Silver Bound (4 page)

They stepped into the harsh lighting amidst garish stalls of the Blue Quad Bazaar. Leering, cold, disdainful gazes flickered from him to size up his companion. He pulled her closer, unconcerned with any looks except those of cruelty. Silver-tipping was illegal on every known planet, not only because it was slavery, but also because of the danger to the victim.

A minority of owners tired of their slaves and sold the doomed creatures, knowing full well the agony they’d end with. That practice was the one he abhorred the most, and if he could rid his planet of
Zuthuru
for those one or two callous owners, he would.

The furtive, darting stares eased away as the milling shoppers went back to their own concerns. Jewel shivered beside him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Curiosity appeased, the common populace ignored them.

“We’ll need to get you better slippers and more dresses,” he murmured into the top of Jewel’s golden hair before he pressed a kiss into the silken strands.

“What would you like?” Her voice shook in a way he didn’t recognize. The Jewel of his youth had been confident despite the appearance that a strong wind could blow her over.

“It’s your choice. I don’t know anything about shoes.” Or the dress that covered her silver-tipped nudity. He tried to keep the image of her nakedness from making him giddy. Didn’t work. With a quick sidestep, he avoided walking into the man in front of him who’d stopped to haggle with a fruit merchant.

Jewel of five years ago had been his constant dream. More times than he could count, he’d woken in a bed of longing and want. He’d never even seen her skin other than her arms, face and devastating cleavage. When she’d lived in Rangetown, she’d been skinny, frail and delicate with a glowing face, pert nose, rosy cheeks and huge blue eyes that bore right through him. But her uniqueness, her freedom of nature that ignored the uptight social structures of wealthy Grasslanders, had been what he’d loved. Miss Jewel rode a horse astride, beside him, instead of sitting in the shade and watching from the sidelines.

Today, when he’d seen her spread and ready for him, her curves had extra flesh, with breasts more rounded than he remembered—and what he’d remembered was good. Shorter than his six-three by nearly a foot, she’d appealed to his protective instincts then, but that didn’t compare at all to the primal urge keeping his senses fully alert, boiling beneath the surface, ready to explode at the hint of a move toward her. Danger lurked everywhere for her as they walked among the stalls of food, clothes, jewelry and other sundries. The circlet at his wrist made of weightless titanium, the comp that controlled the band about her neck, grew cold and weighty.

Jewel crushed herself against Guy while she took equal turns staring up at him and taking in her surroundings. The open area of the station resembled a spring festival in its activity and temporary stalls full of sundries, but the colored tents weren’t as bright as those of the annual Rangetown exhibitions. These were grimy from the fuel exhaust that seemed to cover the station and the apathy that overcame the inhabitants at midday when the carousing began.

At a stall of women’s clothing, Jewel’s hands slid among the expensive garments and accessories. Would that her white hand could slide along his cock with the same reverence. A quick shake of his head ruthlessly shoved the thought away before Jewel could sense his wayward inclination to bend her over the piles of soft cloth.

Jewel snatched her hand away. Her blue eyes opened wide and she stared at him, frozen in place, waiting. Her lips formed an eager smile. “Now?”

Too late.

“Not here.” He ran a hand over his face.

Get a grip on yourself, man.
They were here to clothe his woman, his illegal woman, not dawdle about in the wares. Just knowing she’d respond to what he wanted made it nearly impossible to think of anything else.

A short, rotund shopmistress approached and gave him the once-over, not in any way sexual, but in visible appreciation of his expensive garments. Within her pale wrinkled face she smiled. The glint in her eye reflected pure avarice.

After rescuing Jewel, he’d sunk from the most well-to-do rancher on Grassland to being land-rich and cash-poor. With his father’s inability to stop money from running straight out of his hands, Guy understood how to scrape and survive.

And steal.

This was not a good time to run out of funds, but he’d find a way to get her out of this mess. Until he had the time to move some of his property, he had a barely existent budget to outfit Jewel and keep her safe.

“Honorable shopkeep, my concubine is in need of three changes of clothing for a short jaunt to
Gerra Station.
Robes, gloves and slippers.” He lied easily. After years playing this part, he didn’t bother with guilt, though the use of the common term to describe Jewel twinged.

