Clan and Conscience

by Tracy St. John

  “Fuck,” Ospar gasped.

  “Hell, yeah,” Jol answered.

  When Ospar drove himself down, Jol’s grasp moved with the same demand to the base of his raging erections. Several drops of passion splattered from Ospar that time as fiery delight surged from his secondary to the larger. The Dramok’s control frayed. Need pounded with ferocious insistence, lighting his whole body. Fuck. He needed to fuck.

  His rhythm quickened, fed by desperation for more sensation. Jol groaned and kept up the same pace, forcing Ospar to feel something akin to what he did to the Nobek. Forcing him to accept the same shattering exhilaration that had only one end.

  An end that beckoned Ospar like a beacon in the rising storm of desperate craving. He rose and fell over the other man, driven by the insistent grasp, by the incredible fullness inside, by the constant surges of fervor tightening his lower length and pushing molten lava into the primary.

  Their flesh cracked together in a relentless tattoo. Ospar plunged down to meet Jol’s brutal thrusts, then jerked up to drive down again. The Nobek’s face worked, the passion making his expression look almost enraged as he pulled on Ospar’s shafts. His strong hands drove the Dramok beyond any conscious control. Pure instinct directed Ospar. His whole being focused on chasing that growing desire to find release before it killed him, to unleash the taut strain tying his guts in knots.

  “I could fuck you all night.” Ospar moaned the only words that made any sense to him at that moment.

  Jol heaved for breath, his hands never missing a beat as they stroked the Dramok into a frenzy. “You win again, Ospar. You can say things that don’t make me want to break your jaw.”

  “So…so glad I can prove you wrong. Oh…oh, that’s the spot. Oh!” He’d shifted slightly, thrown off balance by a heady rush of furor through his groin.

  Jol worked him harder, enticing Ospar to spring ever more urgently on his primary. “That’s it. Ride my cock. Ride me. Fuck me. Make me come inside you again. That’s it. Do it.”

  A rush of tsunami force billowed from Ospar’s secondary, flooding into his main shaft. His pace staggered as a wash of pure whiteness filled his vision. Volcanic heat streamed through his lengths, first as a torrent of blinding sensation, and then in rapid swells that jetted from his very gut. He cried out with every exquisite jolt.

  As the most intense waves subsided into ripples of pleasure, Ospar became aware he was on his back. A huge figure loomed over him, pounding against his ass. Jol grunted as he fucked him, driving against the Dramok’s hotspot, forcing every mote of ecstasy from him.

  Then Jol fell over him. His cock jerked in Ospar’s ass, filling him with warmth. He continued to pump, strained cries muffled in the bed linens above the Dramok’s shoulder. Ospar wrapped his arms about the Nobek, holding him close as his motions eased and shouts faded.

  They laid like that for some time, relearning how to breathe normally, collecting the shattered remains of their senses. At last Jol rose up. Ospar pretended he didn’t miss the weight pinning him down. The Nobek gazed down at him, blinking as if just waking from a dream. Ospar grinned at him, enjoying how satisfied the other man appeared.

  Jol smirked in return. “I have to say, that was damned good. You were far better than you gave yourself credit for.”

  “I guess I’m a natural when it comes to fucking.”

  “You might be. It was worth letting you cheat to win the bet.”

  Jol laughed as Ospar gawped at him in disbelief. The son of a bitch had known all along.

  Chapter 9

  Well-fed and well-fucked, Ospar finished dressing for work the next morning. He listened to Jol splashing in the shower. He spared a thought for taking his clothes off again and joining the Nobek.

  His attention had been taken up with more pressing—though unpleasant—considerations since rising that morning, however. The attempt on Ospar’s life the day before had gone from frightening to pissing him off. He owed someone a world of hurt for trying to terrorize him from his plans.

  Ospar would never be accused of playing nice in certain situations. He got in people’s faces. He badgered and bullied when charm failed. He insulted his enemies terribly. But he fought fair. He didn’t go around threatening lives, but he sure as hell fought back when it was warranted.

  Urt and his backers had pushed the wrong director. Maybe Pladon’s bid for Eruz came from the Syodab Syndicate, which supposedly ran much of the territory. Damn it, it was Ospar’s territory too, the turf he called home. Now that he’d come under attack, the Dramok found issue with the manner in which the whole area was being treated by the criminal organization.

