by Dani Worth
“There will be better gifts.”
I put my hand on the plain brown wrapping. “I don’t need gifts. And one serviceable outfit would have been plenty. I don’t know how to pay you back for all this.”
“Money isn’t something Clay or I worry about. We have plenty. We co-wrote a software program with Clay’s brother, Jackson, and it got popular. But even if I’d scraped together the funds for these pitiful clothes, I wouldn’t want you to pay me back. Open your gift.”
Carefully, I unwrapped the brown paper, revealing a Dranellian cotton blanket in the prettiest electric green and black. “I remember these colors. Vordun flowers on Kithra were like this. Green with black centers.” I rubbed my palms over it, reveling in the soft, lush material. Blinking back tears, I didn’t look up. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Hey, this sad little room needed some color. You can’t look at yourself, after all.”
“I am colorful.”
“You’re beautiful.” He cleared his throat and stepped back toward the paneled door. “We run our ship on the standard twenty-four hour day and night. Lights brighten when it’s morning then dim when it’s night—that sort of thing. This door will not be locked from the outside. You are free to roam the ship because no one on it will hurt you. The rest of the crew will start trickling in soon. There’s a shower room through there.” He pointed at the other gray door in the room. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a real galley on this ship. We do have two fully stocked simulators and they are in what we call the galley at the end of this section. Clay is two doors down. I’m next door. You can call for me anytime you need me. All you have to do is choose the call buttons on the panel either by your bed or on the wall here.” He pointed to the square button-covered panel by the door.
Overwhelmed, I hugged the blanket to my chest, blinked at him.
His gaze dropped to my thighs and he cursed. “I’m so sorry! We have healing gel and other medical supplies in the med scanner room. I’ll grab them and be right back.”
He ducked out and a real smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. It made my lips tingle. I touched them in wonder before sliding the Dranellian blanket over my cheek. It was mine. Truly mine.
I had no idea why these men had rescued me. Maybe it was to take me home as they said—which seemed awfully generous. A knock sounded and I pulled my gaze from the other generosity—the pile of clothes—and looked at the captain standing in the doorway.
“Anders is bringing the medical supplies. We do have a scanner if you think there might be infection.”
“I don’t need to see a scan. There’s infection, but the gel should take care of it just fine.”
“There isn’t another woman on the ship to offer a gentler touch to clean those if you need help. Well, there will be, but trust me, she isn’t gentle.”
The snort that escaped my nose surprised us both. He lifted an eyebrow.
“The only person more sadistic than my owner was my former owner. She was never gentle. Gender has nothing to do with compassion.”
“Do you want Anders to do it? For a big lug, he has a gentle touch.” He cleared his throat, frowned. “Or so I’ve been told.”
I shook my head, wondering why he’d felt the need to tack on that last part. “I can take care of myself. But thank you.”
Anders returned with a metal box full of stuff. On the top rested a bandage gun and the tube of healing gel. “We’ll leave you to settle in.” Claybourne pointed to the wall units next to the palm panel and bed, repeating what Anders had already told me. “Call me Clay. We’ll hear you no matter where we are.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
The panel door slid shut and I sat there, staring at it, everything inside me frozen by the complete about-turn my life had taken. Clutching the blanket to my chest, I scooted back until my spine touched the cool wall. I had nothing but vague images of a life before slavery. Never had I had things of my own, a space of my own that didn’t come with a lock. Did I believe them about the lock?
After scrambling off the bed, I walked slowly to the door and let my palm hover over the panel. Holding my breath, I pushed my hand forward and the door slid open.
I stepped into the empty passageway, taking in the flat, metallic walls, the ceiling beams with the thin line of lighting down the middle. Walking to the end of the passageway, I counted five doors before I reached what Anders had called a galley. Inside, I found wall unit simulators and three booths with tables and cushioned seating for four at each. My owner had preferred freshly cooked foods served by slaves, but my former owner had used a simulator. Suddenly realizing how thirsty I was, I walked back into the passageway, looking for someone to ask permission, but I stopped one step beyond the doorway.