The trader visually measured Jewel. “Honorable sir, does your female need undergarments as well? I have a special weave that protects from unintentional contamination.”

Beside him, Jewel pressed her face into his ribs as if to crawl into his skin. Her hand gripped the neckline of her wrap closer around the silver circlet at her throat.

“Yes, those as well. An ensemble in blue, pink and…” he paused. Jewel had worn so many gowns, vibrant colors and rich fabrics before she’d crushed his world and left Grassland with one heart-rending sentence and a good-bye kiss. As lowborn as they came, he’d been a fool to dream of having her as wife. “Black.”

The wraps were nothing like the dresses she’d worn before she betrayed him and left to marry another. It was painfully obvious that, given how he’d barely made it inside her before he’d spilled, he should’ve found a woman to replace her memory long ago.

The shopkeep chose the same style of silken wrap Jewel now wore, the differences being in the small embroidered scenes ranging from the pink with paradise flowers to the black dress adorned with angels and demons in various embraces. The selected slippers and undergarments wouldn’t do, though. They didn’t fit his dwindling budget.

“No, my concubine is lovely without further adornment. I’d prefer something simple and elegant to cover her treasures.” His face heated. He’d said such drivel before while on mission, but he’d never had Jewel as witness.

The transaction closed quickly.

With the new purchases bundled, he tucked them under his arm. The nearly weightless package had greatly reduced the heft of his bank purse. Thankfully, the next stop wouldn’t dent his finances as much since the merchants that catered to the Terraloft took credit. He guided her through the crowded bazaar.

Jewel slumped against him and stumbled.

“Do you need to stop at a way-room for a few moments?”

She should rest a moment without prying eyes. They’d be alone. In a small room. Together. His cock filled and lengthened.

Jewel stopped mid-stride to cup his erection. Through the fabric of her gloves and his pants, her touch burned him. A man brushed by, jostling them apart.

“Not here,” Guy gritted out and brushed her hold aside.

As if scalded, she gripped the hand that had caressed him and paled. Eyes watering, she ducked her head and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

A passing Terraloft laughed, his arm around a luscious woman who stared adoringly at her owner.

“No touching in public.” He winced when she whimpered.

“Yes, master.” She pressed into his side again, but no longer peered around her, keeping her gaze on the crowded walk.

He sighed. “Use my name.”

“Yes, Guy,” she whispered to her feet. She managed to make his name sound like
master
anyway.

After wending their way through the marketplace, passing through the western bridge and taking the lift to the fourth level, they paused outside the frosted plexy window of one of the permanent businesses on the commerce level. Herman Troshky was a financial conduit who, though he pressed for outrageous cuts, was as honest a trader as you could find on
Station Zuthuru.

Guy pressed his thumb to the pad next to the door and waited for the announcement of his visit. The sparkling white panel slid open.

“Trident, haven’t seen you in many rotations. Come in, come in.” The tall, elegant man ushered him to a plush settee and didn’t acknowledge Jewel, as the polite stricture of upper-echelon Terraloft society demanded. “Would you like a dram of your favorite whiskey? I received a shipment yesterday.”

“Yes, I’ve yet to taste as fine a blend as your Taphgan whiskey.”

Troshky bowed slightly and strode to a sidebar to prepare drinks for the two of them, but Guy expected none for Jewel.

The arrogant rich no longer lived on planet. The new elite, the Terraloft, dodged earthly legal strictures and lived for pleasure alone but held to their own honor codes. They kept their ranks free of lowly born, using their wealth to further their own collective lifestyle while adhering to old customs of aristocracy.

Troshky clung to the bottom rung of the structure that fed the cravings of the rich. Following the unwritten Terraloft code, Troshky would only acknowledge a silver-tip if the owner wished it so. Until introduction, Jewel didn’t exist to the man who filled two glasses. Best to keep it that way since Jewel was above men like Troshky.

Troshky handed him a glass with a slight nod, sat across a highly glossed low table and crossed his legs with affected boredom.

