“Asshole!” Jol’s contempt for Ospar was beyond what he’d had for any other person. The stupid narcissist deserved to have been murdered for the morning’s stunt of making himself a target. Of announcing his derision for the syndicate, which was damned near above the territory’s law.
Jol was angrier than ever when the two shuttles landed in Itga’s bright and clean employee bay. Jol got out, barely noticing the bite of ozone in the air that mixed with the earthy scents of the mountain’s interior. He nodded to the sentries in the nearby guardhouse and waited for Ospar to exit his shuttle too. He didn’t have to wait long for the Dramok’s appearance or his angry reprimand.
“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” Ospar scowled. “You have nerve busting in and making me out to be a buffoon.”
Jol’s fists clenched. Yet again, the fantasy of planting one of those fists—no, both—in Ospar’s mouth beckoned him. “You are a buffoon. And an idiot. If you want to die so much, I’ll consider it a privilege to throw you off the top of this mountain. All you have to do is ask.”
Ospar snarled, “If I didn’t believe it would make you the happiest man alive, I’d fire you right now. I knew what I was doing.”
“Walking into a zibger’s lair? Teasing the beast, trying to get yourself made a meal of? Yeah, that’s an intelligent move.”
“I was in no danger,” Ospar snorted. “I alerted you to where I’d be in case there was trouble. Which, incidentally, there wasn’t.”
“Because I showed up. Did you not notice the Nobeks standing on either side of Urt?” The hair on Jol’s neck stood up remembering the horribly scarred pair.
The fool shrugged. “I notice everything. Hired muscle, the same as you. I figured out they belong to the syndicate. What of it?”
Jol gritted his teeth and spoke slowly, hoping he’d bore it through the Dramok’s thick skull. “Those kinds of men are not the same as me. The so-called ‘hired muscle’ which works for the syndicate are professional killers, Ospar. The kind of men who make people disappear without a trace. Or leave their mangled bodies behind to remind everyone who is in charge here.”
“You make it sound as if the syndicate runs the territory on actual muscle and not cowardly intimidation.”
Jol drew a deep breath. Made himself count to ten. “Last year, twenty companies in Wenza lost their highest executives. Most died in supposed shuttle accidents. Two were killed when their homes mysteriously exploded. The other half dozen are missing, with no sign of their whereabouts. The one thing they were rumored to have in common was refusing to let Syodab take their companies over. Now that they’re gone, the syndicate has put puppet leaders in their places.”
Ospar blinked. His angry look bled away.
Jol kept going. “Syodab owns nearly every inch of Wenza Territory. All but small corners of it, like Itga Mining. They did not get where they are with empty threats. They do not hold onto what they have with empty threats. Now you’ve put a big bullseye on yourself, placing your uncles’ business in danger in the process. Syodab Syndicate won’t let your challenge go unanswered.”
The Dramok stared at Jol. Was the truth finally dawning on him? “While I was at Pladon, I had the impression—I thought perhaps Urt acted like someone who wasn’t in control of his circumstances. He behaved as if he answered to those thugs, as if they were pulling his strings.”
“Talu and I tried to explain that very state of affairs to you. Now you’ve invited them to try to kill you again. Dared them, in fact. Congratulations. You’ll probably get your wish, and the rest of us will be stuck trying to keep Itga out of their hands.”
He’d had enough. Jol wheeled about and started for the entrance to headquarters.
Ospar called after him. “Aren’t you supposed to stay with me?”
Jol refused to believe the plaintive note creeping into the Dramok’s voice. Ospar didn’t want him around. That was fine; the sentiment went both ways. Though he felt betrayed deep in his guts, Jol would survive it. He’d wasted more than enough time on the self-absorbed Ospar.
Not bothering to look back at him, Jol called, “After yesterday’s attack, this place has extra patrols. You’re fine without me watching you as long as you’re here at Itga.”
Jol headed for Talu’s office. The without me watching you situation was about to be made permanent.
