Off World 2: Sanctuary

by Stephanie Vaughn

  Now that Alex knew Sandy a little better, he could see how it was all tempered by the man’s innate decency, the gentleness of his manner. Sometimes it was hard to remember that not everyone could see that, though. They just saw the potential for murder and mayhem and got the hell out of the man’s way.

  Taking the spot that miraculously opened, Sandy bellied up to the bar. He leaned over, letting his elbows take his weight, and gazed at Alex. Despite the serious look, Alex’s insides melted and his dick stirred, going all tingly. The moans from the stage and the crowd noise all faded as Alex’s world narrowed to just the beautiful man centimeters away from him.

  “Hey, baby. You got a minute?”

  “Of course.” Alex spoke without thinking, not that consideration would change the answer. He checked the traffic on the other side of the bar; Teddy would be swamped if he left for too long. “Only for a minute, though? We’re pretty busy.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out all by myself.” Coming around the end of the bar, Sandy followed Alex’s lead into the liquor closet. Dark and cramped, it held the expensive wines and thousand-credit bottles of alcohol for the high rollers. “Kiss?”

  Swamped by Sandy’s nearness, senses filled with the scent and sight of him, Alex could only manage a guttural, “Sure.” His nod was cut off by Sandy’s mouth coming down on his, and those big hands settled on his hips.

  The heat of Sandy’s body drew him in and Alex pressed close, only to pull back, worried about sullying Sandy with the residue of sugar and lime and the smell of stale beer. Sandy just made a happy noise deep in his throat, though, and pulled Alex back in. “You feel good. I’m sorry I didn’t get back sooner. Lotta shit to get done.”

  Wrapping one arm around his back, Sandy pressed their lower bodies together and the electrifying feel of Sandy’s dick rubbing against his made Alex groan. Sandy leaned back against the door, put both hands under Alex’s ass and lifted, his hips rocking as he moved Alex over him. Alex wrapped his arms around Sandy’s shoulders and hung on; resting his forehead on Sandy’s shoulder, a whispered, “Sandy,” the best he could do.

  “Alex, you gotta stop distracting me. I came to talk, I swear.”

  Laughing weakly, Alex closed his eyes and let the feelings take him over. Warmth and lust and affection and trust and sex. He wanted to melt all over Sandy and be absorbed directly through Sandy’s skin.

  He wanted to be naked.

  He wanted to fuck.

  A fist pounded on the door Sandy leaned against. “Alex! Get your ass out here, I’m gettin’ killed, man. Come on.”

  “Crap. We need to talk, Alex.” The only light came from an ancient illuma-box overhead, but when Alex opened his eyes, the lines of fatigue above Sandy’s eyes and beside his mouth were starkly obvious. “If I buy the house a round, will that get us some time?”

  Alex gasped at Sandy’s offer. “You can’t! You can’t afford that.” His feet touched the ground again as Sandy eased him back down.

  “This is important. How soon can you get off duty?”

  More pounding. Teddy. “For fuck’s sake, Alex. Come on!”

  “You look like you could use some sleep. Why don’t you use my room? Get some rest while I finish my shift. I’ll come up when I’m off work. You look beat.” Alex used his thumb to try to smooth the lines over Sandy’s brow, the other hand stroking the one running vertically alongside Sandy’s mouth.

  “If that’s what it takes. We need some time alone -- just you and me -- to talk.”

  “Sure. Whatever you say.”

  “No, not whatever I say. Alex…” Dark eyes serious, Sandy opened the door and stepped out. “You’ll come straight up when you’re off duty?”

  The heat of Sandy’s hand where it rested on his hip warmed him and revived the tingling in his dick. Alex nodded. “Of course. Go now, okay?” He gave Sandy a shove and paused to retie his server’s apron a little looser, all the better to hide his hard-on.

  Alex was studying the video display for the next several drink orders when Joe Sotheran’s faintly Euro-bloc accent penetrated his focus. “Alex, I’d like to see you in my office when you’ve finished your shift.”

  Hands clasped loosely in front of him, Alex’s boss gazed at him stoically while his new business partner scanned the room with a restless gaze. Looking for Shae, perhaps? Alex glanced from one to the other, possible scenarios racing through his head. This had better not be another attempt to pressure him into performing. He’d do every other job conceivable before he’d do that.

  Chapter 13

  Sandy decided he really must be tired if having a drink at the bar and watching Alex work didn’t sound good to him. The watching Alex part was fine; but the music, the heat and noise generated by that many bodies all in one place didn’t appeal to him at all. Besides, it wasn’t like he needed any more experience in the unfulfilled longing department. Trying to catch a little nap in Alex’s room might be the smart thing after all.

  Taking a last look before he left, Sandy’s gaze was drawn to the reach of Alex’s long arms as he pulled down wine glasses from the overhead rack. The loose, billowy clothing couldn’t completely hide the lines of Alex’s body, not to Sandy’s eyes, and especially not now that he’d seen them up close and naked. He’d love to be running his hands up the sides of Alex’s waist, cupping Alex’s ass in his hands like he had in the storage room.

