The Bargaining

by Christine Warren

  Kili heard a deep rumbling sound from inside the cell, then a slight rustling. The guard turned and peered inside through the small window in the door. He must have been satisfied, because he grunted and unlocked the cell, pointing his gun inside before he took a step.

  On the floor inside the small room, Kili saw an enormous man with dark, silken skin, stretched out on the cold stone. The guard stepped back and jerked his chin at the cell. “Get in. Remember what I said. Knock and one of us will come for you. Sooner or later.”

  She felt a heavy palm against her back and a rough shove that propelled her into the room and sent her scrambling not to spill the contents of her tray. The door slammed shut behind her and she heard the key turning in the lock, sealing her fate. Sending up a quick prayer, she hoped she had made the right decision.

  She took a deep breath and told herself to be calm, but that task became much more difficult when the figure on the floor stirred. Muscles shifted and bunched as the man pushed himself to his feet and turned his gaze on her. She caught a glimpse of chiseled features and dark, dark eyes before she remembered to look down, but she could still feel that gaze on her.

  “Well, well,” the prisoner rumbled. “What do we have here?”

  Chapter Four

  Deacon was so busy cursing the efficiency of the guard in making him lie down before opening the door that he almost missed the whispery sound of feminine footsteps crossing the threshold. Then a thread of sound reached his ears, and he tensed, drawing in a deep, silent breath. That sweet, succulent scent told him a woman had just entered his cell, and that was enough to make him curious.

  As soon as the door slammed shut and the guard stopped yammering, he pushed himself to his feet and turned to assess the situation. Just inside the door to his cell stood a beautiful young woman, mostly naked, clutching a battered metal tray and shivering like a jump drive in reverse.

  “Well, well,” he purred. “What do we have here?”

  The girl still didn’t look at him. “I have been sent with food, darash.”

  She spoke so softly and with her head down that it took Deacon a minute to figure out what she had said. It didn’t help that her gold-dusted bare skin and cold-tightened nipples proved to be a bit of a distraction.

  “Have you?”

  Not what he’d expected. He hadn’t expected to be fed at all, let alone by a good-as-naked sex kitten. He walked over to the door, pretending not to notice when she sidled away from him, and looked outside. The guard was nowhere to be seen.

  “Yes, darash.”

  He turned back to her and raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I thought this was going to be more like being sent to my bed without supper.”

  The woman shook her head. “Of course not. It would be dishonorable to starve a prisoner before he has been proven guilty of any crime. You have not even been questioned yet; therefore, you must be treated as a guest, even while you are confined to the cells.”

  Deacon snorted. “Now there’s some bass-ackwards logic if I’ve ever heard it.” The woman didn’t answer, just stood in the corner holding the tray. He sighed. “Okay, hand it over. I’m not dumb enough to skip a meal when it’s offered. Providing you taste it for me first.”

  “Yes, darash.”

  He glowered and reached for the tray. He liked being pampered by a woman as much as the next heterosexual man with a heartbeat, but he just could not understand this planet. Who the hell wanted a woman to be an unassuming mouse anytime you weren’t fucking her? Not his idea of a good time.

  The woman surprised him by turning and shielding the tray from him with her body. “No, no. You must allow me to feed you, darash. It is unseemly for a man to serve himself.”

  “Say huh?”

  She nodded earnestly and Deacon sighed.

  “Fine,” he said and stalked over to the cot, “but there ain’t no way you’re gonna be able to reach me if I stand, and I’m not spending the next twenty minutes bent over.”

  She followed him across the room, a good five paces behind, and he fought the urge to roar at her just to see what would happen. But he was too afraid she’d drop dead from fright. He eased down onto the edge of the cot with a grunt.

  The girl knelt carefully in front of him and set the tray down beside him before removing the bowl and chunk of bread.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “I am called Kishantiana.”

  He watched while she scooped up a mouthful of stew with the bread and blew on it, tasting it as instructed before raising it to his mouth. In order to see what she was doing, she had to lift her head enough to see his mouth, and he got his first glimpse of her face.

  She was beautiful, like an expensive doll, with high, flat cheekbones and tip-tilted, almond-shaped eyes the color of the richest coffee he’d ever tasted, the kind they only grew in the fertile mountains on Terce.

  He accepted the mouthful from her hand and chewed thoughtfully. She shouldn’t interest him the way she did. He’d never gone for the meek and mild type, but something about the woman intrigued him. Now that she was so close, kneeling between his legs and feeding him from her hand, he was beginning to think her trembling had less to do with fear than with adrenaline.

  “My name is Deacon. Eric Deacon.”

  “Yes, darash.”

  “No. I’m not your master or anything like it. If you’ve gotta call me something, call me Deacon. Or Deac.”

  She held another bite to his lips. “The Ankharan word for ‘master’ is dashim. Darash is more like ... um ... like saying ‘sir.’”

  “I’m nobody’s sir, either.” He reached for the cup of water, but she got there first, holding it up while he drank. He almost stopped her, but to her credit, she didn’t spill a drop. “I’m not from here, little bit, and I’m not real fond of being treated like I am.”