  He reflected on the little he knew of the syndicate. They took protection money from other businesses, smaller venues than Itga, which couldn’t afford a large security force to fend off such attacks. They paid off politicians and police to take what they wanted and remain in control. Talu and Jol had alleged that the syndicate committed murders and blew stuff up to keep others cowed.

  Essentially, thugs and bullies who operate in the shadows. Even their leader’s identity is a big unknown.

  The syndicate had kept their operations confined to the Wenza Territory, which meant the local law enforcement and government was tasked with dealing with them. In other words, the entities supposedly paid off to look the other way. Planetwide enforcement took no notice of such issues. Global Security only got involved when trouble crossed territorial lines. The syndicate had been in place for years, running much of Wenza Territory with no one to stop them.

  That would change if Syodab was funding Pladon and won the Eruz contract. The Eruz mountain range was outside the syndicate’s traditional turf, a spine of rock that started in the neighboring territory of Nalay and ran through three others besides. The syndicate was thinking of extending its reach if it was invested in Pladon’s operations. If Syodab wasn’t careful with its dealings, Global Security would get involved. The syndicate would discover that entity was not so easily paid off or intimidated.

  “Neither am I,” Ospar snarled as he pulled his shoes on. “And Urt can go fuck himself if he thinks he’s winning that contract. He can fuck himself raw if he thinks he isn’t going to hear from me about his stupid explosive too. Did he believe I’d let him get away with shit like that? Even if he had nothing to do with it, he’s representing those who are probably behind the attack.”

  Ospar was sure of himself when it came to staying on top of the things that mattered. He was not the kind of person to wait for a crooked police force or Global Security to fix his problems. He refused to be cowed by anyone or anything. Not even the syndicate.

  “Bunch of cowards, hiding from the light of day.”

  Ospar considered. If the syndicate was too fearful to come out of the shadows, then it was likely they had little to back up the terror they wielded. Perhaps when they’d first come on the scene a couple of decades before, they’d been a force to reckon with. But now?

  Ospar suspected they no longer had teeth. Planting bombs that failed to do the job indicated gutless men with no spines. The fact they chose to not have a face-to-face showdown had to be an indication the syndicate relied too much on its reputation. It was all bluster and no bite.

  The more he thought about it, the more Ospar was sure he should push back. He had to show he would not be terrorized. The best way to do that was in full public view, in Urt’s face, in the light of day. On his rival’s home turf would make the point even better.

  Jol wouldn’t agree. The Nobek’s job was to keep Itga’s director safe. Walking into the den of the enemy, no matter how unlikely it was to end up in real trouble, would be non-negotiable to the bodyguard. If Ospar was going to put an end to the bullshit, he’d have to do it on his own.

  That was fine with him.

  Ready for his day, with plenty of time to tell Urt to warn the syndicate off, then check in at his own office on schedule, Ospar headed out of the house. He felt a twinge of conscience as he did so. It seemed cruel
to leave Jol blissfully showering, unaware of his plans. Ospar made a note to tell Talu not to give his bodyguard any trouble over it.

  Besides, Jol would be welcome to join the festivities should things go south for Ospar at Pladon. The Dramok had every intention of notifying the Nobek to be ready to assist him, just in case Urt was dumb enough to try something stupid after all. There was always that chance. Though self-assured, Ospar was no idiot. It was best to have backup in the unlikely case the shit hit the fan.

  * * * *

  A couple minutes after leaving his home, Ospar landed in Pladon Industries’ executive shuttle bay. Pladon’s headquarters was within the territory’s vast cavern system, a sprawling complex of offices and warehouses. The company had even more plants and warehouses elsewhere in the territory.

  He set down in a space marked as reserved for the Head of Safety Regulations. Pladon had one of the worst safety records in mining. It was only fitting the idiot in charge of that department find his space occupied. Ospar shut off his shuttle and sent Jol a quick message.

  I’m having a little personal talk with Dramok Urt at Pladon. If I don’t see you at Itga in half an hour, come looking for me.

