Wild Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 2)

by Lydia Pax

  On cue, the guards drew their swords. There was no more argument.

  It took a few moments for Flamma to heat up the brand once again, but after that, everything was quick. Flamma shoved the brand hard into Caius’s skin, directly on top of the old wound. Trying to fight the pain, Caius bit the edge of the table. The wood was hard, but his teeth were harder. The imprint left in the wood afterward stayed there until the table was replaced years later.

  The pressure let out some as Flamma began to back off. But then Porcia stood behind Flamma, pushing in on his arm. The pain returned a hundredfold. Flamma had been pressing lightly. Now it was pressed with all the weight of two people—and it was too much for Caius to bear.

  He passed out, with his last thoughts of his daughter, Aeliana, and revenge.

  Chapter 30

  Normally, on the road to the games, the air had some measure of cheer. The gladiators, fools that they were, sang songs and laughed roughly with one another as they made their way. The novices, locked away in a wagon to prevent any escapes, were joined by a few veterans telling tall tales of glory in combat.

  The rest of the veterans—all those with good behavior—were allowed to walk in the supply train. Their hands were still chained, but it was a privilege nonetheless. These men were considered honorable enough not to try to escape their date with destiny in the arena, and smart enough to know that the guards on their horses could easily run them down.

  But today, the line of men and wagons was somber. Their talk was grim. Aeliana followed behind them on a wagon led by two armed guards, sitting on the several crates of her medical supplies. Caius had been attacked in the night. He would not speak of who had done it to him, though everyone suspected Flamma. The two had a history, after all.

  For her own part, Aeliana imagined slipping a few choice powders into a tincture for Flamma. Nothing lethal. Just something to give him stomach pain for the rest of his life. Wasn’t that a fair recompense for hurting her Caius?

  Her Caius. Gods. Where had that come from?

  Aeliana had to attend the games. Chloe was capable and smart, and Aeliana was glad for her assistance, but she was not good enough yet to attend to all the many problems that the arena games could create for the gladiators. Even setting aside the injuries in the games themselves—which were often grievous and bloody—Aeliana had to be cognizant of any signs of sickness or infirmity.

  Afflictions of the feet were most common, as gladiators walked so often with bare feet. Cuts and abrasions, unnoticed or ignored, could quickly evolve into infections attacking the entire body.

  Chloe would have come with Aeliana—the games were a good chance to learn, after all—but Rufus had become ill over the last day.

  “Just a small imbalance of the humors, my dear,” he insisted, when Aeliana offered to stay and look after him. “I’ve had it a thousand times if I’ve had it once.”

  That much was true. He was often coming down with sicknesses such as these, particularly in times of stress. His voice would become hoarse, and his throat and nose congested. He would have difficulty breathing, and so was restricted to his quarters for most of the day to prevent too much activity from exciting the sickness into attacking his lungs further. Coughing fits might last for minutes.

  But then, after a few days, it would all clear up—as if by miracle—and Rufus would be certain that this time was so bad that there was no possibility that he might have to face such indignity again.

  The gods were kind, after all.

  Surely they must be at least a little kind, thought Aeliana. That was how Porcia ended up not traveling with the column. The Domina intended to enjoy her stay in Capua with a visit to Senator Otho Septimus Carbo. Aeliana didn't know how someone like Porcia had landed a friendship—if that's what it was—with one of the richest men in the province and the nephew of the Emperor, but the world was a strange place.

  They stopped at midday for lunch and a break. The soldiers leading the way saw no reason to rush. The column was lead officially by a man named Marianus, in charge of the guards at House Varinius. He was a good soldier, calm and implacable. A good quality for a man overseeing the Empire’s most vicious fighters, who often wanted to mouth off to the men in charge.

  But, everyone knew that the real driver of the column was Murus, who walked without chains. The trust of Rufus—and House Varinius—Murus was unshakable. He was broken entirely to the will of the ludus.

