Silver Bound (6 page)

“Please.” That’s all she could manage over the desire throbbing, bringing heat to her cheeks to spread down her torso and pulse in her sex.

He couldn’t have understood her plea. She wanted him to fill her with that erection or let her put her mouth on him, lick him, nuzzle him and take him down her throat.

Guy groaned, stood in the middle of the floor and ran a hand over the bulge tenting the front of his pants.

“I’m going out for a while.” He gave a long sigh, and her stomach clenched. If she didn’t serve his needs, the collar would punish her until she did. The ache in her middle would only continue to get worse.

He didn’t look back as he whisked from the room.

***

Damn.

Guy squeezed his eyes shut and thunked his head on the wall outside their quarters. Once. Twice.

He couldn’t be near Jewel without the silver tint of her lips reminding him he owned her. Completely.

She was vulnerable, needy and so eager to do anything he wanted. That was a problem.

He could do anything at all to her, and she’d beg for more. He could be gentle, please both of them in an emotional exchange the likes of which he’d dreamed for years. He could hurt her, give her pain and pleasure enough to make her scream. Make her bleed. The thought of another man being minutes away from that power washed cold over him. His cock finally behaved at the reminder of the near miss, but to his shame, his erection didn’t fully subside. With her accessible, he’d probably stay perpetually half-hard. His willpower had abandoned him—it remained in Rangetown with all his sense. The missing Broker made it worse. Her collar would punish her for his erections because while she was nothing more than a slave, he couldn’t touch her.

The whimper of pain she’d given the second before the portal slid closed echoed in his ears. His lust tortured her, and he couldn’t take off the control bracelet. He thunked his head again.

The only answer was to have sex with her, and that couldn’t happen while she was nothing more than a slave with no will. What he wouldn’t do to hear her tell him to slog off.

He’d thought the upheaval and hurt he’d suffered when she’d left him to marry a stranger had been bad, but this was hell. He snorted and thunked his head again.

A gasp sounded behind him before a group of women hurried past him in the corridor.

Stop it, Sheriff. Don’t scare the ladies.

No, he hadn’t had it bad then. The long-ago turmoil had been nothing.

This was untenable.

He wanted her so much his teeth hurt. And, hell and damnation, she’d give it to him. She’d spread her legs wide and welcome him to heaven. She’d bend over, fall to her hands and knees, and let him ride her to Valhalla. She’d wrap her silver lips around his cock and blow him to the stars.

With a hard swallow, he tried to block the taunting visuals of her claiming, her ripe curves, the silver nipples that belonged more to him than her, and the damned slave collar that made her cream at his mere thought or touch. He needed to forget the velvet slickness of her because he couldn’t take her again until she could make her own decisions. He’d keep his hands off the sweet breasts that filled his hands perfectly. But, come hell or high water, he’d never forget her taste. Like honeysuckle.

He groaned again, threw his head back and thought of the south pasture. He should mend the fence there. The ranch needed another robo-shepherd. Max was still serviceable, but he’d had to replace his power packs once already, and he wanted Max to retire. After his faithful service, he deserved to live out his days as a regular house dog. He’d never had a pet before.

His train of thought got him under control, but he needed a real downer to be able to walk straight. Ah, at the last country fair the tenacious Miss Quartermain had created a night that’d douse the ardor of the most randy cowpoke. It’d been a hot, muggy night when the arrogant and petty Queen of the Carnival had dogged his every step.

He sighed and relived every rustle of purple tulle as Miss Quartermain followed him from the main pavilion, through the booths, all the way to his solarcell carriage. She’d asked for a dance, hadn’t accepted his refusal—nor his veiled censure that she’d asked a man to dance—and had overstepped herself by flirting without a chaperone to hand. He didn’t really care at all about the high society’s ridiculous mores, but they came in handy when he needed to ditch overeager misses. Though he’d thought he should marry someday, he’d not had a flicker of interest in a woman since Jewel. Especially not Miss Quartermain. Let someone else keep her in purple tulle.

Now Jewel was his.

He halted the direction of his thoughts, wont to go in her direction. He’d spent years keeping those thoughts only in his dreams. She might be real, in the flesh—soft and inviting flesh at that—but he had to get them out of this mess before they both lost. She could lose herself inside him. He could lose all his self-respect for taking advantage.

The signal between his bracelet and her collar would cover the entire cruise liner, so he walked. The chatter of the excited cruise passengers lifted him out of his musing. Children weaved around their caretakers, couples held hands, and groups of retirees smiled and shuffled together into a large reception area. Streamers hung from the steel crossbeams and a large banner exclaimed Bon Voyage.

