Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series) (29 page)

And so he’d styled himself. The tyrant who held sway over thousands of lives—the slaves he captured and sold, those he kept enslaved here in prostitution and service, and the thugs he used to keep them all under control.

He sat, watching Joran from under heavy lids. His eyes were hooded as if the weight of the extra flesh under his sallow skin pulled them down.
 

At close range, his theatrical persona was overpowering, from the height to which his hair had been combed, to his cloth of gold suit, to the heavy, ornate jewels on his hands and hanging on his chest. Everything about him screamed opulence, prosperity, and authority.
 

Joran’s gut tightened with distaste as he noted the talons to which the slaver’s glossy nails had been sharpened and the jeweled crop that rested on the table by his right hand. He’d bet the man wielded them both to terrify and subdue.

Not to mention his flunkies. The others arrayed around the table sat turned toward Joran, as if he was the threat in the room and the other man was the known ally. The mistress was behind him as usual, her avid gaze on Joran, her slave at her elbow again, his beautiful face as empty as a vacant room.

Joran looked Vadyal in the eye and raised his brows.
 

The man smirked. “So, Joran Stark, known as ‘the Storm’,” he mocked. “The scourge of the eastern plains.”

Joran smiled back, showing his teeth. “So I like to think.”

Vadyal’s faux smile disappeared, leaving his fleshy face cold as the surface of a moon without a sun.

“And yet, here he is at my table. The Storm wants something from me.”

“Not really,” Joran corrected him amiably. “I’m actually here to do you a favor, Midas.”

The slaver closed his hand around the jeweled crop and began to tap it on the table. One of the men nearest him grinned, as if in anticipation.
 

“Yes,
Midas
,” the slaver repeated genially. “Do you know who I call myself after? A king of ancient Earth I. Everything he touched turned to gold. And just like him, this happens for me.”

He smiled, spreading his arms to indicate the gaudy room.
 

“This does not happen because I am weak, or a fool. It happens because I take what I want, and I keep it until I have used it up, or I am tired of it. No one takes from me what is mine. I will destroy it first. And I don’t share.”

Joran raised his brows. “You must not remember what happened to that first Midas, eh? Look him up in the archives. He died, Vadyal. Literally choked on his precious gold.” He shook his head. “Be a shame that happened to you.”

The Gorglon emitted a growl of menace from his place before the doors.
 

Var growled back.

 
“So I’m here to help you with that,” Joran went on, ignoring the byplay. “You see, you and me are lot alike. I also take what I want, and hold onto it. And the plains of Frontiera? They’re mine. That includes the trade there. All of it. Man comes in, tries to sell something, he gives me a cut, or I take it.”

Vadyal regarded him with contempt. Then he laughed, a rich, fruity sound that made Joran’s palm itch for his weapon. “You think I will share with you? You think because you are bold to come here, now I am afraid and I will open my pockets and let you take and take?”

The slaver slashed with his crop, and the drinks on his end of the table went flying, splashing over the others seated there. None of them moved to get away or clean off the sticky liquid dripping from their faces and clothing. Instead they sat as if frozen in place, their gazes on Vadyal.

“I will kill you,” Vadyal shouted, his face suffused with color. “You dare to come to my casino with your piddling little human guards? Storm, hah! You are nothing but a drop of rain...and I will turn you to steam if I wish.”

He sat back, beaming as if proud of his own imagery.
 

The Gorglon and the other guards cocked their weapons, trained on Joran, Var, Haro and Qala.
 

Haro yawned audibly, the sound incongruous in the charged atmosphere.
 

Qala sighed and moved forward to put her hand on Joran’s shoulder. “You going to tell him soon, Zhazid?” she asked. “Or can I do it?”

“Tell him what?” The lovely woman who stood at the slaver’s shoulder moved forward. She ignored Qala and shook her head at Joran. “No one escapes Vadyal. Give up now, Storm, before you get hurt—or dead.”

Joran eyed her with lazy interest. She was sending him a message with her green eyes, one that he had no trouble deciphering.
 

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Ms...”

“Slidi,” she breathed, looking down as if too shy to hold his gaze any longer. “My master is very powerful—”

“Shut up,” Vadyal ordered coldly. He waved to the guards. “Enough of this. Take them.”

The atmosphere in the room crackled with added tension. The others at the table tensed, eyeing Joran with expressions ranging from avidity to fear.

Joran snapped his fingers. “Wouldn’t do that, I were you,” he called. A holovid sprang up over the table. He gestured at the cruiser, bristling with weapons at every port, floating in space. “We didn’t come without reinforcements. One of my ships—within firing range. Armed and ready, right, Pede?”

“On your command, sir,” Pede said calmly.

“Hah!” Vadyal spat. “You think my Pleasure Planet has no weapons, no protection? I will shoot your puny ship from the sky.”

Haro and Qala shifted behind Joran, Var rumbled again, and the tension in the room ratcheted up another notch.

“Well,” Joran said. “Maybe you could...maybe not. But I doubt you have one of the new hyper-charged laser cannons. I do.”

There was absolute silence in the big room.
 

Then Pede muttered in Joran’s ear. “A hyper-charged cannon? What the fuck, boss?”

Joran was thinking the same thing himself. As a bluff, it was a big one. Which might work—or not. The new cannons were out there, but he didn’t have one. He’d never seen the need to have the ability to wipe a large chunk of real estate off a planet.

Vadyal laughed. “Ha, ha, ha. I don’t fear this—this is a big story, made up to frighten children. No one has these yet, except the IGSF. Certainly not a small-time pirate like the Storm.

“No, you have nothing. And if you try to fire on my lawful business with a standard laser cannon, which I believe you have? We can do what we want with you and your minions here. We will tell the IGSF, ‘Oh, it was so horrible, the Storm try to rob us and we had to kill him’.”

