Grimspace (15 page)

Instead of executing the lot of us, Hon throws a party.

I think it's a display of power more than true hospitality. Everything in his demeanor says—
You are subject to my will, and I choose to be merciful, remember this.
Or maybe he'll just seize any excuse to celebrate. He really is a throwback, albeit an utterly delicious one.

No chance to talk to anyone else, as the throne room comes alive with lights and music, a thrumming bass-heavy beat that sounds tribal, and as the rovers get to their feet to form a stomping, spinning circle of dancers, I notice almost no women, and his interest in Dina and me becomes less flattering and more alarming.

But I can't worry about that right now. They're laying the tables with fresh food, and it smells fantastic. My mouth waters at the prospect of eating something that doesn't need to be sucked out of a packet. They offer fresh fruit and vegetables, so there must be a hydroponics garden somewhere on station. Next they serve meat in sauce, which means it's likely synth-protein in disguise. For the perfect finish, add steaming baskets of bread with peppered oil for dipping. And let's not forget the sweet, cold Parnassian red.

Yeah, I'm going to be here awhile.

I lose sight of how many times my cup's refilled, but it doesn't seem to matter. Everything loses its immediacy, gaining a pleasant veil, where the most important thing I need to do is shrug out of my jacket and join the dancers. Someone takes me by the waist, and I stomp along with him, trying to mimic the side-winding circle we seem to be making. I should really be wearing a big bell skirt for this, more dramatic in the spins.

After a while, I lose track of how many men catch me and spin me toward them. But I definitely notice when Hon steps in. Not seeing him would be like missing a solar eclipse. For a few moments, we simply dance, and I hear Dina saying, from somewhere, “If she wants to shag him,
let
her. I don't want to die for saying no, although if I was going to try a man, it'd be him.”

Then he leads me from the revelry, past the pilot's chair toward a sunken area filled with padded couches. He indicates I should sit, and I do, feeling the music pulsing through the soles of my boots. As he drops down beside me, the lights flicker over his skin, painting him in silver streaks and giving his strong features an almost demonic cast. But there's fascination in his darkly glittering eyes; he's everything a civilized woman isn't supposed to want. He might treat her like an empress or a whore as the mood strikes him, but she'd never possess the faintest doubt that he owned her, body and soul.

“Where you get such fine scars, lovely?” His voice rumbles like a purr near my ear, and I glance down in confusion, before realizing the diaphanous fabric of my blouse reveals the old burns along my arms and shoulders.

“Crash landing.” That seems like an oversimplification, but I retain just enough presence of mind to be wary.

“Musta been a bad one,” he comments, touching my shoulder lightly. It takes a moment, but I realize he's tracing the pattern through my shirt with a fingertip.

I nod. “They don't come any worse.”

He regards me a moment, seeming thoughtful. “I think I know who you are now.”

Shit. Be cool, Jax.

“Oh?”

“Your bad crash was the
Sargasso
, yah?” Hon doesn't wait for an answer. “So you must be March's jumper.”

There's no point in lying; that will just piss him off because he's already sure. “I'm not on good terms with the Corp anymore, though.” Like that needs to be said.

He laughs. “We're both kill on sight, I think.”

I think I just increased my value to him, although I'm not sure if it's because I have a Corp bounty on my head or because I can jump. Maybe it's a combination of the two. So what now? I can't afford to make him mad, and the wine's starting to wear off.

“Yeah, although I'm sure they've listed me as officially flatline. The bounty hunters they're sending after me are strictly on the slide.”

“So tell me, Sirantha Jax, are bad things chasin' you here?”

I jerk my eyes back to his face, but he doesn't seem angry. In fact, if anything, he looks amused. “I don't know. Think we lost them in grimspace, but—”

“Don't worry, pretty. I'll fix it.”

Well, I don't have the slightest doubt of that, but I'm not sure his solution will benefit us. I'm frankly astonished that we didn't get blasted before docking, and I have to wonder what March said that garnered safe temporary passage. Knowing March, it may have been something like:
Don't you want to see my face when you kill me?

“Are all the station's external weapons functional?” Hopefully he won't take that as me probing for information that could be used against him.

Hon gives me an indulgent smile, leaning closer. Damn, he smells good, a spicy, smoky scent that renders him narcotic. “Don't fret ' bout that. Nobody gets in I don't want here, true. Now I'm gone ask you, what you know ' bout my business outside?”

“Nothing, really.” And that's the truth; most of what I've heard is speculation. Because who the hell ever gets to meet Hon? If they did, this place would be overrun with women wanting to play pirates with him.

“Me, I got a fleet of ships, and we appropriate goods from the Corp shippin' lanes, keep what we need and sell the rest in the Outskirts.” He seems to study me as if waiting for me to ask an obvious question.

So I consider for a moment. “That means you have jumpers. From where?”

In fact, this gets me thinking about Edaine. Where did March find her? The Corp led us to believe we were the only source of trained jumpers. Of course they also had me thinking my shit didn't stink, so maybe I should stop believing
anything
I learned from them. It might make adjustment to the real world easier.