Lines of buffets filled with treats, savory and sweet, tempted him to stroll farther into the mayhem. Jewel’d always enjoyed cocoa cakes. Though the dessert couldn’t compensate for her pain, he hoped the offering would put a smile on her luscious lips. Silver lips.

“Don’t think of her lips,” he muttered.

He lingered, let the conversations surround him and blank his mind. With so much to hear, all the distraction, he’d always been able to empty his thoughts and float in a crowd. Smiles and eager expressions soothed him, and his tight muscles relaxed.

Everyone celebrated the beginning of a pleasure cruise with simple, open joy. That was why the intent, malevolent pale eyes brought him up short.

Guy played it as cool as the ice on Luthor’s Comet.

In the next few moments, he intended to accomplish three goals before he high-tailed it back to his room. To see Jewel…

He ignored the quickened thump of his heart and started the ball rolling.

First step, an idea launched fully formed into his mind, and he turned his back on his target with the murderous scowl and strolled with a long, leisurely gait to the oiled-to-a-polish concierge desk at the entrance. The entire walk spanned perhaps ten feet while the glare on his back brought up his hackles. His hands twitched toward a nonexistent holster, which currently resided in his luggage. The smuggled-aboard six-shot would be welcome right about now. Only the room full of witnesses kept them from each other’s throats. This wasn’t a Terraloft barge. A scene here would land them in a cell, and Jewel would never survive his absence for long.

He had to keep himself alive and un-incarcerated.

Stopping at the expansive chest-high counter, he made his request and ignored the fine hair twitching on his nape, a sure indication his prey stalked him. “I need a holo-castle game delivered to my suite.”

Following the nod to the side by the dour-faced man at the counter, he ran his thumb over the ident-pad, put an elbow on the desk and leaned against it with practiced indolence. Waiting the few moments for the arrangements to be made, he softly whistled a range tune. Inside, his gut churned as if a Taphgan dust-storm had taken residence inside him. Since he’d taken the silver star, he’d upheld the law, but he was sure he’d be breaking several soon.

“The set will be delivered right away.” The concierge studied his U-panel. The sallow attendant pursed his lips to create a pinched hollow in his cheeks. “You have a no-disturb. Shall we deliver the game set to your suite or the level anteroom?”

“The anteroom.” He pushed away from the desk and ignored his natural inclination to thank the man. In his Terraloft guise, he didn’t acknowledge the hired help.

Next step, sharpen his spurs on the varmint who still glowered at him. Kalon didn’t wait patiently. Guy’s prey slowly clenched and unclenched the hands at his side. If the bastard didn’t watch out, he’d wrinkle all that fine silk he wore over his toned, overly muscled self. Guy didn’t have the luxury of an autogym. His more slender frame boasted wiry muscles from working the cattle, riding the range, and the occasional wrestling match with drunks in the Star and Spurs pub.

He wanted to re-break Kalon’s nose, which had obviously been to the med-booth.

Passing a colorful spread of food, he picked up a green-and-blue puff and popped it in his mouth. Sweet and a little too rich. He strolled past another table and, in a smooth motion, grabbed a glass of bright yellow punch and knocked back several gulps. Cold and a little tart.

Shoulders loose, he ambled into a somewhat quiet area, propped himself against the wall and smiled at the two rosy-cheeked women who passed between him and the pale-eyed menace hot on his trail. The man in question strove for nonchalance but couldn’t erase the dangerous glint in his eyes. The two men at his back stood out like thugs, their not-so-concealed weapons bumping out the leather jackets. That type of overstated clothing was preferred by a certain set of fast-running gamblers, thieves and bruisers out to make a quick buck. Moving to within a foot of Guy, Kalon flicked his fingers at his backup, who melted into the mingling crowd.

The hairs on the back of Guy’s neck still zinged like livewires. His body tensed, but he forced himself to sip the sparkling punch and keep his expression neutral. “Greetings.” He nodded nonchalantly into a relentless stare.

The Terraloft’s lips curved into an empty smile, but he didn’t respond.

No question. The man didn’t appreciate him stepping in and taking Jewel from his plan to enslave her. Kalon didn’t bank the hostility in his stance as his hands continued to open and close in fists. He stared without speaking for a few moments, sizing up him in obvious competition, and for the time being Guy shelved the urge to plant his knuckles in the sneering face, over and over.