Quark, time to play the holodice he really had, but didn’t want. The eppies.

“Now see, that’s where you’re wrong, Midas. Because, you need me. The way I hear it, the IGSF is after you. I hear they have their suspicions about your shadow business.”

“You mean my little auctions? They will not make that stick to me,” Vadyal insisted. “I pay much credit to keep on the hush-hush.”

Joran shrugged. “Guess one or more of your ‘friends’ isn’t so friendly after all, ‘cause according to the buzz, they know enough that they want you wiped out of the galaxy like a bad memory.”

Vadyal was sweating, his face glistening. He slammed his crop on the table. “You brought this on me!” he accused. “This is why you are here, to threaten me? I will kill you for it!”

Joran bared his teeth. “You can certainly try. But I have a better idea. The only way to foil the epaulets is to form a partnership. I have eyes everywhere on Frontiera, and I know the wild lands like you know your casino here. I know all the places to hide contraband, and how to avoid the satcom system.”

Vadyal sneered contemptuously. “You lie. Your own brothers are legitimate businessmen. You only play at stealing, Storm. I don’t form partnerships with boys who play.”

“Really?” Joran murmured. “Then how come the profits from your last auction are in my accounts?”

Chapter 18

The slaver and all his minions froze.
 

Vadyal’s florid face deepened in color until it was suffused with deep purple, his wattles trembling as he shook with rage.
 

He thrust his crop straight out at Joran. “
You?
You are the one who stole from me? And now you tell me this? How stupid are you?”

“Smart enough to have done it once,” Joran said, smiling faintly. “So I can do it again any time I want. Unless you deal.”

The Gorglon moved, and behind Joran, so did Var. Joran didn’t turn his head, but he knew Var would have his weapon in the same position as the Gorglon—ready to shoot if necessary.

Slidi bent and whispered quickly in her master’s ear, her hand stroking his shoulder, her eyes down.

Slowly, his face relaxed. He nodded once, then shoved her off with the back of his hand. She subsided, smiling slightly at Joran.

“So,” Vadyal said heavily, “You have stolen much credit from me. Now you want to work with me? How do I know I can trust you? You will show me this by returning the credit—every single byte.”

He sat back, smirking at Joran.

Joran shrugged, as if the demand was negligible. “Sure, I can do that, Midas. Piddly amount like that, I’ll hardly notice it’s gone.”

Vadyal eyed him with mingled suspicion and satisfaction. “Show me. Begin the transfer now.”

“
Raa-mat!
Das hasmaata-plas whamaa?
” roared the Gorglon. He raised one long, meaty arm and pointed at the holovid of the armed ship.

 
“Wait,” Joran’s translator chirped. “Whose fighters are those?”

He didn’t need the translation, or Pede’s shout of alarm in his ear.
 

Ice filled his gut as he watched a formation of IGSF fighters emerge from behind his ship and circle it, as if in complicity. What the fuck were the IGSF pilots doing, showing themselves that way?
 

“Shit,” Haro breathed. It sounded more like a prayer.
 

Vadyal was on his feet, his visage once again filled with rage. “You bring the IGSF with you? You try to betray me?” he demanded. He pointed his crop at Joran. It shook in his grasp. “This is how you know so much—you make a trap with them!
 

“Kill them!” he bellowed. “Kill them all!”

“Get down!” Var bellowed, yanking at Joran’s chair.

The Gorglon surged forward, weapon aimed at Joran, and so did the guards. That was the last thing Joran saw before the lights winked out, leaving the room black as the inside of the bottom shaft of Creed’s mine.

He dove sideways, Qala and Haro with him. Laser fire streaked through the darkness, searing the place where they had been.
 

Var returned fire, then fell back with a grunt. “Take out the guards!” he bellowed. Laser streaked again and he thudded heavily against the wall.

Joran surged up to fire his own weapon at the origin of the enemy fire. The Gorglon gave a harsh gurgle and fell with a massive thud. Haro and Qala were up, firing at the other guards.

Haro grunted as he was hit. Teeth gritted, time moving in slow motion, Joran turned his fire on the far end of the table. Had to assume every man and woman there were enemies.
 

“Stop!” the woman shrieked from across the room. “Stop, he’s dead!”

For an instant, they were all still, only harsh breathing in the stifling darkness.

A glowlamp sprang to life, illuminating Vadyal. He lay sprawled across his conference table, his gold clad bulk still, eyes staring blankly at the toppled glasses on his table.
 

His mistress stood over him, her hands dark with blood, eyes wide. “He’s dead.”

Vadyal’s guards were dead or wounded; in any case they were down and seemed to have no desire to continue the fight although Joran kept an eye on them. The others at the conference table had all disappeared underneath it, except for Slidi’s slave, who simply leaned against the wall as if he were watching a holovid, his dark eyes flicking from player to player, face blank.

Joran gestured with his weapon. “You all right?” he asked the woman.
 

She nodded, and then shocked the hells out of him by smiling, her glossy lips curving up, her slanted green eyes sparkling. “I’m better than all right,” she purred. “The bastard’s dead, and now, all this is
mine
.”

That was cold, but then again, the slaver hadn’t been the kind to inspired devotion. Joran stood, pulling Qala with him. “Are you his partner, or wife?”

“No, his mistress—
former
mistress. And I have the links to all his credit accounts
and
every security measure in this floating piece of space junk.”

She tossed her auburn hair back and smiled at him. “All I need now is the right male to share it with.”

Haro groaned from the floor behind Joran. “Great. ‘nother pushy female. Can somebody...?”

“Just one slight problem with that,” Joran said to the woman. He stabbed his finger toward the east where Pede and the eppies waited. “Them. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

He bent to Haro, who was clutching his shoulder. “We’ve got you, buddy.”