I didn’t need permission.
Heady with that knowledge, I returned to the simulator and programmed water. The cool liquid felt like a blessing on my parched throat. I stared at the simulator, my hand hovering again. I bit my lip. Before I could lose my nerve, I programmed a bowl of soup and boldly chose a tube of Fagra wine.
I took my treasures and scurried back to my room before shutting the door and scooting back onto the bunk again with the bowl in my lap. I’d had Fagra wine once when one of the government officials decided I was too rigid and needed loosening up. I never forgot the taste of that wine—it turned sweet at the back of the throat. Nothing, nothing, made me feel that good before or since. I took a small sip and closed my eyes in pleasure as the flavors exploded on my tongue, then changed as they moved down my throat. Groaning, I cradled the tube close, sniffed it. The spicy, fruity scent tickled my memory.
Another fuzzy image coalesced. A freckled woman laughing and sitting in a big man’s lap as he painted her nose with the tip of a paintbrush. She sipped from a blue-stemmed glass and shared the wine with him in a kiss. She set the glass down next to a plate of crisp, blue Kithran leaves, and I sneaked over to sniff the food and the wine, loving the scent of Fagra berries. Seeing me, the woman brightened her smile as she held her arms out.
I remembered the feeling of safety in their arms and the way the food had tasted when she shared it with me.
Eyes flying open, I sat up straight. Did they have Kithran foods programmed into that simulator? Some simulators could be stocked with real fruits and vegetables too. I scrambled off the bed, careful not to spill the soup and set the tube and bowl on the small table bolted into the wall next to my bunk. I opened the door, peeked out and ran back to the galley. I programmed gorvo fruit and when the very real fruit dropped into the receptacle, I could only pick it up and cradle it as I carried it back to my room. I set it on the table, picked up the wine and sat back down. Staring at that dark red fruit, I felt a prickling behind my eyes and within seconds, hot tears slid down my cheeks.
I was free. Really free.
Slowly, I finished my food, savoring every bite. Then I cleaned the wounds on my legs and changed into the softest pants and shirt from the pile. Roomy, the boring beige clothes covered every inch of me and I snuggled under the blanket, sure I’d never feel safe enough to sleep. But I did.
I couldn’t move. Pain racked every muscle and joint, my entire left arm nothing but one excruciating throb. No, it had gone beyond throb to constant, white-hot agony. The box, smaller than the last, had two holes for air, so even when I did manage to stay awake, lack of oxygen kept me dizzy. Boots sounded as my owner stomped across the room, her scratchy laughter growing louder as she bent to rap her knuckles on the wooden top.
“Like the coffin, little girl? I plan to bury you in it.”
Still chuckling, she plugged one of the holes. Within seconds, my lungs raged for air. I wanted to claw at my throat, but she’d stuffed me in the small space with one arm squished under me and the other bent wrong. The pain of the elbow snap had knocked me out—I didn’t know for how long. Hot tears spilled from my eyes, the ones from the right eye dripping and burning the left because of the angle of my head. I tried to think of my mother and fath
er, to remember their comfort, but my mind was funny these days. It distorted memories until sometimes, I dreamed of them as creatures reaching out to me with nothing but smooth skin where their faces were supposed to be. Terror slithered through my chest like a serpent before it expanded, growing thick, filling every part of me until I sucked in the last of the stale air and screamed.
“Wake up, sweetheart. Shh. Fuck, please stop whimpering like that.”
Big hands lifted me from the bunk and every muscle in my body went taut as I buried the urge to fight. Fighting made it worse.
“No, Siri, you can fight me. Fight all you want.” He let me go.