Chapter 10
Minutes later, Jol stood before his father in the security head’s office. It was ridiculous, but the farther he got from Ospar, the hotter his fury had become.
Crazier was the sick dread in his stomach. It upset Jol that no guard was standing over the director, making sure he didn’t get his ridiculous ass blown to bits. The Nobek’s assertion that the enhanced security at headquarters would do fine keeping Ospar safe was true, but still…
Fuck him. He’s not my problem anymore.
His tone dripped with the fire that blazed with more intensity the longer he was separated from his now-former assignment. Jol told Talu, “I would not cause you dishonor for anything. But I can't deal with that fool for another moment. I apologize for shaming you in such a manner, but I insist on stepping away from the duty of being his bodyguard.”
His overt anger wouldn’t impress his father. Coming from anyone else because of anyone else, Jol wouldn’t have been impressed either. But Ospar was so—so—Ospar.
The Dramok was truly in a class all by himself.
Talu shocked Jol by smiling, though the elder Nobek’s eyes remained sharp. “I am not shamed by your actions in the least. On the contrary, I'm proud that you made it into Urt’s office to protect your subject. Well done. Your request for reassignment is denied.”
The security head went back to work, reviewing the reports from the night shift as Jol had found him when he’d burst into the room. The son stared at his father in confusion for a moment. As Talu’s words sank in, confusion gave way to unbelieving comprehension.
“My father—I mean, sir, Ospar got loose from me. I failed to keep him protected. He never should have left his home without my knowledge.”
Talu kept working, not bothering to look at him. “So you said. Now that you know how determined and devious the director is, such a scenario won't happen again.”
“I’m not fit to protect him. What’s more, I despise the man. The only reason I don’t want the syndicate to kill him is because it would remove the delight of doing so myself!” Desperation made Jol loud. Talu needed to assign someone new to Ospar, before the asshole discovered some new trouble to jump into.
Damn his father, Talu looked and sounded amused. Amused! “Truly? Well, when strong emotion is involved, it makes for greater success. Request for reassignment again denied. Resume your bodyguard duties to the director, Nobek.”
Jol stared. He tried to come up with additional arguments, anything to rid the disagreeable weight of Ospar off his back. Yet Talu had dismissed him, so there was nothing left to be said.
Unless Jol was ready to give Ospar the satisfaction of quitting Itga entirely.
In such a situation, Jol did the only thing he could. He turned and marched out of Talu’s office, heading for Ospar’s.
As he navigated the corridors of the security section, the walls of which featured the many commendations given its personnel, Jol thought about how much he hated life. Itga was supposed to have been an easy assignment, a chance for him to re-evaluate his existence while remaining active in it. An opportunity to be useful the way the Nobek soul craved while dealing with his grief from Rom’s death.
Somehow in the last two years, Itga had gotten comfortable. A steady paycheck, a reliable if boring routine, part of a life growing more dissatisfying for its lack of challenge. Jol had begun entertaining thoughts of looking for a position with more excitement, a profession worthy of a Nobek of his age and capabilities. He had needed the quieter stint to lick his wounds, to give his broken heart the room to heal. That period had seemed to be coming to an end, and the need to do something meaningful had
become louder and more insistent.
Then came Ospar. Exciting? Yes. Challenging? Ancestors yes, but in the wrong manner. It was as if the universe had heard his cravings and responded by heaping the extreme on him.
Fucking Ospar. Damn that man. I am finding another job. Work that’s heavy on the challenge but light on the jackass.
Ah, but speaking of asses—Ospar’s was nice. Jol’s cocks, possessing minds of their own, jerked at the memory of how good the Dramok’s had felt. The Nobek’s body cared not one whit about the mind and mouth of the bully with the delicious rear.
Speaking of mouths, he did some pretty amazing things with his last night, didn’t he? The answer to all my problems is at hand. Keep his mouth stuffed with my cocks, and we’ll do fine together.
No. Jol did not want to do fine with Ospar. He wanted to be free of Ospar.
