Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series) (37 page)

“Morning,” Joran croaked, and pulled his full mug over for a drink of hot, reviving brew.
 

“Good morning,” Logan said, with his usual searching look. Assessing Joran’s well-being as if he’d come sweeping in and fix whatever might be wrong. “How are you?”

Joran took another drink, and then looked his older brother in the eye. He’d never backed down from a challenge, he wasn’t going to start now, not with this.
 

“Not good. Need your help. Or more specifically, LodeStar Security.”

“It’s yours,” Logan said instantly. “Tell me.”
 

Joran took another drink of coffee, forcing it past the knot of shame and regret in his throat. Fuck, he did not like this. He was a grown man, the captain of a wild, rowdy crew that struck fear into the hearts of miscreants from here to Earth II, and here he was, throwing more trouble on his older brother’s plate when it already looked to be full.

No way to go but forward. Squaring his jaw, he began to speak. In a short time, he caught Logan up to speed on the events of the past days, slugging his coffee in between phrases. Then he set his mug down and pressed his fingers to his eyes, speaking through his hands.
 

“I apologize for handing you another problem right now. And I know this is pretty small space rubble for you, brother, but it’s escalated beyond what I can handle without losing more good people.”

“Are you joking?” Logan asked.

Joran lowered his hands to find Logan eyeing him as if he were a lunie.
 

“Joran,” Logan said crisply. “I understand you are accustomed to downplaying your accomplishments, but I’ll tell you now, I’ve always found that ridiculous.”

Joran raised his brows, taken aback. “Do tell.” Far as he knew, he had very few accomplishments. He didn’t, for instance, run a multi-quazillion credit business empire, or a wealthy mine.
 

He managed to keep himself and his people out of prison. Given his lifestyle, he supposed that counted for something.
 

Logan shook his head. “You may choose to style yourself as a pirate, brother, but certain others have noticed that in actuality you and your crew police a large area of Frontiera. And before you argue with me—yes, I know you steal—but I also know you do so from pirates, crooked merchants and the slime of thegalaxy who mistakenly believe your territory will be a safe place to hide out and ply their wretched trades.”

“Wretched trades?” Joran’s lips twitched with humor.

Logan’s mouth lifted at one corner in a mirror gesture, acknowledging his lofty turn of phrase, but forging on, seemingly intent in embarrassing Joran to the maximum extent.
 

“These pirates find instead that their choice of venue empties their credit accounts and the ranks of their crews, who scuttle for safety on another planet after a run-in with yours. Oh, I know there a few rascals who’ve managed to remain in various caves and underground hideouts, but they’re petty criminals at best.”

Joran rose, belying his burning cheeks with a casual slouch. “Need more coffee.”

Logan waited for the machine to stop hissing, and for Joran to turn and lean on the counter. His gaze, full of affection and pride, cut a slash through Joran’s embarrassment.

“You’re not a pirate, Il Zhazid. You’re a vigilante.”

“Huh,” Joran muttered into his cup, hoping to hells he didn’t look like a schoolboy being praised by his teacher. “Well, you see where that’s gotten me. In a black hole so powerful it’s sucked my crew in after me, and you and Creed may be next.”

Logan looked tired and drawn, but he didn’t look worried. “There’s a reason Cerul’s set her sights on you,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “If she can use you to get rid of these slavers,
and
force you to step in line, she’ll come out of this looking like the hero of Frontiera to some.”

Joran snorted derisively, but he glared as he pictured the Commander’s cold, triumphant smirk. “Bitch can have all the glory. Never wanted to be a quarking hero, just want to be left alone.”

“I think you no longer have a choice. Because neither I, nor Creed, nor Stone Masterson or any of the others who’ve worked so hard and invested so much to make this new planet a safe place for our people, and others who want to live and work here, want her in charge of Alliance forces here.”

“She’s got a gleam in her eye,” Joran agreed. “For lack of a better term, fanaticism.”

“Agreed. Studying the histories of Earth I and II shows us what happens with fanatics gain power. They quell anyone who dares to question them—and they do so any way they see fit.”

“She’s started on me,” Joran said dryly.

“You’re her first big target, yes. But if she succeeds, she’ll be after others, until no one dare cross her. And though many in the IGSF will question her tactics, others will follow blindly.”

Logan tapped his fingers decisively on the gleaming wood of his desk. “Solutions. Bronc Berenson, head of LodeStar security, will work with you. He’s the best, and he has a personal stake in this. His younger brother, a Space Forces veteran, disappeared a few months ago. Bronc believes he may have been taken by slavers as a gladiator for one of the illegal fight arenas.”

“Hells, that’s rough.” Joran had been to many a fight, even bet on them, but always featuring beings who wanted to fight. Some lived for the adrenaline rush. Mako had taken out plenty of opponents, so had Var, and won their friends a lot of credit. But to be caged and forced to fight—that was as bad as forced labor or sex slavery.
 

“He also believes that there is a slave gang still working from Earth II,” Logan went on. “We’re looking at one ganger in particular, Tal Darkrunner.”

By the look in Logan’s eye, he knew this ganger and hated him.
 

