by Cathryn Cade
“So she can do wrong to do right,” Var said. “Fuck that.”
“It isn’t that so much,” Joran said. “Hells, you could say that about us. But at least we don’t hide behind the law and pretend we’re not doing it.”
Var grinned crookedly. “Hypocrisy being the worst sin of all?”
“In this case, yeah. The bitch is casting threats far and wide.”
“You’d better alert your brothers,” Qala said. “So they can be on guard.”
“From what I hear about Creed Forth and Logan Stark,” Haro said, “Cerul’s messing with the wrong men.”
Qala huffed a laugh. “Good point. Like tourists teasing the giant scorpions on Qadalite, then finding out they can move fast as light.”
Haro grimaced. “Yeah, thanks for that image. Gah, hate insects. One of the best things about these plains is the crawlers and flyers are all small. At least the ones I’ve seen.”
“Green ants pack a mean punch though. Had a bite on my ass last week that stung like fire,” she muttered.
“Better let me look at that,” he offered. “I’ll inspect the area, make sure everything’s okay.”
“In your dreams, immi-boy.”
“Every night, babe.”
Joran ignored them, knowing they were letting off steam, waiting for him to think this through.
Cerul would expect him to contact Creed and Logan. Indeed, the sadistic bitch was slavering over this, waiting to hear that they’d complained to the Alliance, so she could slam the IGSF shield down and muzzle them. She wouldn’t hesitate to impose martial law. Hell, she craved it.
So their best play was to go on with their lives, as casually as if no threat loomed. Enjoying life. That, she’d hate.
Chapter 9
Alone on the river bank, one of Ilya’s security screens fuzzing faintly around him to block anyone who might want to eavesdrop on his transmission, Joran told his story to Creed via holovid. It was not a pleasant experience. He waited, outwardly casual, but heat flushed the taut skin over his cheekbones, and he had to resist the impulse to fidget.
“Sorry to drag you into this shit,” he said. “I cruised right in—that’s mine to deal with. But now you’re in it too. Never saw that happening.”
Joran’s younger brother shocked him by winking solemnly. “Brother, I’ve been in trouble far worse than this. You have no idea the messes my Zhen brethren dragged my sorry ass out of. Things have pretty quiet around here lately—reckon it was time for a good dustup.”
“Cerul gets her way, it’ll be more than a dustup,” Joran pointed out. “The bitch will shut your mine down and enjoy doing it. Ruin your business while pretending she’s watching out for the safety of Frontieran citizens.”
“I might have something to say about that,” Creed drawled. “Not without skills. Also, Taara and I may live out here in the back of beyond, but I do have friends. I’m not the only one of the brethren who left the order. Some went on to take positions with the IGSF, and there’s even one on the Alliance council.”
“Holy hells.” Joran’s brows shot up.
Creed grinned. “I may be your little bro, but I’ve been grown up for a few years, Joran.”
“That’s true. I guess I just remember when.”
Creed sobered, his azure gaze intent. “So do I, Jor. And what I remember is you going after men twice your age and size—for me. I won’t ever forget that. And I don’t mind returning the favor whenever and however.”
Joran shook his head. “Logan was the one who saved the both of us. All I did was get myself in trouble.”
Creed shook his head. “You were just a kid against adults who had blades. I might not have lived long enough for anyone to save me if you hadn’t jumped in.”
Joran guessed that was true. He’d certainly turned the pedophiles’ attention to himself. The memory always gave him an agonizing mixture of pride in his older brother, and shame. He’d been down on his back in the filthy, stinking alley, one of the men holding him, the other enjoying telling him just how he was going to violate him and then kill him, while the little blond boy cowered nearby, weeping.
Logan had appeared at the entrance of the narrow, refuse-filled space, glowing like an avenging angel in the glare of lights from the bars.
“Joran,” he’d called. “Stay down.” Then he’d proceeded without further words to laser both of the men. He’d left them there and without protest carried Creed back to their apartment, supporting a bruised and shaken Joran with his other arm.
