by Hotter Edge
His gaze filled with a truth of feeling, just darkening with lust. I love you.
Oh, yes, he fought dirty. But she could too. She had to.
Because how could she fight for the man, the life she’d chosen, their shared vision for the future, if she had no idea how close it all was to falling apart?
She tested her hips against the hard swell of him. Don’t leave me again.
He snagged her around the back of her neck to bring her down for a kiss. It was hot and demanding, rougher and more desperate than any of his others.
But the message imbedded within satisfied her: agreed.
***
Hakan was raised up on his elbows, his arms at either side of his wife’s head, her body gorgeously pinned beneath him. She’d gone loose and dreamy in the last hour, residual shocks quaking at her center, where he was firmly lodged. He nuzzled her neck.
She groaned, contented. “Five more minutes.”
“How long is your corset going to take?” He wasn’t in a hurry himself, but he’d found Pilar’s dressing time varied widely, from mere seconds to eternity, and he still couldn’t figure out what made the difference—not, as he’d originally surmised, how elaborately she was dressed. Another Pilar mystery.
Eyes closed, she pulled a smile. “You can use your teeth again.”
“Teeth are good for taking apart.” They’d probably have to seek out a Romani woman to help with those blasted ties. “And biting.” He snagged her earlobe to demonstrate.
He got the desired response: she cringed and laughed at the same time, ticklish. Her body tightened around him, and he decided he could easily be delayed a little while longer from doom. He wanted to linger here indefinitely. He pulled back slightly and reseated himself within her. Sweet gods of creation, yes. A while longer would be just the thing.
Her body rippled beneath him in response. One of her knees came up, total access, her breasts lifting. The Hub receded. Just Pilar and the thick scent of their sex. Did anything else really matter?
Her sweet pink tongue touched her upper lip, as if straining to hold on to her own thoughts. “What time is it anyway?”
He ignored her, moving again. The sensation was not unlike diving into deep, warm waters. It was peace and bliss the likes of which he’d never thought existed before Pilar. If she knew the time, this incredible feeling would stop. And he finally had his priorities straight. He now ordered his universe according to what was most precious, and the Hub, his heritage, and the Frust legacy to the future seemed distant, lacking substance.
Pilar was everything that mattered, everything real, and she was right beneath him.
She tried to crane her neck behind her, seeking the holo, and he quickly brought his only hand over to cover her eyes. She laughed aloud again—the best sound ever—and went fist-tight around him again—his preferred kind of torture.
“It’s early,” he said, going for her neck. If he kissed her in just the right spot—
“Liar.” She wiggled and scooted upward to get free.
He’d have insisted on her cooperation, but her breasts were suddenly eye-level, so he couldn’t complain. He decided to try his teeth again—she cackled with joy—and he decided that yes, he could exist on her full-bodied laugh and nothing else. Pilar had a gift for excess—and beauty and wealth were the least of her offerings.
She turned more fully in her escape, and he finally had a prime view of her wonderful ass. If he could manage to sit up and bring her hips back with him…. But in a mermaid swish of her legs, she escaped. He watched his naked sun goddess tiptoe across the room, then give a little scream. “Ten minutes!” And dived into the personal needs cupboard.
Blast. He had a feeling she’d react that way. “Parties last for hours,” he called, coming to his knees. Victor and his Orchids could wait. His arm was just beginning to ache. Funny how he hadn’t felt it until then.
In a flash, she was back. “My information will be there!” Her hope was restored; watch her shine. She speared her legs into some kind of shimmery pants. Hadn’t she been wearing a skirt before?
“Barton’s information will be highly suspect.” Hakan had an alternative, longer-term idea: to systematically strip his uncle of authentic business, one client or corp at a time, until all Victor had left was his Orchid. The Hub couldn’t run on the black market alone. Hakan would need Reina’s help arranging in-person meetings and coordinating safeties, so meeting at the party that night was still imperative. He’d pitch the plan to Pilar at the same time. Get passage off the Hub together, as he should’ve in the beginning. It’d be tough for a while, his original plans put off indefinitely, but they could handle it.
Pilar threw a set of clothes at him—a simple but fine weave in black. The tunic wouldn’t close over his chest however.
She waggled her eyebrows at him in appreciation. “A fake Hakan might just leave it open.”
“A fake Hakan might go naked,” he complained. But he did as she suggested, then put on the pants and attempted to fasten the clasp one-handed. Not as easy as it might seem.
Pilar heckled him, “Problem, hero?” which made the clasp even harder to affix as his body shook from laughter. She was merciless with happiness. Even with his dream in ruins, she assaulted him with joy.
She fastened a short top behind her. The top pushed up her breasts as the corset had, left her belly and midriff bare, and set off the curve of her hips in the slick pants. Blades followed.
Finally, she stalked over to him, ready to go, and fitted the clasp of his pants together, while she kissed him long and slow. “The tunic has a pocket so you can pretend your left hand is tucked inside.”
His wife had thought of everything.
She tucked her other corset and skirt into the storage locker, as if the clothes would be there at some future time when she returned for them. Hell, maybe they would be. Hakan had no idea. She’d clearly outfitted them both while he was in medi-stasis. And here he’d wondered why she’d required an entire semi-transfer from Sol for her wardrobe alone. He was beginning to understand.