  Sandy shook his head in an attempt to keep the images from taking hold and forced his feet to get moving. Not only could he use the rest, but it would help pass the time until Alex’s shift was over and he could join Sandy up in Alex’s room. Maybe Sandy could convince Alex to lie down with him. There was no rule that he knew of that said they couldn’t talk just as well from a horizontal position as a vertical one.

  Working his way toward the door, Sandy took minor note of the stage show. He usually didn’t need a program to figure out the night’s theme, but he had to admit that tonight’s had him stumped. It looked like… historic musicians, maybe? Spandex and high heels, sure -- seen it dozens of times. The powdered wig on the guy topping was a new one, though. And what the hell was the cross-dresser doing in there, anyway? At least, he thought it was a cross-dresser. Hoped so, anyway.

  Sandy paused to consider other possibilities, still partly occupied with the problem of what to do about Alex.

  How could Alex ever hope to overcome his past when he was still surrounded by the free market equivalent of what he had lived involuntarily for too many years? Sandy could look at the performers on stage and keep in mind that -- with the exception of the occasional amateur night -- these people were not only voluntary participants, they had taken part in a highly competitive selection process and won out over fierce competition. These were well-paid professionals who didn’t have to do what they were doing for a moment longer than they wanted to.

  Was Alex’s mind capable of making that distinction, though?

  He’d been taken young, before his attitudes and feelings about sex had had a chance to fully develop. He’d been kept against his will, a modern day sex slave centuries after anything close had been outlawed. Could he watch night after night, people having sex -- not because they felt anything for each other, or even just because it felt good, but for money -- and not be reminded of what he’d experienced?

  Sandy didn’t see how he possibly could.

  If Sandy wanted to have anything more with Alex than the friendship they’d developed from opposite sides of the bar in the man-on-man room at Nelly’s -- and he did -- it increasingly seemed as though they’d need to find Alex a new job.

  What could Alex do, though?

  Most of life on Doradus was service oriented. Doradus had begun life as a place to service interplanetary mining and transport ships working the asteroid belt. Everyone knew the story of how billionaire J. Gage Burnette had gambled early on that asteroid mining would be the next big thing and built stations catering to the industry. The half-dozen stations scattered throughout the belt had qui
ckly become vitally important to the people who’d been willing to give up the security of a post-revolutionary Earth to seek their fortunes in space.

  What Burnette hadn’t foreseen, though, was the difficulty of maintaining control over installations at the farthest reaches of human influence. It hadn’t taken any time at all for the crews recruited to run the stations to appreciate the unique positions of power they held and begin conducting their own business on the side -- business that had rapidly outpaced their original missions and become too lucrative to ignore. In slightly less than a decade, the stations broke away from the control of their home world and declared themselves independent entities.

  Sure, Burnette had more money than God, but the distances involved made bringing in an army impractical. Eventually a way would be found to bring the rebel stations to heel again, but for now it was the jagged edge of the frontier and every man had better look out for himself.

  Sandy threaded his way through the crowded lobby, heading toward the staff exit of Nelly’s. Whatever special Sotheran was running tonight had the place more crowded than the hold of a Republican penal transport; the room was packed. Maybe they were offering one-credit blowjobs on the het stage, because the crowd was thickest around that room; so thick that Sandy had difficulty navigating a straight path and found himself first jostled and then carried along by the crowd.

  The door to the staff quarters was in sight, though, and Sandy was lowering his shoulder, making a concerted effort to move that way when a hand grabbed his arm just above the elbow. Sandy’s reflexive move backward was countered by the jab of hard metal against his ribs.

  Nelly’s security staff was slipping if anyone had made it through with a weapon.

  “You’ll come quietly if you like your boyfriend’s face the way it looks now.”

  A matching prod on his left made Sandy pause. A quick glance over first one shoulder, then the other revealed a pair of small but tough-looking Euro types -- one dark, one fair-skinned dirty blond -- blocking him in. Being outnumbered didn’t worry him. Typical Euro bloc thugs, they were the dregs of the criminal classes -- cheap, interchangeable, and easily replaced. The human equivalent of a Saturday Night Special and everyone’s go-to when a job was likely to get messy.

  The weapons were a complicating factor, though, because sure as shit some bystanders were going to get in the way. Sandy didn’t know whether to believe them about Alex. That part was just as likely to be an empty threat as not.

  Just that few seconds’ pause was enough. Two more of the Euros’ buddies appeared, twitchy and irritable; exactly the type to take out a couple of collateral targets. The crowd behind the new pair melted away and a disembodied hand shoved Sandy through a bank of voluminous curtains that hid a door to the outside.

  “Good evening. I apologize for the abruptness of my manner, but my business is urgent and it was absolutely vital that I speak with you immediately.”

  Sandy jerked his arm free and turned to face the new voice, shifting to balance himself on the balls of his feet. New guy made it five to one -- not insurmountable numbers, although the weapons added to the equation. He’d gotten used to life on Doradus and stopped carrying a weapon. Used to his size, if not the reputation of his ship and teammates, smoothing the way, Sandy had to admit these guys didn’t look impressed.