  Caius had been led along in a wagon, resting between the feet of the other gladiators inside. Now, as the column shifted its order, Aeliana saw him for the first time—and saw the wicked, awful burn along his arm. It was a terrible sight, all that distorted flesh and blackened skin. Her first thought was that she needed to fix him immediately.

  Her second was that even if she did her best, his arm would be next-to-useless in the coming fight.

  The gladiators were allowed to sit down to eat at a place of their choosing, staying within a wide circle established by the guards. Those with shackles had them undone or loosened, depending on how much the guards trusted them. Caius sat by himself, unshackled, but soon after he sat down to eat his hard bread ration, Flamma approached him.

  Aeliana, trying to get closer to Caius herself, overheard them in the crowd.

  “It wasn’t my idea,” said Flamma.

  “That doesn’t matter now.”

  “It does matter.” Flamma put his hands on his hips. “You listen to me. It matters.”

  Caius just looked down at his bread, shaking his head.“Go away, Flamma. I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Hey.” Flamma squatted down. “I’m trying to talk to you, here. It wasn’t my idea, you see? She pushed it on me. She said it would be nothing. Just to scare you.”

  Caius said nothing in response.

  Porcia, Aeliana thought. He’s talking about Porcia.

  “You hear me? You hear what I’m saying?”

  Flamma pushed Caius—and right away Caius shot up and pushed Flamma back. They were nose to nose for what seemed like ages. Other gladiators began to pick sides—with most of them on Caius’s. Finally, Flamma turned away. “Suck on Pluto's ass, for all I care. I just wanted you to know my side of it.”

  Aeliana watched as he walked back to the wagons, shoulders hunched and swearing.

  * * * * *

  No sooner had Flamma left Caius’s sight than did Aeliana enter it. Right away, she tugged him up and began pushing toward the border of the guards. There was a small stream beyond a line of trees ahead. One guard stepped in front of them.

  “We’re not supposed to let you out of our sight,” said the guard. He would have been handsome were his nose not so squashed and red. “It’s orders.”

  “I’ll stay within earshot,” said Aeliana. “But this man needs help. Or do you want to see House Varinius shamed in the arena because you would not do as the medicae said?”

  In short order, Caius and Aeliana were at a stream. She ran a cloth through water and over his arm, cleaning off the worst of the dirt and grime.

  “Stupid man,” she muttered as she cleaned and dressed the wound. “Stupid, stupid man.”

  “That hurts,” said Caius.

  “Good. It should.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I mean if it didn’t, that would be a problem. It’s good that it hurts. It means your arm will still work if it heals properly.”

  “By tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Stupid man.” She shook her head. “You can’t fight like this. I know you want to, but you can’t.”

  “I don’t know that I have a choice,” said Caius. “Porcia...her men are here with us. If she wants me to fight, they’ll have me fight.”

  “But your arm. You’re in no shape to—”

  “They’ll cover the wound if they have to. I’ve seen it done before, a dozen times. Men go on to fight when they're hurt because they need the purse. They all know how to make it look.”

  “Would you fight if they didn’t force you?”

&
nbsp; Caius considered. “I’ll die in the arena. But I’d rather do it well. And I’d like to earn a few more purses yet.”

  He could see she did not like this answer. And as she tied the bandage tight around his arm, he could feel it as well.

  “Why does she hate you so?”

  “Porcia?” He laughed. “I’ve no idea. We just don’t get along.”

  “You don’t get along with Flamma, either. But he’s not plotting your death.” At this, Caius raised an eyebrow, but she continued. “No, I’m serious. He appears like he’d gladly kill you in the arena or in a fight, given the chance. But he wouldn’t murder you in your sleep, either.”

  Caius had to give her that. Such a thing would be...dishonorable, even for Flamma.

  “Search your memory. There must have been something you did.”

  “You’re blaming me for the scrutiny of a madwoman?”