Creed shifted. “You gonna share this with Logan?”
Il Zhazid, terror of the plains, lover of women too numerous to recall, felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Of course. I need to warn him to watch out for any unusual activity.”
Logan was the oldest. He’d been fifteen when he’d insisted his mother take in Joran, his half-brother by another woman, and only nineteen when they found Creed. However, he’d behaved like a man, and taken on the responsibilities of one, and Joran and Creed had looked up to him as the adult in their lives.
A habit that had never left them. He’d raised the two of them, seen that they had every advantage he could give them. Joran knew without question that he would still do everything in his power to save either of his brothers.
Logan Stark was not an easy man. He wore his mantle of power and wealth with arrogance, and he’d been accused by his own mistress of wielding beings like pieces on a holochess board. Joran had often been furious with him and so had Creed, especially recently when Logan turned his attention to getting Creed a woman, but doing it in an underhanded way.
Chastened by Creed’s fury, Logan had agreed not to try anything of the kind with Joran. Of course Joran didn’t exactly have a problem getting women. His problem was shrugging them off when he was tired of them.
“I meant, are you gonna ask him for help?” Creed said.
Joran didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to. But this was no time for misplaced pride.
“Cerul threatened him too,” he said. “I can’t jeopardize his business on Frontiera, especially that new AquaTerraCon deal.”
“LodeStar Security is the best credit can buy,” Creed reminded him.
“True. I’ll link Logan next, fill him in. Then decide what the hells to do.” It was going to have to be good.
“Maybe the wisest course of action for now, if you can stomach it, is to let Cerul believe she has you exactly where she wants you.”
“So far, she does,” Joran pointed out dryly.
Creed frowned. “No. She’s attempting to use your care for me and Logan to manipulate you, but think about it. The percentage of Logan’s business interests on Frontiera is not small, but it wouldn’t break him to lose it all. Far from it. Credit-wise, he’d barely notice it. Ego is a different story.
“As for me,” Creed added. “I have plenty of credit, and I’ve been making investments elsewhere, in case the mine plays out. Also, since Cerul made more or less a direct threat I’ll remind you that LodeStone Mine is a fortress. Life support, even hydroponic gardens, all underground. We could live down there for six months if need be. No one would get in, either, don’t care what Cerul says. I know the firepower the IGSF has on Frontiera—it’s not big enough to take out my security system and one hundred feet of rock. She blows the entrance, we have another way out. Lars, Taara and I are the only ones who know where it is, or how to access it.”
“Good to know,” Joran said. “But I don’t want either of you to lose anything. And I don’t want your women or your people harassed or afraid.”
“Logan can keep his people safe, if you tell him enough. Being Logan, he probably has surveillance on Kiri anyway. And I can watch out for Taara and my employees. You have a woman you need kept safe?”
Joran shook his head. “They’re all savvy, tough. Except one,” he remembered. “And she won’t be staying long.” The last thing he needed now was a little blue-eyed immi to worry about. He speared his fingers through his hair, pulling it back
from his forehead.
Creed nodded. “Now, most importantly—you gonna let that bitch Cerul push you around?”
Joran straightened, his shoulders going back, head up as he faced his brother’s challenge.
“Oh, hells, no. This means war. We’re gonna take that bitch down, along with the slavers.”
Creed’s blue eyes lit with pleasure, though he raised his brows in warning. “You take on the IGSF, you’re skating close to breaking Alliance law.”
“I’m not gonna take on the IGSF,” Joran insisted. “I have nothing but respect for the Forces. But not a woman who’ll use their power to threaten citizens.”
“Agreed. LodeStar security, by which I mean Bronc Berenson, could work with you on that,” Creed pointed out. “Slavers took Kiri’s brother and they tried to take her.”
Joran nodded. “I want the slavers, too. I want them off Frontiera, running so scared they piss themselves when anyone so much as suggests doing business here. Also, if Cerul is setting herself up to be a military dictator here, no matter how lofty her motivation, she’s going to have to go through me to get there. ”
“I’m in,” Creed said. “Anything you need. This planet is young, a new beginning for immigrants, a chance to do things right this time. We do not need a military despot who thinks she’s running this world, not just keeping it safe. I want a chance for civilian government to take hold. Want my children to grow up under a democratic government, not a dictatorship.”
