside their cabin.
He opened his eyes to study his surrounds, already aware that he was far away from the soft, welcoming arms of his women or even the familiar hardness of his bunk. Instead, he lay on the hard, alloy floor, a musty and foul-smelling blanket his only bedding and a pitcher filled with brackish-looking water his only drink. A metal bucket that reeked like it was half-full of turds sat in the very corner of the tiny room.
He blinked. Not a room. The dreaded Box.
He sat, fighting a wave of light-headedness and the sudden urge to expel what little he had in his belly. It wasn’t just the fact that he was enclosed that left him nauseous. The heat and noise expelled from the back of giant refrigerators was ghastly enough, but add in the whine of the Siren’s engines and its subsonic thrusters, and it was almost intolerable.
The storeroom he’d been thrown into twelve months ago hadn’t been noisy. It had been a whole different kind of hell—quiet as a tomb, the silence as thick as fog so that even his shouts hadn’t penetrated. The longer he’d been left there, with nothing but four concrete walls and a floor, the more he’d wondered if he was the only living creature on Earth. He’d felt like he’d never get out, never taste freedom again.
He shuddered at the memories. The noise might be unbearable, but at least it meant he wasn’t alone.
Forcing his leg muscles to cooperate, he finally climbed to his feet and peered out through the slats. The clamor of engines and heat was even more intense, and there was nothing to see but bulkheads and walls … and Jackson.
Not alone at all.
The con stood guard outside the Box in his stolen uniform, though going by his clenched fists and tight jaw, he clearly wasn’t happy to be in the bowels of the ship either.
Silo sighed. The so-called “guard” was evidently a recent recruit—he vaguely recalled seeing him at the same table as Weasel and Hopper at dinner—and his loyalty was probably being tested.
Damn. The powers-that-be must be losing authority fast for cons to be running loose, murdering guards and innocent civilians, and doing god only knew what else. But what was in it for Jackson? Nobody willingly stayed down there, amid the heat and noise that drove many prisoners mad.
The Box was little more than an inescapable torture device.
As if sensing Silo’s gaze, the con turned to face him, displaying a puffy, blackened eye, and a bruised and bulbous nose.
Silo arched a brow and said loudly, “That’s quite a shiner.”
Jackson sneered, and shouted back, “Yer lucky I didn’t kill you when I had the chance.”
“So why didn’t you?”
The con twisted his face, not a pretty sight with his added injuries. “’Cause Nadia has plans for you and those elite bitches yer shagging.”
Silo heard a different roar, one that was all inside his head. But somehow he held it together and asked, “And who the fuck is Nadia, and what does she want from us?”
Movement caught Silo’s eye and Jackson turned to survey the woman approaching them. The con grinned, mostly with relief. “Why don’t ya ask her yerself?”
Silo frowned at the woman. She was dressed in a guard’s uniform, its shirt straining across her girth and bosom and overly long in the sleeves. Other than her ill-fitting uniform, she was unremarkable in every way. But he recognized her nonetheless.
“Eve,” he grunted. At least now he knew why the woman had been so interested in Solitaire’s other safe zones.
Her answering smile reminded him of a cunning rat, her stare hard and unblinking. “We meet again. I only wish it was under more pleasant conditions.”
Silo stared. “You’re the genius running the sideshow?”
“Is that what everyone is saying? How … quaint.” She cleared her throat, evidently unused to all but shouting to make herself heard. “But you must be dying to know what this is all about?”
Jackson snorted out a laugh before Eve sent him a disapproving stare. He sobered with a shuffling of his feet.
Silo swiped a splayed hand over his face, grimacing at both Eve’s choice of words and at the film of sweat left on his palm. It was lucky he was used to the humidity of the greenhouse. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
“And you’re probably right.” Her grin turned predatory, shark-like. “I have enough fools on my side for the moment. I’m looking for intelligent, resourceful people now. Men and women with skills, who won’t just survive in the New Eden, but will flourish and repopulate.”
The woman was batshit crazy. But he’d play along for the moment. “And you propose to—what?—sprout wings and flap our way there?”
She clucked her tongue, or at least that was what it looked like—he sure as hell couldn’t hear. She leaned closer and said, “Such a lack of faith. My plan is already in place, don’t you worry about any of that. All you need worry about after we land is nurturing plants and helping the colony stay strong and healthy.”
He blinked. Part of him wanted to know more—a part that he instantly quelled. He wouldn’t be following anyone who had such a vicious lack of regard for human life. But still, it might well be in Jasmine and Cloey’s best interests that he acted the part. “So what’s in it for me?”
“Oh, my dear … need I spell it out? Freedom from your undoubtedly long prison sentence, and a chance to start over with whomever you so desire—as equals.”
He sucked in a breath as longing hit his solar plexus like a well-aimed punch. Damn, Eve—Nadia—whoever, was good. She knew exactly which buttons to push. “I’m afraid the only women I’d want on this new colony of yours would never go for the idea.”
Eve shook her head slowly. “You underestimate yourself.” She looked down as she turned a big, unwieldy key in the lock of his door. “All I ask is that you think it over.” She opened the door and stared up at him, all five foot nothing of her. “I know you’ll reach the right decision.”
He glowered, and snarled, “You killed innocent people.”
She waved a vague hand in the air. “They died for our cause. Sacrifices had to be made—it was unavoidable. You of all people should know there’s a war going on onboard the Siren.” She leaned close, all sharp eyes and heaving bosom. “And I intend to be the victor.”
Breaking the intensity of the moment, she stepped back, and patted her “guard” on the shoulder. “Jackson here is my latest recruit, but we have plenty more who have eagerly volunteered. And not just cons—they’ve co
me from all walks of life.” She smirked. “Even ‘real’ guards are changing sides.”
Though every single muscle in his body still screamed, thanks to the long-term effects of the electro-whip, Silo stepped outside the Box. He didn’t care how much he hurt. He wouldn’t be staying inside the enclosed space, with the noise and heat, for even a second longer than necessary.
Eve’s short, stocky legs managed to keep pace with his long strides, and she somehow looked dignified, almost graceful. Jackson trailed behind them, his hand close to his utility belt.
Ten meters on, they passed through a doorway. As the door shut behind them, blocking much of the noise and intense heat, Silo all but sagged at the blessed reprieve. He struggled to focus as Eve introduced the red-headed guard at the door.
“This is Raymond,” Eve cooed. “He’s one of a handful of real guards who’ve joined us. He’ll be taking you back to work—before either one of you are missed.”
Silo didn’t bother replying—he had enough on his mind without bothering with formalities. He hadn’t even taken a dozen steps down the corridor when Eve called out.
“Just one more thing.” He turned, and she said, “Except for talking those girlfriends of yours into coming with you to New Eden, I expect there won’t be any discussions with anyone about my plans.” She steepled her hands beneath her chin. “I’d hate it if I had to ask Tally to do something … distasteful again.”
Jackson made a show of clasping his own throat to imitate a garrote, and Silo relished the slow simmer inside as he imagined the con’s last, dying breath.
He stared hard at Jackson until the con got fidgety and looked away. Then Silo turned his attention to Eve. “Then you’d better pray that nothing happens to my women. Because if it does, believe me, something distasteful will definitely happen to you.”
Eve smirked. “You’ve got balls of steel. I like that in a man. We need more of that for New Eden.” She swiped her hands down her ill-fitting uniform. “Now, I must go and find Tally, see if he’s found some clothes that actually fit me this time.”