  The one calling the shots was only slightly taller; a little less lean and a lot more polished than the ones holding the weapons. The flat nose and burn scars screamed old guard Securitate; most likely one of the dozens of ex-secret police turned freelance now making money in the free market economy of the post-revolutionary era.

  “I was just fine. As it happens, I’m not on duty right now. So if you’d like to talk to me, why don’t you come around to my storefront tomorrow? If you want to talk business, I’ll be able to quote you prices better from there, anyway. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get on with my evening.”

  “I’m so sorry, but I’ll have to insist on your indulging me for just a bit longer, I’m afraid. Dov?”

  In the instant it took Sandy to recognize the last word as a name, the thug to Sandy’s right and behind took a step back. Another poke to Sandy’s ribs from the left stole his attention briefly as the guy on the right came back, putting his weight behind a two-handed swing. The crack and thud, followed by searing pain in his knee told Sandy the joint, and probably a good bit of the cartilage, was gone.

  He brought his arms up, but the two goons who’d stood guard alongside their leader moved in quickly, twisting them out and to the side in order to bring maximum discomfort.

  “Mr. D’abu—”

  So they knew his name. They probably knew all about him, then.

  “Mr. D’abu, please. As is sometimes the nature of business, this will necessarily be unpleasant. Please understand that that is all it is -- business.”

  What the fuck? He’d never seen these guys before. Seen plenty like ‘em, but not these particular ones. Sandy shook his head, fighting back the nausea. “What kind of business? We turn you down for a job or something? Beat you to a deal? What?”

  His answer was a small shrug, the raising of an eyebrow, as though it was an insignificant thing they discussed. “I and my associates have put a good deal of effort into -- please, Mr. D’abu, don’t attempt that.” He’d been checking the positioning of the guys holding him when the goon with the blackjack stepped up again, this time swinging hard into Sandy’s ribs. “It is possible that you remind my man Dov here of someone from his past whom he did not like very well. He seems to be more enthusiastic than usual tonight. Tell me, how do your ribs feel?”

  “Br--broken.”

  It was true. What could have been a knife in his side, but was probably a broken rib or two, made a nice counterbalance to the agony in Sandy’s knee. He’d been dinged up pretty good more than once during his time in the Marines, but this one was going to leave a mark, he was sure.

  “I am sorry.” A slight grimace accompanied the delivery and Sandy almost believed the man, whoever he was. “History teaches us, though, that messages delivered sans… gravitas… frequently are not accepted with the appropriate level of seriousness.”

  “Message?” It hurt too much to draw a deep breath, so Sandy’s question came out more wheeze than speech. His shoulders and elbows weren’t too happy about the pressure being put on them, either.

  “As I was saying, my associates and I have put a substantial effort into building our business. You and your friends are now attempting to cut into that business. I’m sure you can appreciate our concern.”

  “You want to talk business? We’ll talk business with you. Maybe we can work out territories.”

  The one on Sandy’s left gave a savage twist to Sandy’s wrist and more bad news in the form of a subtle little pop sent Sandy to his knees.

  “I’m so sorry Mr. D’abu, but my associates simply cannot accept a compromise on the subject. You and your friends must cease and desist immediately or more unpleasantness will follow. Do you understand?”

  His shoulder threatening to dislocate, Sandy stared back. Besides the fact that pain was hampering his breathing, he knew a rhetorical question when he heard one.

  Hands clasped in front of him, the man had an air of seriousness and regret, almost, about his long face as he nodded again in the direction of his chief enforcer. “Dov, please explain to Mr. D’abu how important it is to us that his associates appreciate our position.”

  Bracing himself for another assault with the stick, Sandy never saw the fist that connected with the side of his head and cheek. His last thought before he slid into the darkness was that there must’ve been a pair of old fashioned brass knuckles behind it.

  ***

  “You wanted to see me, Joe?”

  Alex hoped this wouldn’t take long. He wanted to get back to his room as soon as he could so that he could curl up with Sandy and get some sleep. Poor Sandy had looked beat. Maybe Alex could distract Sandy from whatever it was he wan
ted to talk about so that they could just hold each other and not think. That would be nice. But first he had to get through whatever the boss had on his mind.

  “Please sit down, Alex.” Sitting behind his desk, Joe Sotheran looked all business. A computer screen off to one side scrolled numbers across its face; each line a different color, the numbers updated and constantly changing. Obviously reflecting the different rooms, Alex guessed that the fluctuating numbers probably reflected attendance, while the rising numbers were most likely either gross income or possibly net, adjusted to take expenses into account and give a truer picture of profits. “Interested?”

  Tearing his gaze away from the accounts screen, Alex looked back at Joe. “Hmm? Well, yes, actually. The different colors are each a different room?”

  “On this screen, yes. We’ve also got real-time numbers on each of the private rooms, the wait staff, the performers, even the bar staff. ”

  “Performers? You keep track of who’s on stage?”