Urden, God of Desire (19 page)

It wasn’t the answer she expected. She closed her eyes and shook her head, her wet hair cold against her cheeks. “You’re lying.”

Silence ticked between them in as much as it could with the buzz of the overhead lights and the many other computers generating white noise. Glasses clinked together at the bar. People blubbered and rambled, their voices echoing.

“Look at me.”

She opened her eyes and frowned at him.

“I don’t lie.” The Shiemir let out a long sigh before he continued. “Come back to me.”

She laughed under her breath.
“Yeah, right.
Can’t happen.”

“Melia.”
He rubbed his right temple for a time, watching her. She didn’t sense that he was trying to place where she was, but rather, he seemed to be trying to gather his thoughts. “Was it that bad?”

“What?” She looked at his open shirt and the hairs across his chest. She’d run her fingers up and down that retreat for an hour before she fled his room.

“The sex.”
He fixed her with a serious gaze.

Melia pressed her palm over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. She blinked and held her breath.

He went on. “I’m sorry if it was. I’ve never been with anyone except my late wife. It’s been so long.”

“It wasn’t bad at all.” Her hand dropped to her lap. “It was pretty damn good, actually. I wish we were different people, or at least we were on the same side.”

“We can be.” Once more, he touched the screen, and she realized what he was doing. When she’d tried to kill him in the church, he’d touched her lips in that same slow, swiping motion. “Come back to me. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

“It?” she shook her head, incredulous. Her heart picked up speed though. This was a strange twist of events. No one had ever offered her a place to belong. The Empire owned her—always had—always would. “What are you trying to do? Lure me back there so you can shove me in a cell and pump me for information, then carry me back to your room for a roll in the sheets? This is a load of crap. I don’t trust you.”

“Mm.”
He nodded. “I guess you’re right.” Enrue’s expression changed. He became the cool, calculating Shiemir she’d studied in the file vids. “I don’t trust you either. I probably never will. I want you to know that what happened between us wasn’t business for me. Too bad you don’t feel the same way.”

She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Melia reached for her drink. She held the glass to her lips and swallowed.

“Hope you get some sleep,” Enrue said. “It’s only a matter of time before my guards find you. Taraf is sealed off. No sense in running.”

She shrugged off his threat. “I know. I cracked the net.”

“Don’t be so confident.” He tapped the screen. “I know your clever, little secret. But your eyes, Melia, they never change, do they?”

She blew him a kiss without answering his question and ended the link.

Chapter Twenty Six

Port Onar

It was strange to be in a big city again. Razi breathed in the pollution, the smell of people living too close together and the greasy scent of Hemec fuel in the garage his gang of rebels had parked in. He wasn’t good at this part, at casing the area. All he knew about were files and trades. His knowledge in the bedroom wouldn’t help them here, but his knowledge of how these places worked would. They rode in two elevators and entered the lower level office.

The ward brothel wasn’t as nice as the one in Southern Irnia where Razi had lived. It was worse. No blue scanlight tested for disease at the door. No disinfectant scent lingered in the air. He tapped the tile floor with one boot and wondered how long it had been since they mopped. The overlapping muddy shoeprints guaranteed at least a month’s time.

Razi and his band of men shuffled down the darkened steps of the brothel’s entry to grunge so degrading and foul, he had to close his eyes at what he saw. Here, people were bought and sold for pleasure, but this was not the same as the Hicklan wards. Rooms lined with men and women awaiting implants bore glass walls so passersby could inspect their naked bodies. Some were held by chains, others reclined on cots. Most were Unangi, evidenced by their dark skin.

“This way,” one of Razi’s men said. “You keep them busy in the office. We’ll start evacuating these people.”

He nodded, unsure of what he could possibly do to help. Razi entered the dingy office and smiled at the attendant, a burly man with large fists. A woman moaned in apparent pleasure in the rear of the room, hidden by a half-open door.

“Help you?” The man glanced up. His eyes roved up and down. “What the hell are you doing here, Unangi?”

“I need a woman, two actually…maybe three.”

The attendant’s eyes narrowed. “You speak well for a native.” He reached beneath the desk. Razi tensed, unsure of what the man might pull out.
A gun, a blade?
Instead, he dropped a set of key cards on the counter and set a data sharer before him. “Take your pick. Or you can go look at the fresh ones. Virgins, experienced ones…we have whatever you desire as long as you can afford to pay.”

“Oh, I can pay.” He slipped the first card into the sharer and pretended to watch the screen with interest. “How long have you been in business?” He glanced sideways at the attendant.

Touching a large, outdated screen, the man smirked. “We’ve been here longer than you’ve been fucking.

“It’s not very clean here.” He tapped through images of young Unangi
women,
some not even old enough to have gone through puberty. Bile rose in his throat. This wasn’t
Hicklan, that
was for sure.

“You don’t like it, go to the Corps then. Pay more and get something primped and ready. Ours are straight from the mountains. You can train ‘em yourself. Plus,” he leaned forward, his gaze catching on Razi’s forearm, “they’re not traceable. You can do whatever you want. No one gives a shit.”