  With his whereabouts established, Ospar got out of the shuttle. He headed for the entrance into Pladon, where two Nobek security guards eyed him.

  He wasn’t surprised to be identified immediately. He was greeted by the less vicious-appearing of the pair, the one who looked like he would mercifully kill Ospar outright and not turn him inside-out first. “Good morning, Dramok Ospar. Is Director Urt expecting you?”

  The bearded brute at his side glowered. Not only would he turn his enemies inside-out, he would tie them in a bow afterwards.

  Ospar gave them both a confident smirk. “He should be expecting me. Urt’s been begging me to stop by for the last few days now.”

  “Let me com ahead and verify that.”

  The guard got on the desk set on the podium nearby and spoke quietly while the scarier guard glared at Ospar. Ospar beamed at him, not worried in the least. Even Urt wasn’t stupid enough to shit where he ate. He wouldn’t try to harm Ospar within the walls of Pladon itself.

  The somewhat friendly Nobek signed off the com. With narrowed eyes and a crooked grin, he said, “A detail waits for you inside. They’ll make sure you end up where you need to go.”

  Ospar didn’t take the veiled threat seriously. The Nobek was doing what Nobeks did—trying to intimidate. “Thanks. Have a wonderful day.”

  The door opened. As promised, four security guards awaited him. Like those Ospar had spoken to, they ranged in demeanor from Friendly-But-Deadly to Kill-You-In-Shocking-Ways. With a cheerful greeting to the lot of them, Ospar went in. He followed two of his escorts through the industrial-decorated complex. Despite the clean lines of the metallic-accented walls, the almost tropical vegetation smell of the caverns permeated the corridor.

  As he’d expected, the guards led him to the well-lit executive wing. There, people stared in wide-eyed amazement at their company’s most vitriolic detractor. Ospar waved hello to everyone, as if he hung out with Pladon stooges on a regular basis.

  After walking through a grand and luxurious waiting area, Ospar presented himself at an aide’s desk. The man’s workstation was just before a thick, embellished door bearing Urt’s name and title. Ospar recognized the Dramok sitting there, a fellow named Nonev.

  Urt’s aide blinked at him as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. However, Nonev stood and bowed with all the good grace of a capable assistant. “You may go right in, Dramok.”

  “Thank you.”

  The door hissed open and Ospar entered Urt’s office. His first notion was that he’d interrupted the owner during a security meeting. Besides Ospar’s contingent of guards, there were another half dozen armed security officers in the room. The two who stood on either side of Urt’s hover chair were particularly nasty-looking creatures. Their faces were maps of scars and lumps from untold numbers of blade and fistfights.

  Ignoring a tug of concern, Ospar laughed at the display. “By the ancestors, Urt, do you think I’m that dangerous? If there were any more Nobeks in here, I’d accuse you of building a personal army!”

  Behind a desk as finely carved, though more ostentatious than Ospar’s, Dramok Urt rose to his feet. Twice Ospar’s age, Urt was in the prime of life. His glossy black hair swung at his shoulders. His suit was cut to flatter his well-made body. He wasn’t handsome, but he wasn’t unpleasant to stare at either. His smirk was an equal to Ospar’s as the men exchanged bows.

  Urt’s smooth voice was a calm counterpoint to all the muscled brutality present. “What a lovely surprise, Dramok Ospar. What brings you to see me today?”

  “I’d heard you had a new mural painted on your ceiling. I do love fine artwork.” Ospar had heard no such thing, but he craned his neck to admire the illustration over their heads. The scene depicted Pladon’s flagship mine on an island in the middle of Kalquor’s largest peridot sea. “This is marvelous. You’re planning to have the walls done too, of course.”

  The graphic was indeed well-rendered, and a good excuse to have a clandestine glance around the office. Ospar wondered what was hidden in the corner of the room, kept private by a gem-studded metallic screen.

  “Ospar, you are too funny for words. Artwork, indeed. Tell me you’re ready to settle our dispute for Eruz?” Urt settled back in his chair.

  Ospar snorted. “Absolutely not. I came to thank you in person for your lovely gifts.”

  “Gifts?” Urt crooked an eyebrow at him, as if he didn’t have a clue what his rival was talking about.