  He caught the slight hesitation in her movements as she set the cup back on the tray and picked up the bread. The next time she raised her hand to his mouth, she also raised her gaze to his.

  “I know very well that you are not from here. That is why I came to you. I have a bargain to offer you.”

  Chapter Five

  Kili felt her heart racing and hoped she wouldn’t spill anything on the prisoner before he made his decision. She remembered catching a glimpse of him when he and the other offworlder had presented themselves in front of the prince, but she always sat in the back row of nitarai and of course she hadn’t looked directly at him. She hadn’t remembered him as being so large, or so fascinating.

  He had dark skin, far darker than her pale, barely golden complexion, and darker even than the prince, who was a swarthy man. This man who called himself Deacon had skin the color of rich, strong tea, a dark, golden brown. He had eyes to match, an even richer, darker brown as opposed to the black she’d first assumed. And he towered over her, one of the tallest men she’d ever seen and heavily muscled, like a professional fighter. She couldn’t even begin to imagine his strength.

  Those dark eyes watched her every move, and the brows above them shot up when she mentioned her bargain. Before he could speak, she hurried on. “Please, dar-- er, Deacon. We must be careful that the guards do not hear. You would suffer for it.”

  “And what about you?”

  She shrugged and looked down. “I would be sold. Or perhaps executed.” She didn’t fear it, though. She had grown too used to the possibilities. “But if you agree to my bargain, then any risk is worth it.”

  Deacon finished the last bite of bread, shook his head at the stew she offered him, and pushed the nearly empty tray away. Kili moved it to the floor beside the bed and looked up at him. “I must be seen to be tending you, or the guards will be suspicious if they decide to check on us. Do I have permission to touch you ... Deacon?”

  He shrugged, his face curious. “Sure. At least until you tell me what you’re talking about.”

  Kili nodded and blew out a shaky breath. This was the part of her plan she’d had th
e most trouble with when she thought about it, so she figured the best thing to do was not to think, but to do. Even though she’d performed these actions so many times before, this was different. Everything seemed different now, when no one stood above her shouting orders. Somehow what she’d been made to do took on a whole new light when she chose to do it. Clearing her mind, she reached for the fastening of his trousers.

  “Whoa!” he growled and caught her wrists in his big hands, holding her firmly away from his groin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She tried not to sound impatient. “You said I could touch you.”

  “I said touch, not grope.”

  “Deacon, if the guards do not believe that you wish me to stay here and tend you, they will wonder why I speak to you. You must let me.”

  “You and I apparently have seriously different definitions of the word ‘tend,’” he said. He paused a minute, then relented. “All right. If you need a cover, you can give me a massage. But I make it a personal rule never to fuck sex slaves I haven’t known for at least a day and a half. A man’s gotta have limits.”

  He released her hands and turned, stretching out facedown on the cot and pillowing his head in his arms. Kili thought she saw him wince, but she couldn’t be sure. She eyed the broad plain of his back, thick with muscles that shifted and danced when he adjusted his position on the cot. It reminded her of the graceful strength of the stud stallion the prince kept in his stables and allowed out only for ceremonial parades. Kili had always empathized with the animal and admired the image of caged power he presented as he trotted through the crowded streets.

  Maybe if she treated the prisoner as another beautiful animal, it wouldn’t be so difficult to touch him. Either way, she had to do it. If the guards looked in, all her frantic planning would be for nothing.

  Her hands trembled just a little as she laid them on either side of Deacon’s spine. They looked pale and small resting there. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment, gathered her courage, and began the kneading motions of a massage.

  His body amazed her. Compared to the prince’s soft, pampered form, he felt like solid rock, his flesh barely shifting under the pressure of her hands. He grunted and she gave a little jump.

  “You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he growled from where his head was pillowed on his forearms. “Go ahead and put your back into it, or I won’t even feel it. Trust me, I can take it.”

  “Yes, D-Deacon.”

  She did as he asked, leaning forward and pressing with more strength, the heels of her hands digging into the planes of muscle and kneading out some of the stiffness. As she worked, she started to realize that some of what she’d assumed was the natural hardness of well-developed muscle tissue was actually stiffening caused by tension and injury. She worked hard to find those pockets of stress and work them out with the pressure of her hands.

  Kili worked in silence for several minutes before she flicked her glance up to the prisoner’s face and saw his dark eyes watching her over his shoulder.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the spa treatment, muffin,” he said, “but I thought you said you wanted to talk to me about something. You want to get around to talking?”

  She felt the blush staining her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Yes, I do wish to speak with you. I arranged to do something worthy of punishment so that I would be sent to the kitchens and I would have an excuse to see you when I was sent to deliver your food.”

  “What did you do?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s not important. What is important is that you listen to me very carefully and know that the bargain I am offering you should have much value in your estimation.”

  His shoulders shifted beneath her hands in a shrug. “I’m listening. What did you have in mind?”

  Kili took a deep breath and forced the words out before she could lose her courage. From this point on, there would be no turning back. “I can help you escape from the prison and from the city. I can help you break free.”