Realizing I’d spoken aloud, I blinked open eyes, gummy from tears, and stared at Anders. He sat on the side of my bunk, wearing black shorts and another sleeveless shirt like before—this one white. He’d chopped off most of his hair, leaving it shorter in the back, longer and messy around his eyes. He blew long blond bangs off his forehead, his smile kind. “You were having a bad dream.”
There was movement behind him, and I stretched to look over his shoulder to find the captain hovering in the doorway. He wore only soft blue pajama bottoms, and he’d obviously been awakened from sleep because his black hair was flat on one side. He had a crease down one cheek. My gaze involuntarily slid down his naked chest, taking in the rippling, lean muscles, the sprinkling of dark hair between his nipples. He had tattoos—a knife on his side, a symbol I didn’t recognize on his shoulder and colorful tattoos between his elbow and hand on his left arm.
I closed my eyes, shame heating up my neck and cheeks. “Sorry I woke you two.”
“Don’t be. Anyone making those kind of sounds needs a good waking.” Anders smiled and stood up, the loss of his big frame shifting the bed. “Want to talk about it?”
I shook my head, rubbing the spot on my elbow where the break had left a permanent scar because it hadn’t healed correctly. The memories of the “box years”, as I called them, weren’t for anyone other than myself.
Why share the nightmare of exchanging one tiny box for a slightly larger one as my adolescent frame grew? Why share the terror of broken bones and living in your own waste? Shuddering, I tried to shake off the very physical, cloying sensation of fear the dream memory had brought.
The men shared a look, and my belly flip-flopped as I took in their concern. We were strangers, so their regard didn’t make sense, but it also nudged something inside me I thought hadn’t developed. I didn’t feel desire, not like what I’d witnessed in others. As I looked at them standing beside each other—one short, ripped and dark, and the other broad-shouldered and big with that sexy spill of silky blond hair over his eyes—I felt something new. A curling of warmth in my limbs, an empty ache between my legs…and my breasts suddenly felt heavier. I sat up, shocked, and had to stop myself from cupping my own breasts. I bit my lip, entertained by the image that would have given them.
And like that, the fear was gone. My cheeks twitched, so amused was I over the thought of their shock if I’d suddenly grabbed my breasts, that I couldn’t stop the smile I aimed their direction. It felt strange on my face.
Anders sucked in a breath. “Gods, woman, you have the smile of an angel.”
Wrinkling my nose, I shook my head. “You have an awfully sweet tongue in your mouth.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Clay rolled his eyes. “Don’t give him any ideas.” His shoulders relaxed as if he accepted that the possible crisis had been averted. He leaned against the open doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. This made his biceps bulge.
I wasn’t the only one looking at them. Anders had turned when the captain moved, and his shuttered stare sent a shiver down my spine. What was their story? My curiosity surprised me as much as the desire had.
“So, you’re okay, Siri?” Clay ignored Anders’s fiery stare, focusing on me.
“I am.” I pulled the soft Drenellian cotton blanket into a bunch I could cuddle to my chest. “It’s all a little overwhelming. I don’t remember…being free before. I can’t quite grasp the concept.” I frowned, looked down at my lap. “It’s hard to describe.”
“I imagine you have a lot of crazy emotions going on.”
“I am sorry I woke you.”
Anders shrugged. “I wasn’t asleep, so don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t even worry about it if he was. There’s a lot for you to take in, get used to. There are worlds out there just waiting for you to do something in them. Something of your choice.” Clay winked. “I’d be having some wild dreams myself if I were facing that.”
As both men shuffled out of my room, I hugged that beautiful blanket, wondering if these new feelings the men raised in me would give me a new kind of wild dream.
One with touches that were offered with love.
Chapter Four
Loud laughter and stomping boots woke me in the middle of the night. Being pulled from a sound sleep at odd hours wasn’t a new experience for me and I instantly braced for something unpleasant. Then the softness of the blanket under my cheek reminded me where I was. I curled my fingers into the material until it wrapped each one in a safe, soft cocoon. Staring into the dark, I let myself drift. I had a full belly, warm clothes and nobody was going to come in here and force me to my knees.