Joran stared. “Children?”
Creed flushed. “Not yet, or not that I know of. But working on it.”
Joran nodded, happy that the ex-warrior had a good woman, a pretty one who looked at him like he hung the moons. “That’s good, brother. Let me know as soon as.”
“I will.” Then Creed’s blue eyes filled with mischief. “So, tell me more about this woman in your tont who is not a warrior or camp follower.”
Joran groaned. “Fuck me. She’s a rescue from the slave auction. Trouble is, this gang drugged their victims with some foul shit. She can’t remember anything before she woke up in their transport—who she is, where she’s from, not even her own name.”
Creed’s brows flew up. “You bought her at auction? Bid for her, like a catamount pony?”
Joran scowled at him. “That is how the slavers do it. So yeah, I bought her.”
Creed’s mouth quivered. “You bought a woman. Thought you had all you could do to keep up with the females runnin’ wild in your camp.”
“Still true,” Joran said, ignoring the heat on his cheekbones. “I did it this time to save her from being raped, or worse.”
“And you’re protecting her. That’s good. You know, you could have the IGSF run her on the galactic database. Unless,” Creed added, “you’d rather keep her to yourself.”
“Kiss my lilywhite ass,” Joran retorted. “Knew there was a reason I moved all the way out here. To keep you and Logan out of my business.”
Creed waggled his brows. “I’ll kiss my wife’s ass, thanks. Prettier than yours.”
Then he sobered. “Speaking of Logan, you linked him lately?”
“Couple of weeks ago, why?”
“He looks about as full of life as a droid,” Creed said. “And every time I talk to him, he has a drink in his hand. So when you do link him, have an eye for that.”
Unease rippled through Joran. He himself drank as much as he wanted and as often as he wanted, although he didn’t let it run his life. But Logan normally kept as tight a rein on his pleasures as he did his financial empire. “You know why he’s drinking?”
“Think so. I wouldn’t have said this before Taara, but...I think it was losing Kiri.”
“I thought Logan could keep any woman in the galaxy happy. You know what happened?”
Creed looked uncomfortable. “Taara and Kiri are tight. Women tell each other things. Seems when Kiri was kidnapped, he thought she’d left him for a ganger, name of Tal Darkrunner. Logan went ice cold, cut her out of his life, hooked up with other women and made no secret of it. Kiri arrived here, she went straight to him...and saw him with one of his ships’ guards. Serpentian, beautiful.”
Joran winced. “I’m guessing she didn’t take that well.”
“Taara claims it broke Kiri. Logan being Logan, he decided he wanted her back, was doing everything to get her. But when she learned how he played Taara and me, she told him they were done for good. Since then...” he shook his head. “He’s not good.”
Joran shook his head. Even the mighty could be brought low by a female. Kiri was a strong woman, a match for Logan it appeared. He hoped his brother got her back, but to be sitting alone and drinking over her, no.
“I do not need that shit, in any way, shape or form. Glad you found a good woman, Creed, but I’m waiting a long time to settle.”
Creed gave him an odd look. “Being with a good woman doesn’t mean you give up anything, Joran. It means you get more—a lot more. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been, because now I know exactly what I’m working for, and if I have to fight, what I’m fighting for.”
“Someday,” Joran shrugged. “I’ll find a sweet, quiet woman who’ll do what I say, warm my bed at night and rub my back, and bear me a few sons. I’ll be at peace.”
He smiled at this vision. Of course he wouldn’t be ready for that for years; he liked his life the way it was, wild and free. But someday, when he did choose a woman of his own, she’d keep herself to herself except when he was ready to share, and she’d let him go his own way when he needed to.
“I hope that works out for you, brother. But listen, you keep me in the loop on this. I can be there fast or bring in help. Matter of fact, if you’ve no objection, I’ll speak with one of my Zhen brethren, let them know about this.”