His com went off, breaking into his whirling thoughts. Jol stopped in the middle of the hall and checked the frequency. Outside of Itga. Unfamiliar.
He answered. “Nobek Jol here.”
Dramok Urt’s deep and smarmy voice was immediately recognizable. “Good morning, Nobek. I didn't have the opportunity to wish you so when you burst into my office to fetch your employer.”
Jol stared at the com as if it had just grown fangs and tried to bite him. Dramok Urt was contacting him? He glanced about, concerned someone might have overheard and identified the voice.
He was startled to discover he was still in the security wing, near the locked armory that awaited extreme emergencies that never arrived at Itga. Jol was alone in the section. That was no surprise since few Nobeks had any patience with administrative duties. Office work was not for his breed, so everyone that could be out on a patrol was. Jol’s only company was the sound of conversation at a great distance, almost overwhelmed by the soft hum of the air exchangers.
Had he been blindly stomping around the level all that time, trying to resolve his problems with his job? With Ospar? Damn it, that Dramok was screwing with his head even when he wasn’t in the immediate vicinity.
“Nobek Jol? Are you there?”
Jol was reminded of the com he held in his hand. That Dramok Urt was on the line. He scowled at the device. “What do you want?”
“I have an offer for you. One that will be advantageous to us both. Can we talk? Privately?”
The past few minutes of Jol’s frustration, of his disgust with the state of affairs, returned in force. He surveyed the area again and sighted on the nearby empty conference room. He ducked in and ordered the door closed and locked behind him.
“I’m listening.”
* * * *
Ospar sat at his desk, staring into space. He’d not been able to get the first task done on his agenda since offering Emano a subdued greeting and powering up his computer.
Urt was not in command over Pladon or his own situation. He was being moved like a game piece by the murderous syndicate. His money and connections had no ability to save him.
Was Ospar next? He tried to imagine himself held by the threat of Syodab, unable to take care of Itga or his uncles. Forced to do the bidding of criminals.
If he lived long enough to fall under their control. The first attempt on his life may have been a warning, but it could have ended in his death. The chemical explosive had been a direct try to erase him from life. It would have succeeded if not for Jol.
Jol. It had already been made all too clear the Nobek had chanced his own life to save Ospar’s. The Dramok’s poor attempt at gratitude the night before had been negated by his stubborn refusal to acknowledge the danger. It had been worsened by him confronting Urt and challenging not just the owner of Pladon, but Syodab as well.
Stupid!
It hadn’t been just himself he’d jeopardized by going to the enemy headquarters. He should have known Jol would chase after him, placing himself at risk. Ospar thought of all those percussion blasters centered on the Nobek when he’d run into Urt’s office. A few had pointed at Ospar, but the majority had been aimed at Jol. Because his protector was the real physical menace, not Ospar. The Dramok shuddered at the memory of those violent Nobeks ready to kill Jol right in front of him. He couldn’t have forgiven himself for the man’s death.
Jol was still in jeopardy after getting into Urt’s office unimpeded. And what of Ospar’s other weaknesses, his uncles? His parent clan, out on the mining moon of Rokan, could be used as pawns to bring him to heel.
Ospar rubbed his hands over his face. His problem was that he was ambitious along with being stubborn. It was a combination that in the past had blinded him to other considerations until it was too late to make matters work the way they should have. However, it had never placed people’s lives on the line before.
Had he gone too far this morning? Was it too late to lessen the damage, at least to those he cared for?
At least Jol might be getting out of the line of fire. That should have helped Ospar feel better, thinking his poor bodyguard had gotten his fill of Itga’s director. Most likely, the Nobek would quit the company. He had probably already done so. It would be a smart move, one Ospar could approve of on an intellectual basis. The Dramok didn’t want Jol hurt, not over the stupid confrontation he been drawn into that morning. Yet losing Jol as his protector was the last thing Ospar wanted.
Even within Itga, with heightened security, Ospar felt vulnerable. Exposed. As irrational as the notion was, he sensed that without Jol, he was in the greatest possible peril. Should he be assigned another defender, he would not feel safe. No, it had to be the Nobek that he was at odds with more often than not.