From the banging and loud voices, it sounded like a big group—larger than I expected for such a small ship. I heard a female voice among the deeper masculine ones.
“Lia!”
I sat up when I recognized Anders’s tone.
“You don’t have to screech, Sullivan,” the woman outside my door said with a growl in her voice.
“That door is no longer coded to you. We have a guest going to Kithra.” His voice grew louder. He must have stopped right beside her. “It was empty anyway, so Clay and I thought you’d decided on the layover after all.”
“On that nasty space station? Are you crazy?”
“I guess you can bunk with Namito then.”
“A little slow today, Anders? Wondering where my stuff went? I’m bunking with Bucho.”
The low chuckles that trickled through into the room surprised me. I was used to more soundproofed doors.
“Like ’em big and mute, do you?”
“Just because the man doesn’t let bullshit roll off his tongue in a steady country-fried stream, doesn’t mean he can’t use his mouth.”
“Don’t need you to share quite that much, Lia. Especially right now.”
“Still on the celibate kick? Captain not coming around?” The humor left her voice.
“That’s not a subject open for discussion either.”
“You started it. Have it your way, but maybe if you’d listen to my way, you’d make a little more headway with the stubborn man.”
“Lia,” Anders warned.
“Okay then, back to what Bucho can do with his mouth—”
“I love your bawdy sense of humor, but I so profoundly don’t want to know what that man does with his mouth.”
“You love everything about me.”
Anders’s laughter this time was loud. It made my stomach feel funny. Made me want to find ways to make him laugh, find ways to make him turn that wonderful smile on me.
“I do, Lia, I do.”
“And since you like men, I figured you wouldn’t mind a few extra details.”
“No thanks. Don’t like all men, just the one.”
They moved away from my door, but the shouts and laughter went on for another hour. I lay in the dark, too afraid they’d hear me if I spoke up for lights. Then I remembered there was a touch control panel for everything in the room by the bed. I turned toward the low shimmer of light and lightly touched the section that worked the built-in lamps high in the walls. Then I looked around the room that would be my home for a time. I’d been too out of it to pay attention to my surroundings earlier. Brown cabinets were bolted into a row over the bunk and at its end. A built-in vidscreen had been installed into the side of the
one above my feet. A pair of earplugs hung on the wall by the panel, so I slid them into my ears and reached toward the control panel…then stopped to see my hand was shaking.
There wasn’t anyone to punish me for turning on a vidscreen.
I jumped and sat up when the sound came on, then leaned back to watch.
Whatever I wanted to watch.
Thirst forced me out of my bunkroom the next afternoon. I’d spent the morning looking for any piece of news on Para Lashin and what had happened to the ship, but there was nothing. No mention of his arrest and that should have been top news. I had found a documentary about Kithra and my eyes still ached from the tears when I’d seen the repaired pods and the smiling Gwinarian family who’d been off Kithra at the time of the blasts and recently gone home to work in the new major greenhouse pod. My mouth had fallen and stayed open as I watched a beautiful Gwinarian named Yaira explain what she and her mothers were doing in the greenhouses. How they’d cultivated Kithran plants off planet like others.
The captain and Anders hadn’t come by to see me, but they’d made it plain I was free to go anywhere on the ship, so I finally ventured out, still wearing the baggy pants and long-sleeved beige shirt from the night before. The healing gel had worked well and there was only a faint twinge of pain left in my thighs. I’d tied my hair into a tail at my nape and washed my face, but didn’t bother to use any of the makeup Anders had included in the box of “lady stuff” he’d given me. The face that had stared back at me from the mirror had been pale, eyes red-rimmed, and my lips looked swollen from me biting them.
Now I just desperately wanted something to drink and this was the third time I’d started toward the galley. The last two times, the voices had made me turn back. And this time, again—though there were still voices—I was too thirsty. I stopped a few feet from the open door and listened.