Drawing his arm to his side, he was suddenly aware of the old Tagian Tracker he’d never had removed. The woman in the back area started screaming and a man grunted in unison.

The alert sharer in Razi’s pocket vibrated. It was time to go. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that. This place sickens me.”

The attendant frowned, his thick eyebrows joining in the middle to form a straight, black line. “You’re a ward, aren’t you?” His mouth turned, revealing a snarl of teeth. “Maybe you need that stuck-up chip knocked off your shoulder. Little romp in the back room with Phil.”

Slipping the detonator under the counter, Razi glared. “Maybe that’s what
you
need, you ass.”

The attendant’s upper lip curled. “Phil!”

The woman in the back room made a disappointed cry. Something fell and the back door opened. A burly man entered the office, pulling up his pants, his hair sticking out in a mat at the back of his head. He lurched forth like a monster in a horror flick from times forgotten. “What?”

“This Unangi thinks our place isn’t clean.”

Phil twisted his mouth to one side.
“Oh yeah?
You wanna see how crappy it is?” He opened the creaking service counter gate and stepped closer. “You’re a pretty one, you are.” He reached out with one grubby hand and grasped Razi’s wrist. “Come here. I’ll show you. We ain’t so bad. Could fetch a fine price for you, we could.”

Razi stiffened. By now, the others would have led the wards out to the lot, to safety and the waiting shuttles. He had only to get the files behind the desk, the records they needed with shipment dates. It hadn’t seemed such a difficult assignment when he agreed to it.

Phil raised his other hand and landed a harsh slap across Razi’s cheek. His skin burned and the indignation made his anger well. He jerked backward, setting the larger man off balance.

“I like it when they fight,” his aggressor muttered to the attendant. “You know I like it.” He raised his hand and curled his fingers into a fist. “You need a lesson, pretty one.”

Razi tried to duck away from the punch, but it caught him in the temple, sending prickles of light across his vision. For an instant, he saw Sima’s face and wondered if he’d ever see her again.

“He’s tagged,” the attendant said. “Bet he’s one of them damn Corp wards looking for a little fun of his own.”

Phil chuckled.
“Yeah.
I’ll give him some fun…”

Razi dug his fingers in his pocket and found the gun. He’d never shot one before, never wanted to hurt anyone. He gripped the cold handle and pulled the weapon free, aiming it straight at Phil’s face.

“Oh shit!” the attendant shouted.

He squeezed the trigger. The sound was muffled, but the splash of blood was not. Razi staggered backward, horrified. Phil’s hands flailed toward his ruined face. His jaw dropped, gore draining over his teeth and he fell in a twitching heap on the grungy floor. The attendant stood and scrambled through the mess on his desk looking for something.

Razi took a step forward, an eerie image of his old wardmaster creeping into his mind. He’d seen Aileen’s murder.

He raised the weapon and aimed, thinking he was no better than the policeman who had killed Aileen.

He closed his eyes and fired.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Red-Haired Steward

O’Ka pounded her fist on the table before her, drawing Enrue’s attention. Even though she spoke to him through the com, he felt her anger. He’d drifted off again, thinking about Melia and her lips. He imagined all sorts of things he ought to have said to her on the com, but he hadn’t the courage. Two days had passed. He doubted she’d left Taraf, but the slim chance she might have escaped angered him.

“Do you remember what I was saying last time we spoke?” O’Ka turned her face to one side, eyeing him like a piece of meat. “About speaking to you on a personal level?”

“Yes, yes.” Enrue swallowed hard and waited for what he knew she would propose.

“As you know, my late husband has been gone for some time now. And as you have no mate…”

Nema’s com interrupted the conversation. The Shiemir breathed a sigh of relief. “Excuse me, O’Ka. Perhaps we can discuss this when you arrive this evening. My secretary is calling.”

Her eyes narrowed for an instant.
“Yes, Shiemir.
Tonight.”

He clicked over to the other screen, revealing Nema. “What is it?”

“We’ve a steward in custody. He went to the police with a missing persons report…a woman with gold eyes. Sounds like your Cossia.” Nema looked bored over the news.

“I want to speak to him.”

She shrugged.
“As you wish.
I’ll have the guards bring him to the cell block so long as you promise not to carry him to your—”

“Very funny.”
He hissed through his teeth. “Just tell me when he’s here. And prepare a room for O’Ka, preferably as far from mine as possible. She has a hostage, a young girl. Keep the child in a cell, but make it…bearable.”

“Your will is mine, my Shiemir.”

After that, Enrue delved into his work, trying to forget, to focus on what should be the most important things—the war—the Empire—not the assassin. She should not stir his emotions so much. He flicked open her data sharer and traced the edge of the device.
“Com me, damn you.
I can’t stand this.”

He keyed in another ten pass codes to no avail. The sharer was hack proof. Snapping it shut, he returned to his work, anxious to meet with this steward they’d caught.