  The flesh of his forearm was thick and warm. When she placed her hand there, she felt an electric tingle slide up through her entire body. “Of course I’m not blaming you. But...you know. No one exists in a vacuum. When these things start, it’s always with some slight, some tiny insult that we barely notice. And they get built and built over time.”

  “You know about this, do you?”

  “I practice medicine in a ludus full of men with nothing to do but learn how to fight. Before that, I practiced medicine in a garrison full of bored legionaries. I know a thing or two about sick people occupying their minds with petty hates.”

  “There is nothing.” He closed his eyes and thought. “There is...” His face scrawled, mouths moving to opposite corners.

  “What?”

  “It couldn’t be that.”

  Could it? There was no way. That was years ago, and such a tiny moment besides. He didn't think it possible to hold on to something so small for so long.

  “I think that means it must be. Tell me.”

  The wrap of her hands around his drove him forward.

  “The night before my last fight, she came to my bed and offered me wine. I don’t think she knew I was to be freed the next day. It had been all arranged by Rufus, my freedom, but he and I kept it a secret. Word of these things can’t reach a crowd, you understand, otherwise it takes away the surprise. Anyway, I turned her down. I explained how I had a family, all of that. She made the threat of telling lies about her and I, and I said for her to go ahead. That only seemed to turn her on—she's a devious sort—and she said she would see me another time. I didn’t contradict her. Then I forgot about all of it. Raising a child pushes that sort of thing aside.”

  Caius wished that Aeliana's face did not look so amused.

  “So you scorned her and you lied to her. And you left her with three years to stew about it.” Aeliana laughed. “Oh, but no, Caius, I’m sure there’s nothing she could be angry about.”

  “Why should she be angry? I should be angry. She didn’t know I was leaving, but she knew I was married.”

  Her hands began to slide up and down his arm almost of their own accord. “I was just teasing. You have every right to be angry. And she is a cruel one, I agree.”

  Everything about Aeliana felt right and good. Her touch was the first good thing he'd felt in what felt like days.

  Caius pulled her into him, sudden and sure. “I don’t want to talk about another woman anymore,” he said. “I want to think of you and you only.”

  His good arm was strong enough to pull her directly into his lap. At first, she was hesitant. His forehead pressed against hers. He could taste her breath, all warmth and mint. Her weight felt right in his grip.

  Slowly, their lips pushed together, each not daring to break the moment of this heated want.

  And then finally, they met. The taste of her tongue was sweet against his own. He pushed his hands down across the length of her spine, fingers pressing firmly on the muscles. She moaned as his touch relieved the tension underneath; her own hands wrapped against the thick cords of his neck. They eased against the thickness there, soft and sure, finding the points of tension.

  All the time being so close to her body—those lips, those endless gray eyes—had kept his heart beating fast. Now he felt it threatened to explode. She made him feel strong, limitless, even with only one arm holding her tight.

  Her lips cascaded down across his chin, neck, and chest. But with his mouth free of hers, Caius still needed to taste yet more of her. His teeth slipped over her shoulder, biting gently. She let out a surprised, but pleased, gasp.

  “Caius,” she moaned. “Caius, I need...”

  Thighs straddled across his. Her heat slid across his skin. The hardness between his own legs was already ready for her, and at that sweet, intimate feeling, he needed more. It couldn’t end with just kissing this time.

  They did not think anything about the column nearby. The heat created between them was too urgent. It was impossible to imagine anything but one another.

  With her hands wrapped around his neck, her position was steady. His hand slipped up against her thighs, pushing past her robes and immediately finding the pulsing mound of her sex. The response was immediate. She gasped, vibrating and clenching against him.

  “C-Caius!”

  “There is not another woman on this earth,” he said, “that needs to occupy my mind but you.”

  Her initial shock faded slowly, and Caius did not wish to jolt or goad her. His fingers remained steady on the spot of her pleasure, administering steady pressure as he looked into her eyes. The shock and pleasure faded, replaced by cool, womanly lust. It was as beautiful as he had ever seen her. They both knew, in that moment, this was going to go as far as they wanted.

