Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series) (48 page)

The woman in the cage snarled again. “Try, and I’ll rip off your puny cock,” she threatened in a throaty voice. “You’re all slime.”

“She’s a fierce one,” Joran called. “And the bidding opens at a million credits.”

***

Waiting for Joran’s scheme to unfold, Zaë sat on her stool in the shadow of a gigantic skrog’s head, and sipped the bottle of berry wine the bartender shoved at her, because she was thirsty and nervous. She was not sorry to have a guard by her side, even if it was the snarky Ryder, who had one hand on his weapon and his hard gaze roving the bar. He was taking his task seriously.

This whole situation was like being thrust into the middle of a holovid adventure film—although she herself wasn’t a player this time.
 

She understood that this was a setup, but it was still a massive shock to watch Joran slide effortlessly into the role of illicit auctioneer, his smile mocking his audience even as he exhorted them. When he practically drooled on the horrid Slidi, Zaë gritted her teeth, clutching her wine bottle so hard it contracted in her grip.

And then the captive female warrior appeared in her cage, and Zaë could only gape in horror. The poor woman. For a moment the scene shifted, and it was her trapped up there, wearing only a tiny costume, terrified and alone, the cynosure of lustful gazes.

She struggled for breath, cold sweat breaking out over her skin.
 

“Hey,” Ryder muttered, leaning sideways to her. “Chill, babe. Don’t know that female, but she’s tough. She’ll be okay.”

“Right.” Zaë nodded and concentrated on taking slow breaths. That was not her in the cage. And she had to believe the woman would be all right. Joran wouldn’t allow the buyers to take her away to a life of further degradation. He’d stop it somehow before that happened.

The bidding began, although cautiously. After a few rounds, one of the Serpentians agreed to pay twenty million credits for the woman.
 

“She’s yours,” Joran approved, throwing out one arm toward the cage, which immediately began to glide away toward one of the high corners of the room, its occupant still showing her disgust for all of them. “We’ll hold her for you till the auction is concluded.”

Two guards immediately moved to follow the cage, standing underneath, weapons at the ready. Zaë watched with her stomach churning as another sailed out.
 

Above the stage, it opened. She gasped as a man appeared this time. A huge man, his golden body rippling with muscle, his face fierce with rage under short, matted black hair as he circled his cage, defying them all. Scars marred his face and gouged his body. Only a tiny loincloth covered the bulge of his groin.

“And now, Maro. This ex-Space Forces soldier was born and bred right here in the tropics of Frontiera. This man, ladies and gentlemen, can fight not only in a cage, but underwater! He’s killed countless enemies, some of them humanoid, some with tentacles and fins the likes of which you’ve not seen. You want your venue to be the hit of the galaxy, he’s your draw.’

“Not to mention what he can do for the ladies with enough credit. And we have ten, count ‘em, ten more like him and Sharena to come.”

“Nine million,” called the Serpentian brothel owner.
 

And it was on, this time fast and furious as the bidders all seemed to realize they needed to act, or miss out.

***

Ren Mecham sat in the cockpit of the unmarked cruiser she’d dropped into from her fighter.It was an older model, battered and worn, but full of tech that she’d not yet seen the likes of. Haro and the female warrior Qala sat hunched over the console, muttering occasionally with others Ren could neither see nor hear, while monitoring readouts from inside the lodge, and various points around Bone Arch.
 

The thunder storm had moved overhead, and even this cruiser, moored in the shelter of two hangars, was vibrating with the force of the wind outside. Lightning flashed eerily, echoing the turmoil inside Ren as she watched events continue to unfold via holovid.
 

 
The final gladiator, a husky Mau woman with murder in her eyes, was claimed by a buyer.
 

Ren couldn’t take her eyes off the row of power cages in the lodge, and their contents.“Where did the Storm find those beings? He’s going to rescue them, right?”

Haro exchanged a look with Qala. “Better you don’t know where they came from, Sarge. As far as rescue, it’s all good. They’re safer than the rest of us.”

“Heads up,” Qala said, sitting up straight and pointing at the console. “Incoming. Fighters, right, Mecham?”

“Oh, my God,” Ren said, horror icing her gut. Her fellow IGSF officers had arrived, in force. “She’s sending in an entire wing battalion. They have enough fire power to blow this whole place off the side of the mountain.. You need to warn the Storm.”

Qala held up a hand for quiet. “Boss,” she said. “Eppies are here in force. Mecham thinks they’re heavy on the firepower.”

“Got it.”
 

“Let’s just listen in,” Haro said.

Ren jumped as a holovid sprang up, of the interior of a fighter cabin, the helmeted pilot and his passenger. “It’s Cerul,” she blurted. “She came herself.”

“Glory, glory,” Haro hummed as his fingers flew on the controls. “Who wants the glory?”

“Commander,” Arc’s crisp voice sounded. “The auction is in progress. Awaiting your orders.”

“Stand by,” Cerul said.
 

They watched as the IGSF craft dispersed around the perimeter of the settlement, hovering in formation.
 

“Show time,” Haro said. “Boss, get ready.”

“Something’s wrong,” Ren said. “They’re not landing.”

“Why not?” Qala demanded.
 

Ren was afraid she knew why. The better to blast Bone Arch and everyone it to space rubble, while remaining safe.
 

***

“Thank you,” Joran said from where he still stood in the center of the lodge. “We are more than ready, aren’t we, folks?”

“Ready for what?” called one of the bidders suspiciously, half-rising from his chair.

“Why, for our next special guests,” Joran called, flinging out an arm to the door.
 

Along with all the others in the lodge, Zaë looked toward the main doors. She jumped as a flash of lightning illuminated the doorway…which remained empty.

She waited, every muscle tense. Where were the IGSF officers?
 