“I’ve no objection to some Zhen cooperation—none at all. Thanks.”
“And you’ll link Logan?”
“Yes, Father. Now go see if your woman wants you for any little thing, like massaging her feet. I’ll talk to you later.”
Joran signed off, but as he rose and walked down to the river, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that there at the last, his little brother had been pitying him. He shook his head in amused disgust. Let a woman throw a rope over a man, and he wanted everyone else to follow him into bondage.
Not that Creed was unhappy; in fact he had a glow about him. Relaxed, smiling a lot more than he used to, more open. Little too open, to tell truth.
Joran was not into that emotional stuff. It was a morass waiting to suck a man in, suffocate him. Even the strong women his brothers had found had expectations and a different way of viewing the galaxy, and especially of viewing a man’s actions and words. Witness the cold shoulder Logan was getting now.
And a weak woman, like Logan’s mother, who’d let Logan carry them all, barely seeming to notice he and Joran were there, locked in her own drama and tragedy, emerging only when she needed something—even worse. A weak woman was like a black hole, whether disguised to resemble pleasure or duty. Logan had slaved to earn credit for the three of them, to keep the cruddy little apartment over their heads while she zoned out with drugs and whatever haze of fantasy existed in her own head, waiting for the man who’d fathered both boys by different women to return and sweep her away.
Until she’d walked out in front of that airbus and delivered the final slap of indifference to Logan, letting him know he wasn’t worth even living for. Dead or not, Joran had hated her then, for the lost look that Logan had worn for weeks, until they’d rescued Creed and they both had a new focus.
Joran shuddered and turned his face into the breeze, letting it blow his hair back and cool his skin. No, he’d fight, all right, but he’d fight to keep his life his own, not being a burden to anyone and not letting anyone weigh him down either.
Still, he’d warn Logan immediately to be on his guard for any unusual activity from the IGSF.
He’d play it down, though, maybe confer with Bronc Berenson on the side. Just
for once he wanted to be the one cushioning Logan a bit. If the man was drinking too much, not sleeping, this was not like him. He didn’t need more shit to deal with.
***
Back in camp, Joran stopped under a tree where a pair of older men sat with Mako, who lay in an air hammock, sweating out the aftereffects of the regen tube.
“Reckon you gave a bellyache to whoever ran that auction,” said Draz, a grizzled veteran of the Solar Wars.
“An empty belly, anyway,” Joran agreed.
Draz laughed, a raspy sound that turned into a cough, from the hookah smoke that always wreathed him. “That means our bellies are full, eh?”
“Right. Speaking of which, here comes lunch.”
Joran ate a yama offered him by Nera’s son, who told him cheerfully his mother had instructed him to find his lord and feed him.
“Well, give her my thanks,” Joran said, and took a big bite of the warm roll. Tasted the same as always, of plain meat, veg and bread, but at least it was filling. “Give the rest to these fine pirates.”
Draz and Tarn accepted food, but Mako shook his head.
“You’ve got to eat, boy,” Tarn said.
“Later,” Mako rumbled. “Not hungry.”
Joran exchanged a look with the older men, who nodded to show they’d keep an eye on the big Mau man, who had no partner to look after him.
Looking up the bluff over the camp, Joran caught the glint of sunlight off an official emblem.
“See you later,” he said, rising. “I need to talk to our guests.”
“Call me if they give you trouble,” Tarn offered, a twinkle in his eye. “The female is cute—I’d let her put me in soft restraints.”
Joran shook his head. “She’s all business, that one. She’d put you in restraints, all right, but then she’d leave you there.”
The IGSF officers had landed their small, gleaming white cruisers on the rise above the camp, where they could see the sweep of prairie around them, to the jut of the mountains in the west, and south along the river. They both sat in small, folding chairs in the slivers of shade provided by their cruisers, Arc playing a holodice game while Mecham watched Jordan climb the hill toward them. Both had cooling capes draped over their heads and shoulders.