  Rustling in the bushes broke the perfection of the moment. They rearranged themselves quickly, trying to hide. It was the guard from before, looking a bit embarrassed.

  “The column is moving again,” he said.

  They simply sat, still somewhat trapped in another’s embrace.

  “You two...” he smiled. “You do whatever you like in the future. I’m a discreet fellow. And a fan.” He nodded at Caius. “But you may want to be more careful about it.”

  Chapter 31

  Though Porcia traveled with Otho to Capua, Roman propriety demanded that she actually enter the party some few minutes after him. There were already suspicions of their affair floating around in the high circles of Roman society. The only oblivious one, really, seemed to be her husband. Were she to actually enter a grand party at the same time as Otho, arm in arm, there would be an enormous scandal.

  The gossip in her felt shivers of excitement when she imagined such things. But it was that same gossip that knew she would take far worse a hit than Otho. Women did not have much in the way of protection in Rome, and even less when they were flagrant about enjoying themselves. Even the old cuckolded Emperor Claudius had to get rid of his wife after she dragged his name through the mud one too many times.

  She wore an appropriately expensive stola wrapped with a striking red tunic. A flash of blue was embroidered upon one shoulder, as close as she could get to matching the stripes of purple on Otho’s toga. Anything actually purple was just too damned expensive; the only reason only the Imperial family wore it was because they were the only ones who could actually afford it.

  The party was hosted by the Governor of Puteoli, who held the property in Capua where they were now. It was not uncommon for men of high social rankings, particularly those put in charge of entire cities, to own dwellings in multiple places. From the state of this house in Capua, it must have had a staff on hand every day of the year to keep it so clean and the gardens so well-maintained.

  The house itself was modestly sized and extravagantly furnished. In one corner of the atrium where the guests all gathered, great plates of figs surrounded veritable mountains of crab meat and freshly butchered beef, all freshly seasoned with the finest spices from the eastern half of the Empire. Slaves dressed in nearly sheer fabrics floated from one part of the crowd to another
, carrying golden trays with wine and tiny desserts.

  Porcia made niceties with the first few people she met—an old friend from her time in Neapolis who had married clearly beneath her station; a former consul’s wife; the son of a slave who somehow had become the man in charge of the legionaries stationed in Capua—but all the while her head was on a swivel, looking for Otho.

  Something about the man set her body on fire. She could not help the way he made her feel. All that she could do, really, was hope that somehow she encouraged similar feelings in him as well. If she were to divorce Rufus and marry Otho—one of the richest young men in the Empire, and the nephew of the man ruling Rome—it would be an enormous step up for her.

  And, naturally, for her son Marius. Porcia didn't have much interest in motherhood in the traditional sense. But, if she were to raise the adopted son of the nephew of the Emperor...her pulse quickened at the thought. Emperors had been made from less legitimate places in the hierarchy.

  She found Otho arguing with Buteo, the rival lanista to her own ludus in Puteoli. She raised an eyebrow, enjoying how sweaty and desperate he seemed.

  “Really, Senator, I must protest. You cannot have a match between beast and man in the primus of the games honoring the Emperor. It is unseemly.”

  Otho set his goblet down on the tray of a nearby slave. “You would speak to me of what best honors the Emperor, lanista?”

  The games in celebration of Emperor Severus would last for months. Tomorrow’s celebration at Capua was the first show in a long series around the Italian peninsula, with another in Puteoli in six weeks time. No doubt Buteo hoped to elevate his own men in the games and bring down those of House Varinius.

  “I...” Buteo gulped. “I only mean to say that my fighter—my best fighter, who fights as Hector—he would be the man you want in the primus. Why, a match between him and Orion, the retarius of House Varinius, would be—”

  “Enough.” Otho grabbed another, fuller cup of wine from another tray. “I have heard enough.”