Jewel perched beside Guy on the small couch with her thigh pressed against his. She folded her hands in her lap and held herself immobile with head bent low.

Even under these circumstances, her light touch sizzled through him. To clamp down on his desire before she responded and sought to ease him, he glanced around the room. The apparent ill-gotten wealth brought his desires to a screeching halt. He’d used Troshky’s skills to help others to freedom, to get back home to Grassland, but he didn’t forgive the man for his other clients.

Troshky wore the same type of rich-textured suit, though his shone in emerald green to match his coloring and eyes. A handsome man, Troshky supported his own concubine as well as a wife stashed somewhere in the upper levels of the station. Yet his features were nearly bland and decidedly pale from never seeing the sun, and his body was lean and soft from seeking no hard labor. This man had never tilled the earth with his hands. Like Guy in his hated role as a spoiled brat, Troshky wore soft slippers, a sign he had no need to work. Since Troshky was a climber, somewhere in his past he’d not possessed wealth. He’d not been born to it any more than Guy had. That thin connection seemed to make them almost friends, and the gleam in Troshky’s eyes, one he’d not had before, spoke plainly. He thought Guy had finally taken the last step in irresponsible dissolution by taking a concubine, making them, in Troshky’s eyes, more alike.

Nope. Not alike at all.

Can’t respect a man who doesn’t own a decent pair of boots.
He sighed and took a long sip of the smoky liquor.

Let the games begin. “Your hospitality is fine, as always.” Guy started with the usual flattery.

Troshky nodded with a slight tilting to his lips. “I am pleased you visit again.”

They never mentioned business for what it was. The exchange of money for service was a favor, not a lowly exchange from merchant to customer.

“I would ask a favor, and if you deem it within your indulgence to grant me this, I would be delighted if you would accept a valuable gift.” Guy looked into the shrewd green eyes across from him before he moved his disinterested gaze to the furnishings of the room.

A large vidscreen cycled through lush scenes of tropical paradises, bright sunny beaches and luxuriously appointed pleasure ships with scantily clad men and women lounging around to beautify their surroundings. The full bar held a sampler of liquors, ales and synthetic mood adjustors. Two doors flanked the vidscreen. He’d been through those doors before. One held a long corridor to a closetlike hallway filled with sample garments for custom order. The other door led to pleasure chambers. The last door to the last bedroom was Troshky’s. His concubine lived in these quarters, but Guy’d never seen her. He flicked a glance at Troshky’s wrist. No bracelet. His concubine’s Broker must be in perfect working order, unlike Jewel’s, wherever it was. His hand tightened on his glass.

“How can I help my friend?” Troshky’s cultured voice held no accent, his origins effectively disguised.

Getting some of Jewel’s life back, her memory, was his first priority, but after arranging transportation, he’d try one last-ditch effort to find her Broker—if it still existed. He held no hope that it did.

“A pleasure cruise. But I need to make a stop on a certain medship along the way. I can give you coordinates, but I’d like to travel anonymously. Papa’s been after me to wed, and I’d like to avoid the noose for a few months or so.” His father might turn in his grave at that, but he couldn’t care less. The man had been a cruel, lazy wastrel. Guy’s thigh pressed against Jewel on the settee while he covered her gloved hand with his own and squeezed gently.

“A common enough request, my friend. Come.” Troshky rose elegantly and motioned him to a console near the vidscreen.

After exchanging more pleasantries, more foppish inanities before he could be brash enough to offer the coordinates, Guy found a cruise that would work and arranged to “gift” Troshky to complete the reservations.

“Would you like to visit the backroom for any further needs?” The insinuation was there with barely constrained amusement. Troshky meant sex toys, bindings, enhancers, but though it might help Guy’s cover, this would be his last mission. His cover was thin at best, and he no longer had an urge to keep it. Besides, once he got Jewel to a safe place, helped her recover her life, his life would be over. He couldn’t return to his ranch and remain sheriff with Jewel as his slave.

“Not today. I have other plans, but I would ask another favor, for the appropriate reciprocation, of course.”

“Whatever I can do for a friend.” Troshky smiled, his deep dimples showing why he’d never fully smiled at Guy before. The Terraloft did not dimple.