“Good idea on the pocket,” he said, “but Victor and the Orchid will be looking very closely at anyone with my face, including the imitators. By now they’ll have eyes everywhere. I need a hand.”
“A prosthetic?” She dragged her fingers through her hair, her mind at work again.
Hakan shoved his feet into universal shoes—little more than slippers with soles. “Something like that.”
Chapter Six
Pilar had been shocked silent by what she had seen on sale in the small, back-byway sex shop Hakan had stepped into with too much familiarity not to alarm her. The rear room had been educational, to say the least, but it was there that Hakan’s right hand was scanned, flipped to create a mirror-projection, and uploaded into a cuff that attached to his forearm. If he concentrated, he could both simulate movement and effectively ‘touch’ through heat and light, though for monetary reasons, they had to forego the upgrades, which could do all sorts of questionable things. Pity. But he did have two real-seeming hands.
…still no sign of the newlyweds…
…Hakan won’t leave his bride’s side during her illness…
…is there trouble in paradise already?…
Media bobs speculated on their status and whereabouts, the whine from their constant drone threading through the babble of the crowds on the ring’s thoroughfare. Pilar caught the gist—no one yet suspected Victor of foul play—and then she returned to the critical matter of the moment.
“Uh…the shop…you go there often?” She might have some things to learn about her husband too.
“A few times before I left for university.” He drummed the fingers of his simulated hand against his thigh—looked real enough to her, and he was getting good at using it. “Where’s the party supposed to be?”
She told him. “And the, um, alien—?” She referred to the squid-like creature suspended in green fluid.
He chuckled. “No
t that brave. A lot of things go through the Hub.” They turned down a narrow corridor where residences were piled one on top of another, every available centimeter put to the maximum use. “Most are regulated, but the system has been getting more and more lax. The squid thing is probably a harmless novelty, but I’d still apply to your husband for any needs that might arise.”
She slanted him a smile, not yet relieved. “I’ll do that. But—”
The humor in his expression suddenly seemed slightly plastic. He flicked a glance up ahead, then back to her. Danger, but stay relaxed.
Her pupils dilated slightly in answer. Gotcha.
“Arranged marriages always work out,” she said, as if she were an impostor talking about the real Pilar and Hakan. “It’s a corp thing. They don’t have a choice.”
She spoke a half-truth: there were always choices involved, but yes, the actual union would hold. The contracts and marriage made sure of it. It’s why unions involved both the law and a mingling of blood. There were choices, but no one was taking any chances.
They approached two man-sized shadows. One reached out to stop her from continuing on, but Hakan blocked with his right arm, fake hand flexing five, to ward the Orchid away. They didn’t make contact, but the ruse worked.
“Not them,” the second shadow said, irritated.
And she and Hakan kept walking, albeit a little faster. “It’s gotten so weird around here.”
“They’ll have to make an announcement sooner or later.”
Which made Pilar wonder—how was Victor answering the media comms? The demand for information—from what the happy couple was wearing to the circumstances of their first kiss—had been brutal on Sol. His uncle was probably being bludgeoned for details constantly.
They made a double out of a single footlift and were propelled upward into hot air that pulsed with multilayered percussion music. The security gate to the section’s quarters had been propped open with a small redi-crate. Text in finger-written glowlight read, No sleeping here.
When they got past the rusting slider, it took Pilar a minute to understand what the text meant. Writhing bodies were crammed inside, smelling of pheromone-sweetened sweat, and undulating to the bass rhythm of the music. The space seemed to have been dedicated to pallet and storage box rental by the hour. Unisex ionic showers to the back. But the pallets were all folded away. Somehow the entire floor had been commandeered. Anyone who actually wanted a pallet for sleep was out of luck. No sleeping here.
Someone screamed, which made Hakan grab Pilar around her waist, but when she saw one of her ribbon girls, she knew to scream back and hug her.
“You came,” the ribbon girl yelled over the music. She caught sight of Hakan, gaze hovering on his face. “Gods, he looks as real as you do. Are you together? I mean, together together?”
“Married,” Pilar shouted back. The most together.
“Threesomes?” she winked.
“Foursomes,” called the second ribbon girl, coming up behind her friend, a wide smile on her face.
“I only want my princess,” Hakan said, snagging Pilar backward into his arms.
The ribbon girl nodded but something about her was more calculating than before. Pilar introduced them to Hakan, leaving an opening for the ribbon girls’ names, which turned out to be Tani and Dora.
“Has my friend arrived?” Pilar hadn’t had the chance to search for Reina yet.
Tani’s eyes widened to answer. “Yes. Took over the office. And she brought Barton Frust with her. The, uh, one and only.”
Right. Because who would want to imitate Barton?
And if Barton Frust were here, logic said that there was a good chance that Pilar and Hakan were the real thing too. Tani and Dora were on to them.
Pilar shot Hakan a look over her shoulder. They know.
He lifted his eyebrows. Can we trust them?
She lowered her eyelids a fraction. We’ll see, won’t we?