Joran lowered his arm and grinned wryly. “Huh. You just can’t count on some folks to show up when you want ‘em to.”

“What is going on?” Slidi demanded. “Storm? Are there more slaves?”

“Don’t like this,” one of the Mau said, rising so suddenly his chair toppled. “We go now.”

“Not so fast,” Joran said. “No one leaves until we’ve concluded the auction—which means making sure your credit is uploaded to my accounts. Then you can take your purchases and go.”

“We go,” a Vulpean hissed, his hoverpad already rising, ready to zip toward the exit. The other followed. “Bring the slave.”

The cage with their purchase floated toward the open doors. The other bidders moved, and their purchases floated that way also, the prisoners crouching to hang on.
 

But then the doors began to groan closed, although no one stood by them.

 
“It’s a trap!” one of the bidders’ guards yelled. Weapons appeared in their hands, some trained on Joran, some moving to cover the other bidders.
 

A Serpentian fired and a laser charge shot out, straight at Joran.Only it ricocheted, to strike the edge of one of the cages. Sparks exploded in midair with a light so bright Zaë was momentarily blinded.

Heart in her throat, she peered at Joran. He still stood, and now he held his weapon in his hand, trained on the tables.
 

“Next one to shoot, dies,” he promised.
 

“Then you die as well, Storm,” pronounced the Serpentian brothel owner, on his feet, flanked by his guards. “Or better yet, your woman.” He flicked a hand, and one of his guards turned his weapon on Zaë.

 
The Serp smiled, a cruel parody of humor. “Yes, I remember her from the Pinnacles. I see you have her under protection, which tells me she’s important to you. It will be such a shame if you lost her tonight.”

Zaë sat frozen. If she tried to move, the guard would shoot her. But if she remained where she was, she made Joran more vulnerable. She forced air through her tight throat, and prepared to throw herself onto the floor. Maybe dying by laser wouldn’t be so bad. Better her than him.

Fear for him rose in a suffocating wave, and she pushed it back. She must stay strong and act—for him.

Time crystallized for Zaë, so that the smallest details became clear. She saw the avid gazes of the slavers lock on Joran, waiting for the Storm to fall. She heard her own breath loud inside the helmet of her flight suit as she tightened her muscles to leap. She heard Ryder move behind her, shifting his weight.
 

She felt the beat of her heart, the slight ache of her body where she and Joran had been joined as one, at least for a little while. She saw the feral gaze of the Serpentian guard, his weapon trained on her.

Joran looked over at her, then back at the Serp, his gaze molten silver, his face hard as cerametal.

Then he fired his weapon and Zaë dove from her stool.

Even as his laser charge zipped red across the big room and another streaked toward her, something struck her in the back. Ryder, his lanky body carrying her to the floor beneath him.
 

They landed hard, but Zaë scrambled immediately to shove him off. Ryder grabbed her and held her behind the bar. “Stay down!”

They both winced as something exploded above the bar. Liquid sprayed, streaks of bright color and the strong scent of alcohol. Glass tinkled to the floor.
 

Staying low, Ryder moved toward the bartender, who was crouched low, a weapon in her hands.

“Someone’s gonna pay for this,” she growled.

“You’ll get your credit.” Ryder pushed past her.

Zaë followed him, her heart pounding so hard she felt sick, a strange taste in her mouth. “Is Joran all right?”
 

Ryder peered out, and then grinned. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

Zaë straightened, and peeped over the bar. Then she let out her breath, and hung onto the bar as her limbs quivered with the weakness of exquisite relief.As her breath fogged the face shield of her helmet, she yanked it off and set it on the bar, tossing her hair back.

Joran stood in the center of the room, Qala and Steele beside him, all three with weapons trained on the slavers.
 

Several of the slavers’ and their guards were down, some groaning in pain. The others sat glaring vengefully at Joran. Slidi’s face was pale as bone, her eyes blazing, but she sat with her head high. Hah, Zaë thought. She could behave as if she were above all this, but as Joran had said, the bitch was going down, with her compatriots.

Joran turned to look for her, and Zaë’s heart melted at the blaze of relief in his silver gaze as he found her unharmed. She smiled at him and gave him a little wave to show that she was fine.

“Now we’re done,” Joran said, and holstered his weapon.

The doors creaked open again.

“Not quite,” called a voice.

***

In through the open doors strode a vee of armed, helmeted IGSF officers, weapons cocked and trained in all directions. In their midst walked Cerul. Helmet under one arm, head high, she wore a look of glittering triumph as she surveyed the occupants of the room.

Joran held his hands out to his sides to show that he was unarmed. Adrenaline raced through his veins again, this time mingling with triumph in a fizzing cocktail.
 

“Why Commander, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you to our little gathering?”

She pushed her way through the rank of officers to face him, the glitter in her eyes showing she believed she held all the holodice.
 

“I am here to arrest you, Joran Stark, and all the other attendees of this disgusting abrogation of galactic and Frontieran law.”

He raised his brows. “Really? And what might the charges be?”

The buyers who were still unharmed watched grimly.
 

Cerul laughed, a tinkling, crystalline sound. “Ridiculous to the last, eh, Storm? Why on charges of not only attending, but this time conspiring to hold an illegal slave auction, to sell sentient beings for profit.”

He clapped one hand to his chest. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you,” she snapped. “And the others here in this place tonight.” She cast a look of rich satisfaction at the man standing with Joran, and then turned her gaze around the room, cataloguing those seated and those who had fallen. “Who do we have? Masterson, Steele, this woman who calls herself Slidi; Craal, a known whoremaster from Serpentia; Batma from Mauritius and all the rest of you. You’ll all answer to charges, and don’t think for a moment that stature or wealth will protect you—not this time.”