Hon grins, his gold front teeth gleaming. “The Corp's very wasteful. Hide jumpers away, don't even try to fix them. I smuggle them out, two or three at a time.”

He must be talking about the broken ones, who suffer bad jumps and can't quite rebound. They wind up nervous, twitching, and heavily medicated in station asylums. And there are others, who possess the J-gene and begin training but lack the mental strength to handle grimspace. They're the saddest of all. But I gather he's making use of these lost souls somehow.

“How can you repair them?”

“My biomechanic. Not much personality after he's through, but my jumpers get the job done.”

Part of me feels repulsed. Clearly he's talking about a mechanical integration that robs them of their humanity, but then again, what sort of life did they have, sedated in the asylums? Is being made useful any worse than remaining lost to horrors nobody else can see? I don't feel qualified to judge.

“That's…enterprising,” I say at last.

His arm drifts around me, his large hand lighting on my far shoulder. “But you don't wanna talk ' bout that right now.”

I'd have to be an idiot not to know where this is heading, but I'm not sure how I should react. How long since Kai died? How soon is too soon? But Hon
is
gorgeous, and if I can procure safe passage with a few nights of sex, why wouldn't I?

“What then?” I let myself lean against him, surprised by his heat and solidity.

“Me, I think you don't wanna talk at all.” He runs his hand beneath the weight of my hair, long fingers flexing into my neck, and it feels good.

I find myself tilting my head, though he's applying minimal pressure, and I think that's the point. Another exercise of power—I'm supposed to offer my mouth.
Wonder if he likes to play master/slave girl in the bedroom.
That's not my thing; I don't enjoy submission, but maybe I'll give it a try, this once.

Still, I can't bring myself to close the few centimeters between our lips. It's just not my style, and I enjoy being chased, like it when a man makes an effort. That says I'm worth the trouble to pursue, although it's been a long time. First, I was Simon's wife, then Kai's woman, although my toes curl, remembering the way Kai used to tantalize me.

Hon gives a low, husky laugh, as if he realizes I'm not going to prove an easy conquest. It'll take more than his proximity and the brush of his fingertips on the nape of my neck. And then he whispers, “Oh, I
am
gone enjoy you, pretty.”

The flickering lights and the throbbing music only add to the surreal quality of the moment, as he leans close. So close, I smell the wine on his breath. I can almost taste his kiss, and while I'm not advancing, I don't pull back, either.

I'm actually going to do it.

From a million miles away, I hear someone clearing his throat. “Jax. You're needed on the
Folly
. It's urgent.”

Feeling giddy, I turn to see March behind us, and he doesn't look happy.

So far, I don't see any urgency.

Doc has brought Canton Farr back to the ship to show him the formula he used in synthesizing the nutri-gel March has been smearing on his chest for almost a month. I guess Dina and Loras are still on station, enjoying the party. Farr is a thin man with nervous hands, the sort who spills things compulsively, then makes the mess exponentially worse with his apologetic daubing. It's almost impossible to imagine him living rough for years, as he reputedly did during his covert study on Mareq.

“I can't believe you did this,” Farr's saying, not for the first time I imagine. “Stole one of the hatchlings. It's abominable.”

“You'd prefer we left it to die?” March snaps.

Fortunately, Doc remembers we need this man's help, and adds in appeasement, “Yes, a regrettable necessity, to be sure, but think of the opportunities for study. You'll have a chance to verify all your observations at close range, won't you? I think it should be safe to take samples.”

I still don't see why I'm needed here.

Farr brightens. “Well, that's certainly true. You seem to have gotten him—”

“It's a him?” Doc wants to know.

The scientist nods. “…past the initial hurdle, which means you're going to see an increase in activity. Typically the offspring stays close to its parent, participating in—”

March seizes my arm then, hauling me out of medical and down toward the hub, but he doesn't stop there, towing me toward the dormitory section like a derelict craft. I scowl up at him, yank out of his grasp, and stand there rubbing my biceps.

“What's the
matter
with you?”

“I need to talk to you privately,” he bites out.

Around this point, I notice he's seething. Furious, in fact, although he's done a fair job of reining it back up until now. The door slides shut behind us; this is the first time I've seen his quarters, but they're standard, devoid of personal effects.

I fold my arms. “So talk.”

“Are you nuts, Jax? Don't mess with someone like Hon.”

Ha, I certainly never imagined he'd care about my virtue. I wave a hand dismissively. “Don't worry, I'm not stringing him along. It won't be a hardship to keep him warm while we're here.”

He just gapes at me, like it's impossible for him to imagine someone sleeping with me. I know I don't look as good as I did before the crash, but I'm a rocket in bed. Maybe Hon knows that, so he's not put off the by the scars.

“You can't be serious.”

“About what?” I ask, incredulous.

“Sleeping with Hon.” His tone suggests I'd be whoring myself out.

“Why?” I start ticking off reasons to do so on my fingers. “He's gorgeous, he smells good, it's been a long time since I had sex, and he might kill us if we piss him off.” Yeah, the last reason does sound like pandering, but still, if I want to, and it keeps Hon happy, what's the big deal? “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't.”