  One of his dark eyebrows quirked. “Well, I guessed that much. When you came in here and instead of feeding me like a good girl, you offered me a bargain, I didn’t think you were talking about discount hull patches for my ship.”

  She frowned. “If you knew what I would say, why did you ask me to say it?”

  He snorted. “I guessed you were going to offer to help me out here, but I didn’t know what you wanted in return. Still don’t.” His mouth twisted wryly. “It’s not like I’ve got credits to burn at the moment.”

  Kili shook her head impatiently and her long hair fell forward to spill against Deacon’s back. She thought she saw him twitch. “No, I have no desire for money.”

  Deacon lifted his head a little to look at her more closely. “Then what?”

  Kili closed her eyes and dove off the cliff. “I want you to take me with you.”

  “Shit. I fucking knew it.”

  Chapter Six

  Deacon ran through a quick mental list of swear words in seven languages and then made a mental note to learn at least seven more. How the fuck did he always manage to end up in these messes?

  Growling, he twisted onto his back faster than she could blink and grabbed her by the arms, trying not to notice how soft she felt in his hands. He kept his grip on her and flipped them over until she lay on her back beneath him, her eyes bright with surprise and wariness.

  Shifting again, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head to the cot. “All right, what’s the deal?”

  “I told you. If you will take me with you, I will show you how to escape from --”

  Deacon shook his head. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I want to know what you’re after. And why.”

  She shifted beneath him, but his weight kept her pinned in place. Deacon had the feeling that if he wasn’t careful, she would be crushed under him. She was even tinier than he’d first thought.

  “I want to leave Ankhar,” she said after a short pause. “I don’t belong here.”

  Raking his eyes over her mostly naked body, Deacon laughed. “You look right at home to me.”

  Her jaw clenched, but she kept her eyes cast down and her voice soft and meek. “Men don’t usually look past the lya and the bare breasts. I imagine all nitarai look alike when one doesn’t see our faces.”

  His eyebrows shot up. Huh. That had almost sounded like a backbone. “I see your face. And yeah, I know you don’t look like the typical Ankharan. But that doesn’t mean you don’t belong on the planet. Your family’s here, right?”

  Her laugh did not sound amused. “How much do you know of the Ankhar culture, Deacon? Nitarai have no families once they reach breeding age. They are raised in the harems once they have their first blood. Then when they are ready, they are sold to their new masters.”

  Deacon felt his lip curl with distaste. “Your family sold you when you were just a kid?”

  She tensed under him almost imperceptibly, but Deacon was pressed too close to her not to notice. “No,” she said. “I do not look like the typical Ankharan because I am not. I was not born here. I was born on Golian.”

  That made sense. Her features had the look of the Asian-descended settlers who had populated the grass-covered planet. Suddenly his memory clicked into gear and he frowned. “Wasn’t Golian taken in the last Frontier Offensive? The Protectorate gobbled up at least ten rocks on that one. Jubal, Gnori, and Bahn V, as well. Right?”

  Her chin dipped once in an abrupt nod.

  Deacon swore. “They took you captive, didn’t they? And sold you to the Ankharans?”

  They weren’t really questions, but he still cursed again when she nodded. “Along with a hundred or so other young girls from our system. We were all under fifteen. Everyone older was already dead or on the prison ships. But we didn’t all come to Ankhar.”

  Fuck. He really didn’t want to hear this. “They weren’t filling an order, were they? They auctioned you all off
on Solomon Prime.”

  Her eyes squeezed shut on a nod.

  “Shitpissfuck.”

  Deacon let go of her wrists and dropped onto the edge of the cot next to her, lying on his side between her and the door. If anyone looked in the small window, all they would see was his back. If they’d seen his face, they would know immediately that she was definitely not tending him right now.

  Solomon Prime. Fucking perfect.

  Deacon hadn’t joined the rebellion because he loved the Protectorate and hated to see corruption eat away at its noble intentions, nor because he was looking for a fast thrill. He’d joined it because he had first-hand experience with the way the military megalith operated. It was like a swarm of locusts through the universe, destroying everything in its path. Only, unlike locusts, when the Protectorate finished feeding, it made a big deal out of telling its conquered citizens how much better off they were for having been crushed beneath its boot.

  In his years with the rebel army, he’d seen a lot of evidence of how corrupt and destructive the Protectorate really was behind its shiny, polished principles. Protecting planets meant extorting all their wealth. Bringing the cutting edge of progress meant destroying ancient cultures and desecrating the societies that had founded them. And promoting freedom and equality among all living species meant only the ones who weren’t butchered during invasions or conscripted into the vast army or sold as slaves in the vast black markets the Protectorate claimed to have abolished decades ago.

  Black markets like Solomon Prime.

  According to the written laws of the Protectorate, slavery had been abolished for all sentient peoples everywhere shortly after the First Interstellar War when the United Interstellar Protectorate was established. The written law had very little to do with the practical one, though. The main tactics of the leaders of the Protectorate had always been tyrannical brute force and terror, and there was no better way to terrorize a people than to kill most of them and enslave the others. Quick, simple, and very effective.