And turned back to Tani. “Will you show us?”
Barton was pacing when they entered the office, a loose term for the rust-scabbed cubby with the dead-dirt smell. The ribbon girls lurked in the doorway, until Reina slid it closed on them. “We just need a minute.”
As soon as the door screeched into place, Barton speared a pointer finger toward Pilar’s face. “You better get me the hell away from here.”
Pilar looked to Reina for information. Her attendant wore one of her trademark meditation expressions—a study in stoicism—mostly used in the last of Pilar’s teenage years. “I was seven minutes, thirty-two seconds from comming your father.”
Pilar had cut it much closer on some of Reina’s random curfews. “Plenty of time.” She hugged her like family, relief making the squeeze tight. Everyone was alive and well. “Are you okay?”
Reina shrugged. “No one bothered us even though there was an obvious uproar over Hakan going missing. We were invisible.”
No. Barton was invisible. No one cared about him enough to see him, or to realize that he had a Sol attendant mixed in with his rabble.
“Cousin,” Pilar said, turning and holding her hand out to him. “It was incredibly dangerous what you did. Thank you.”
He looked at the hand, which she withdrew under his glare. “You know why I did it.”
Yes, the pax he stood to gain. “Still brave.” Perhaps it hadn’t occurred to him, all the pax in the sector would do him no good if he were dead.
Hakan was more direct with a masculine kind of praise and hit Barton in the shoulder. “Your father took my hand off when I defied him.”
Barton’s eyeballs twitched back and forth between them, as if looking for the hidden mockery.
“Were you able to get anything?” she asked. This was her deal. Her money. A gamble with bad odds, according to Hakan.
“Yeah, I got a dump of my father’s files. But I’m not handing it over until I’m safely off the Hub.” Apparently he did understand his mortal peril.
“We need it now.” A slight edge to Hakan’s voice.
Careful, Pilar wanted to say to her husband, but she didn’t dare lest Barton interpret the flash in her eyes the wrong way.
“There’s no time to argue,” Hakan said. “Or we’re both in trouble.”
That last bit sounded anachronistic, as if spoken by a child or a teenager, but not an adult. It sounded as if her husband was retreading old ground.
Barton wagged his head back and forth in a weary kind of anger. “You’ve no right to demand anything from me.”
Pilar sure as Sol hell had a right, but her breath got caught up in her throat. It was her deal, but somehow it was now—and maybe had always been—between Barton and Hakan. So what if it was her stake in red on the line?
“You want me to beg?”
Pilar knew Hakan would. Pride was nothing compared to the danger shuddering the little room with the latest dance tracks. Victor could easily begin killing when he found them, and he would, eventually, if they didn’t all run like hell for the stars soon.
“You already got off the Hub. Now it’s my turn. My time to get away.”
Pilar could almost hear herself in Barton’s words—my turn, my time—the sense that at last he mattered and was near relief. But they had nothing to give him to secure their promises.
“I swear your agreement with Pilar will be honored.”
Hakan believed her deal with Barton was too hopeful. He’d argued that his cousin wouldn’t come through. Apparently Hakan had offered him good, important work, and Barton had wasted the funds set aside for it. Which was criminal, yes, but Hakan didn’t understand what it was like to be a second, with nothing of your own except service to family, service that really anyone could do.
Barton wanted off the Hub so he could live on his own terms. Speak to that, she wanted to tell Hakan, and they might get their file dump.
She was tempted to interrupt again, but some other, deeper part of herself pressed her lips together. This wasn’t about her or the pax he’d ge
t off her red.
“It won’t help, you know,” Hakan said to Barton.
Barton snorted. “Oh, I think the pax will set me up very nicely.”
“He won’t even notice you’re gone.”
A small muscle in Barton’s face trembled.
“Not for weeks at least, if ever.”
“I don’t care anymore.”
Lie, Pilar thought. She cared about her father; Barton was too similar not to care too.
“You have to give us the dump now,” Hakan said, “or you don’t get the pax. Ever. It’s that simple. But consider this: if you stay, and see this through, let your father wonder how we came by the information and watch his expression when he realizes it was you…”
Barton’s head torqued subtly, one cheek drawing back as if caught on a hook.
“How much would that moment be worth?”
“In pax?” Barton asked.
“How much would it be worth in the risk to your life?”
Damn, but her husband could be ruthless. He’d just traded up from red mica to a sharper satisfaction: respect—the same that Pilar had offered Barton—but this time from the right source, his father. It was a canny manipulation, and a cruel one, considering the danger. It also meant that Hakan could ken what it was to be a second, passed over again and again. He’d known it for a while through Barton, and he used it now for their gain.
Which meant on some level he understood her too, the parts of her that she couldn’t articulate but that needed the light on her face, the rush of celebrity, to make sure that she wasn’t invisible, like Barton here. That understanding had to be part of why she and Hakan pieced so well together. He knew, which made her naked to him in a whole different way. He’d known all along.
Barton handed over a small disk, his gaze distracted with feeling. Yes, he’d risk his life to witness the moment his father recognized him. But then, he’d already been in an extended kind of suicide, eventual prey or pawn for the Black Orchid.