I can actually see his jaw working, like he's struggling with something, then he growls, “How about this?”

And then he's in my space, body pressed up against mine. He's hard against me, and he cups my cheek in his palm as he lowers his head to claim my mouth with his. Oh Mary, I'd never have guessed March could kiss like this, deep and devouring. I kiss him back, arms up around his neck, biting gently at his lips. He tastes like sweet wine and promises, and his tongue strokes mine in possession, telling me wordlessly why he doesn't want me keeping Hon warm.

I feel his hands on my hips, tugging me closer. He breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine, and I know he can feel how my heart gallops, hear my hitching breath. He probably senses more than that, come to it, my first soft pulses of arousal.

His voice sounds soft now, teasing. “How about it, Jax? Is that a good reason?”

“Maybe,” I whisper.

“Maybe? Maybe, she says.” But when I tip my head back, I see that he's smiling. “It's been a while for both of us. I don't see any reason for that to continue.”

My words come out husky. Unsteady. “I'd just be using you for sex.”

His eyes have the power to stop me in my tracks. I've been fighting this for weeks now, refusing to admit it even to myself. How much he draws me.

He gives me a slow smile. “I can live with that.”

“Why would I pick you over Hon, though?” Oh, I'm a bitch for teasing him.

And it
is
a tease, because I've been noticing the breadth of his shoulders and the round curve of his ass for weeks now. But I can tell he doesn't mind by the way he moves me against him, slow drugging circles, hip to hip.

“Remember who you're dealing with, Jax. I know all kinds of things about what you want.”

“This is probably a bad idea.” Last-ditch effort to turn things aside, even though I don't want to, and March knows it.

He had me as soon as he cupped my hips in his hands and moved me on him, just so. If I'm completely honest with myself, he had me weeks ago, when he promised he'd always come for me. I'm not sure I'm
ready
for this, but damn, do I want him.

“Mmhm.” He finds my ear, licks a trail down to the lobe, then bites. “So tell me no, Jax.”

Oh Mary, that's good.

“No,” I breathe.

“You're saying no?” Now
he's
incredulous.

I give him a slow smile. “I'm refusing to say no.”

Then we're a blur of questing hands. I want him naked, right now, although the desire to bare my scarred, skinny self is considerably less. He shakes his head in peeling my trousers down, and I don't need to ask to know that's meant as reassurance. I'd almost forgotten the perfection of sexing your pilot. He's beautiful: brown skin, broad chest, and a tight, etched stomach.

March pushes me back onto his bunk and I run my palms up his chest. I feel the residue from the nutri-gel, and that makes me smile, although it melts into a moan. He's not gentle; he wasn't kidding when he says he knows what I want. I feel his teeth next, almost enough to hurt, and the gush of response makes me draw my knees up, making room for him between them.

“Like that?” he whispers into my skin. “Like that, Jax?” As he trails his fingers down my belly, teasing me because he knows how much I want him to go lower.

“Like that. But more.” I buck my hips, and he relents, dipping his fingers into me with a long, languid motion.

Oh Mary, the way he touches me—it's like he knows exactly how—but then he does, doesn't he? I whimper and arch, twisting beneath an intensity I've never known. He strokes me, his lips roving until I can't stand any more.

“Too much?” The bastard, he's taunting me.

“On your back,” I manage to order.

It's his turn. Maybe I don't know his hot spots automatically, but I'll figure it out. With a smirk, March rolls over and I run my hands over his body, caressing here and there. Gauging his reaction. Grinning wickedly, I settle astride, my thighs framing his. He shudders beneath me when he feels my slick skin. My weight amplifies the sensation, and I seesaw on him, watching his face.

“Jax…” Now he's the one gasping, although it feels fragging amazing to me, too, as I run my hands up his chest. I see the scars I speculated about so long ago, long and livid. Yeah, he's seen combat. The one above his hip looks like they almost got him. That gives me a twinge that I don't like.

“I'm just using you for sex,” I remind him, husky and low.

“So use me.” His abdominal muscles ripple and go tight as he struggles to hold himself still. “Use me, Jax.”

I need no further invitation. Taking him in my palm, I give him a squeeze, which elicits a groan, then I simply hold him steady and sink down. His hands come to my hips, guiding me.

Oh Mary, that's so good.

March doesn't need to be told how I want to ride him. We fill the room with liquid sounds and our labored breathing. Sometimes he moans; sometimes I do. I love the feel of his hands roving my body, demanding and possessive, pulling me down.

I feel the pressure building as I move on him, sweet, delicious heat, then he flicks his fingers down there again. My whole body locks. He rolls with me then, pushing my legs up.

“My turn,” he whispers.

And I don't have the energy to resist as he takes me his way, rotating his hips in slow, steady thrusts. I'm so relaxed that at first I don't register the tingles surging through me.
Again? Really?

Then I hear March inside my head, just as he's inside my body.
Again, Jax. I'm using you for sex.

Right now, I feel like that's about the best news I've ever heard.