Letting his years as sheriff guide him, he took the moment to study this adversary. Rich clothing, smooth pale skin and thin, angry lips proved the Terraloft aristocrat had gleaned Guy’s secret. Hol Trident’s son was no Terraloft. Guy shrugged mentally. He might not be highborn enough to court a woman like Jewel, but he was head and shoulders above men like this. Kalon wore a necklace of exquisite, highly prized Terusk ivory. The rare status symbol meant the death of a beautiful rare creature from the deserts of Taphgan. Not only that, but he sported boots of illegal yakka hide, the leather made from the brutal practice of killing breeding yakkas from the high cliffs of Grassland. The man cared little for life.

No surprise since this Terraloft had erased the mind of a woman he should’ve protected.

“Not many silver-tips on this cruise,” Kalon finally said.

In a calculated maneuver, Guy dropped his gaze to the man’s wrist. No slave control bracelet.

“I only need one,” he replied in a purr and turned his bracelet around his wrist as if unaware he’d done so. Though an insult to Jewel, he let his body slouch against the wall while he eyed a pretty young blonde who giggled with her friends at the nearest beverage station. His smile descended into a leer, while his stomach curdled. He turned back to the man standing next to him. Somehow the crime boss had tracked them. Kalon had to have bribed Troshky. He knew he had Jewel. But he didn’t know their history. But since he’d seen them with Quinn, he should know that Guy knew exactly who he was. Coy was the name of the game, then.

A hard glint leaped through the man’s eyes before he blanked his expression, stood straight and gave a head bow. “The name is Kalon Geanus.”

Though Guy didn’t blink, didn’t move, he ran scenario after scenario through his mind in a flash. Kalon had followed them and had to know his name. He either hoped to learn something, or he was playing games. To lie, when the man had the truth, might be more a red flag than if he gave the truth. The problem was, which truth? If the man had trailed them, he might know his name from the silver-tip clinic. If Kalon had learned his name from Troshky, he could’ve learned his real name or the name on the travel papers.

All this zipped through his logical mind in heartbeats with no outward appearance.

Truth. He’d go with his real name. False. He’d still play the indolent Terraloft.

Guy dipped his chin in greeting and hoped this game held the Broker as its prize. He’d do whatever it took to get his hands on it. “The name’s Guy Trident.”

No flicker from his opponent. He hadn’t surprised Kalon, who answered in a low conversational tone. “I’m curious. Most men with silver-tips keep their women in safe havens. Locked away from the world. They are such fragile creatures.” Kalon fisted his hands again. “Why did you bring yours here?”

Ah. Even if the man had gotten Guy’s travel arrangements from Troshky, the merchant hadn’t revealed the final destination, but of course, Troshky didn’t know Guy’s plans. The last move in this verbal duel was a pure fishing expedition. Kalon didn’t hide his blatant interest. It remained to be seen if he’d reveal his motives. He also played his hand as if he didn’t think Guy had him pegged for the thief and coldhearted bastard he was.

Guy played the game better than anyone. He shrugged. “I like to keep her with me at all times.”

Gaily dressed in large, floral printed togas, a couple passed within hearing distance.

Kalon pressed his lips together tightly. His mouth drew a straight, harsh slash. “She’s mine.”

“Not anymore.” His smile tight, Guy tensed. The bastard didn’t deserve to live, purposely silver-tipping his wife. “Never yours again.”

He pretended not to notice the clawed hands that jerked when Kalon took a step forward. The Terraloft’s breath came in gusts like he couldn’t control the anger pumping through him, but he stopped. He shook out his hands, pushed his shoulders back and smiled, a genuine expression since he seemed immediately calmer.

“Indeed. One way or another, she’ll keep her mouth shut.” Kalon dropped a piece of broken equipment in Guy’s punch glass, turned on his heel and strode away. His lackeys flowed out of the crowd to follow in his wake.

The message was as clear as the water in Lake Blueparis. The piece of broken circuit board meant one thing.

The Broker’d been torn apart by that bastard walking out the door a free man.

Kalon had revealed much in the short exchange. He wanted Jewel tied up and out of the way. Or dead.

Guy’s hand gripped the glass. He put it down on a side table before he broke the damn thing.

Jewel’s Broker was in so many pieces, and he had a name for the man who’d pay for that. His fists tightened, but before he gave in to the sour tumult in his gut, he banked his anger to focus on the job. He shook with the effort. He rolled his shoulders, but the tension remained.

No help for it. He’d had a small hope he’d recover the Broker somehow. That hope was shattered. Jewel was tied to him for eternity.