It’s because I know he won’t put up with my shit. He keeps me in check whether I want him to or not—he’s the only person who will work to keep me safe no matter how awful I am.
The voice of reason had seldom been so loud. What was Ospar to do? Should he be selfish and insist Jol remain his bodyguard, keeping the Nobek in a life-threatening situation? Or should he allow Jol to bow out as he’d said he would, repaying the debt by letting him exit a worsening scenario?
When Jol walked in, Ospar didn’t pretend he wasn’t relieved to see the security guard. Though he was sure the Nobek was about to tell him to fuck off, having him in the same room momentarily gave Ospar a sense of safety.
He stood and bowed. “Nobek Jol.”
Jol eyed him, his expression unreadable. “Director Ospar.” He waited.
The words left the Dramok in a rush. “I apologize for this morning. I not only placed myself in peril, but you as well. I should have known you’d come after me. Being the model security officer you are, I mean.”
Jol stared at him as if Ospar had been speaking a foreign language. His only reaction was to lift an eyebrow.
Okay, maybe Ospar hadn’t said all that needed to be said. Hadn’t been sufficiently contrite. He tried again, worried blatant remorse would be viewed as insincere but having to go that route anyway. “I’m very sorry. Now that I understand the stakes, I will not make your job more difficult than it needs to be. You are staying, aren’t you? Please?”
Jol stared for another beat. Neither his expression nor his tone changed, but the words he spoke were golden. “Yes, Director. I will continue to fulfill my responsibilities as your bodyguard.”
Ospar felt weak at the Nobek’s reassurance. His smile stretched the muscles in his face. “Wonderful. Thank you.”
Noncommittal as ever, Jol nodded. Without another word, he settled at his desk, turned on his computer, and got to work.
Ospar sat too. As he began typing commands into his computer, he watched the Nobek covertly, cataloging his assets.
Brave. Loyal. Committed. Smart. Not to mention an amazing lover. Ospar acknowledged the sexy beast aspect, but it wasn’t an asset he was likely to enjoy any time soon. Not after fucking things up between them so thoroughly.
Ospar was back to paying penance for his misdeeds. He trembled a little as he thought what must happen to get on the Nobek’s good side once more.
He owed Jol. If forgiveness could be granted, so much the better.
It was important he try. Since he couldn’t concentrate on work, he began making plans for the night ahead.
* * * *
That evening in his home’s common room, Ospar pushed away his half-eaten dinner and eyed Jol. The Nobek perched on the far end of the lounger, his food tray damned near sparkling clean after his meal. At least one of them had an appetite.
Ospar wondered if his idea was such a smart plan after all. His attempts to draw the Nobek into conversation had been met with indifference. Jol had given the barest of responses to conversational comments and questions. The man was still pissed off at him.
It made Ospar more nervous than before about what was to come next. If Jol would go along with it. The Dramok wasn’t certain whether a refusal or acceptance would be worse.
I owe him. I have to do what I can to fix this.
Ospar cleared his throat. “I, ah, wonder if you’ll join me in my sleeping room, Nobek?”
Jol turned his flat, emotionless eyes to Ospar. It was the look he’d given his boss the entire day—when he could be bothered to look at Ospar at all. “Your sleeping room?”
“It’s not what you think. I know you’re disgusted with me. However, I need to, uh, show you something.”
After a moment of bland consideration, he rose to his feet. “As you wish, Director.”
Hearing Jol refer to him with his title all day had worn on Ospar’s nerves early on. They’d fucked, damn his hide. The formality, which Ospar despised in most cases, was beginning to feel like an insult. Ospar worried it was a bad indicator for his plans to offer a real apology.
He forced his temper under control, reminding himself that Jol was the wronged party. The Nobek had every right to be angry and keep him at a distance. Counseling himself to have patience and not be an asshole, Ospar stood up, tossed his tray in the recycling bin, and led his guest to his sleeping room.
Clan and Conscience Page 11