  “The first delivered at Itga’s platinum mines a few days ago. The other sent to my office yesterday. For pity’s sake, Urt, can’t you do something classier or subtler? Explosives are so crass.”

  He noted how Urt’s gaze shifted to the beast on his right before giving Ospar an insulted pout. “Mother of All, Ospar, do you believe I’d try to blow you up? I’m looking forward far too much to seeing you lose this contract. The expression on your face will be priceless when I win.”

  “I’d hoped that was more your style. One I quite agree with, by the way.”

  “Of course you do. We are alike in many ways.”

  “Except in our choices of business partners. Your backers have a history of removing competition permanently. It says a lot about a person, the company he keeps.”

  Urt stilled. Again, his glance went to the ugly creature standing next to him. Then he glared at Ospar. “My financiers are upright citizens of the Empire. Such allegations hinge on slander, Ospar. Unless you have evidence, you’re asking for trouble.”

  Ospar grinned at the Nobek whom Urt couldn’t seem to help checking with. “And what are you asking for, Urt? It seems to me that a failure to deliver the Eruz mountain range might not be greeted favorably by your…supporters.”

  The Nobek hobgoblin’s eyes narrowed. He darted a glance at the equally grotesque beast on Urt’s left. Urt glanced at both of them before snickering at Ospar. “I’d have never taken you for a conspiracy theorist. Next thing, you’ll be telling me the Lost Tribe is living on a secret colony in the Trag system.”

  Ospar was about to respond when the aide sitting outside the open door cried out. A blurred figure raced into the room. Yells rang out, and every Nobek pointed a blaster at Ospar—and Jol.

  Ospar’s bodyguard was suddenly in front of him, placing himself between the Dramok and Urt. Three more Nobeks dashed in, their faces red with fury.

  How the hell did Jol get past Pladon’s security?

  Ospar’s thought was a momentary blip on his radar. Bigger issues had arrived with Jol. Surrounded, with almost a dozen blaster barrels pointed at them both, such questions faded into the background.

  Ospar asked the only one that mattered at the moment. “Jol, what the hell do you think you are doing?”

  His bodyguard cast a furious glare over his shoulder. “Retrieving you, Director Ospar. You
should not be here. And if you don’t know that, then you’re an idiot.” On the heels of that insult, he turned his glare on the guards growling at him. Despite the firepower aimed at his face, Jol showed no fear. Dismissing the threat, he sketched a bow towards Urt. “Director Ospar’s uncles send their apologies, Dramok Urt. They did not sanction his confrontation with you.”

  Urt appeared amused at the situation. He waved at the snarling guards. “Stand down, men. As for your director’s presence, Nobek, it was no more than a friendly visit between competitors. No harm done.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  “Indeed. Ospar is welcome to stop in and share his interesting viewpoint any time he wishes.”

  Feeling he’d been made a fool of, Ospar’s scowl was all for Jol. “If anyone’s attendance is not wanted, it is yours.”

  Jol’s icy glare spoke volumes. “Once we leave, I don’t believe you’ll have to worry about my existence again, Director.” He directed his attention to Urt once more. “Dramoks Sallid and Tebrok’s apologies to you once more, sir. Director Ospar, you are expected in their office immediately.”

  Ospar seethed, especially with Urt and his pet brutes snickering at him for being treated like a naughty boy caught shirking his lessons. He dipped a quick bow to his rival and stormed out. He rushed to his shuttle with Jol breathing down his neck the whole way.

  Never mind that Jol had saved his life the day before. The bastard was going to pay for his humiliating treatment.

  * * * *

  Jol seethed as he followed Ospar’s shuttle from Pladon to Itga. The bastard. The obnoxious, self-absorbed son of a bitch!

  After the night they’d shared, he’d begun to think that Ospar might not be such a bad sort after all. That he might be capable of considering the wants and needs of others besides himself. Jol had never anticipated Ospar would pull a damned chump stunt such as confronting Urt and the syndicate goons in their own lair.

  And that smug message he’d sent Jol after going there! Rubbing his nose in the fact that Ospar had skipped out on his bodyguard, realizing how bad it would make the Nobek look to his father. To everyone. That was the best-case scenario in this fuck-up of a situation.