He swallowed hard.

On to step three. He made his way to the itinerary office on the same level as the reception hall and spoke to the attendant. “I need to make arrangements for a side jaunt.”

After the necessary reservations and credit payment, he wandered the ship to shake any ghosts following him to the suite. As he stopped to wait on a lift to take him to the gambling level, the prickling on his neck returned.

He’d made a mistake. A big one.

A hard fist caught him in the side. Before he could sidestep, a bear hug from behind took his breath away. A bag slipped over his head. Darkness descended, but he fought back the panic. Kicking wildly, he struggled against the steel-banded arms tightening around his arms and torso. He couldn’t take a deep breath or manage a yell for help.

His heel connected with the sturdy legs of his captor. The man didn’t even grunt.

“Let go, land-grubber.” Guy snarled the Terraloft insult to all lowborn who lived planet-side.

Unable to follow the urgent whispers and hissing over the rushing in his ears, he fought back with all his strength while hurling wild threats of retribution. No matter his squirming, he was dragged along like a useless rag, blind and panting, skin rubbed raw and bruises stinging.

Slow it down. Think, dammit.

He stopped struggling. Before he could process his predicament, the constricting arms thrust him away. He tripped to the floor. Scrambling to regain his feet, he was shoved back down.

“Where is she?” hissed someone at his ear. He didn’t recognize the voice, but the hoarse and low edge of threat he didn’t mistake. It had to be Kalon, voice disguised or not. Guy didn’t think Kalon would kill him—yet. If he did, Jewel would die before Kalon could get his hands on her. That didn’t mean the bastard wouldn’t bring him to the edge of death and dangle him there, painfully.

He clamped his mouth shut and clawed at the bag loosely closed at his neck. A punishing kick landed in his ribs. Stars exploded in the pitch black surrounding him. Unable to pull off the hood, he gulped in hot, humid air and fought to remove the abrading fabric.

“Don’t take it off,” the same man whispered fiercely. “You get one chance to do this the easy way because nothing would please me more than to choke the life out of you.”

Another blow to his ribs punctuated the threat. He gasped but didn’t yell. It hurt, but not as much as it should. The way the man pulled his punches—or kicks—he probably didn’t want to scuff his shoes. Or boots. Expensive boots, like he’d seen on Kalon. Why did that Terraloft have boots while he didn’t have his own? His gut burned.

“Tell me where she is, and you won’t get hurt.”

“Who?” He curled on the cold floor to protect as much as he could from the strikes he couldn’t see coming. No carpet beneath him to take the chill away. Where was he? Which way did he jump to get away from them? He stilled, to listen, plan.

“Don’t play dumb. I keep what’s mine. Tell me where she is, now, and you’ll be able to walk away.”

“Walking’s overrated.”

This time the kick came at his back. His vision blazed in white, hot and searing shards. Seconds passed while the world stood still in that hell of nothing but jaw clenching against the screams, and more pain. He sucked greedily at the air, fabric filled his mouth, and he blinked back stinging behind his eyes. Keeping the enemy emotional, off-balance was the plan, but that hurt like a bitch.

“You sealed her fate when you stole her from me, but you still have a slim chance out of this. I give you that chance because you don’t know who you crossed. You have five seconds to tell me where she is before I break every bone in your legs.”

“Just my legs?” He forced out between wheezes.

“One.” This from a sneering, gleeful brute behind him.

A hard boot came down on his unprotected elbow and ground down. Not hard enough to break anything, but with enough force to keep his mind from grasping at a plan. He couldn’t think worth a damn.

Hell, I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

“Two.”

He shut it off. Just stopped listening to the pain receptors. If he didn’t get out of here, Jewel would be defenseless. If he died, so would she, and while nobody would give two thoughts about his leaving this galaxy, he’d do anything to keep Jewel in it. Blinking back the water in his eyes, he squinted into the darkness, listened for the rustling of cloth—and placed the swoosh behind him and the shifting of a body in front of him.

The next kick registered, but he didn’t allow the spasms to break his concentration.

Sneers and flagrant baiting flew from the men while the goon continued to count down.

In a split second he mapped his predicament. One stood near his face. Another stood kicking distance to his curved back. Now that his vision had adjusted, a small slit of light leaked through the bag, flickering with shadows of movement. The third paced near the exit.

A scratching sound heralded the next sharp attack to his kidney area.

Unable to keep it in, he grunted. Then he bit his lip and coiled to move.