“Here’s my idea,” Joran said. “Vadyal’s mistress is a Serpentian calls herself Slidi. She—” He broke off as Logan started at the name. “What? You’ve heard of her too?”

“Not only that, unbelievably, I’ve met her,” Logan’s nostrils flared with distaste. “She was an employee at Maitresse, an exclusive boutique and salon I helped finance in New Seattle. Run by an old friend of mine, Haassea.
 

“Slidi made advances to me, I rebuffed her. She was then extremely rude to Kiri. Haassea reprimanded her, and I thought nothing more of it. Haassea mentioned she’d disappeared. She assumed Slidi had found another wealthy protector. It seems we were correct, but I’d no idea she would stoop so far into the gutter as a slaver.”

“Small galaxy,” Joran said. “Strange we’ve both encountered her.”

Logan met his gaze, the same catch of doubt in his silver gaze. “Is it? Because I don’t place much credence in coincidence.”

“You’ve got to wonder,” Joran said slowly. “Seen women on you, craving your attention, working for it. Never thought what they did when they failed to capture you.”

“I might say the same for you,” Logan added. “And now she’s in turn appeared in your territory. Perhaps she led this Vadyal to you.”

Joran grimaced in disgust. “That’s dark.” Failing to capture Logan, she’d turned her sights on his kin?

Logan shrugged. “It may also be obsession of a different kind. Kiri had a ganger, Tal Darkrunner, who kidnapped her—to save her from worse slavers, he claimed. I didn’t believe him though she did.”

“He still around?”

“Earth II. One of the underground kings of New Seattle. Which I don’t like, but as long as he’s there, he’s not here continuing to stalk her.”

“I can see this bitch stalking a man, doing anything to get him,” Joran said. “Not only that, she murdered Vadyal, tried to make it look like an accident. My opinion, she’s a complete sociopath, lacks any conscience. If she was after you, you’re damn lucky she was only rude to Kiri.”
 

Shoulders tight with renewed rage, he repeated what Zaë had told him of the Serpentian’s sadistic tendencies.
 

“Zaë? Who is this, your current woman?”

“Ah, no.” Joran shook his head. “Rescue from the slave auction. They drugged her up, she’s lost her memory. She’s only here till I can figure out where to send her. Keeping her close, because she’s a helpless immi.”

At this instant, Logan’s gaze drifted over Joran’s shoulder, and a slight waft of air moved around him. Joran turned to find Zaë standing in the open door of the bedroom. She was tousled from bed, clad in the peachy nightgown, her face still flushed with sleep. Her blue eyes widened when she saw Logan watching her from the holovid, then she eased back and closed the door, latching it behind her.
 

“That’s her.” Joran speared his fingers through his hair.
 

“She’s lovely,” Logan said.
 

Joran gave him a warning look. “Don’t even think about it. We figure out who she is, she goes home on one of your ships in a first class stateroom. End of story.”

“Well then,” Logan said. “We’d better get on that. Keep her close, hmm? If she’s from some wealthy or well-known family, she’d be worth a great deal of ransom.”

“I’ll keep her close.” He’d do that no matter if she was a maid from some backwater settlement. No one was getting hold of his bunny to terrorize and hurt her again. Not that he had any intention of keeping her, because he didn’t.

Logan’s eyes twinkled faintly. “Yes, I see you are.”

Joran gave him a look. Logan had been here and knew that was Joran’s bedroom she’d looked out of. “How about you? Any new women in your life?”

“No,” Logan said, his gaze dropping. “Too busy lately.”

So he was missing Kiri. Logan had never, to Joran’s memory, been too busy to have a beautiful woman on his arm.

“Bronc will get the girl’s holovid from you, and put his people on her. With facial recognition software, we should be able to find a match fairly quickly—if she’s from this galaxy.”

“Right.” And why did that leave Joran’s belly feeling hollow? He needed to find out who she was.

“What do you have planned next?” Logan asked.

“Pre-emptive strike,” Joran said. “Get a meet with Slidi’s contacts. Get in, clean house of as many of them as we can, let the IGSF clean up the mess. How we’ll deal with Cerul, don’t know yet.”

Logan leaned back in his chair. “What about a combined effort? If you don’t mind, I’ll discuss it with Masterson and get back to you.”

Joran’s brows flew up. Was Logan asking his permission? The man must be more vulnerable than he’d realized…or perhaps he was simply learning a painful lesson.

“Great,” he agreed “Just fill me in right away—or have Bronc do it, if you come up with any ideas.”

“Of course. Meantime, we’ll let Cerul believe everything is progressing just as she wishes.”

“It will be, we get the slavers routed.” Joran said wryly. “Do her dirty work, give her the glory.”

“Glory,” Logan murmured. “Hmm. Perhaps that’s the key, right there.”

He turned his head to look at someone else, and nodded. He turned back to Joran. “Another meeting, I’m afraid. I’ll get back to you later today, or early tomorrow. Link Bronc as soon as you can, hmm?”

“Right. Thanks, brother.” Joran couldn’t muster a smile, but he held his brother’s gaze, man to man.

 
“Always.”

“And Logan—take care of yourself.”

This time, the man looked startled. But he nodded.

After he broke the link, Joran slid from his stool. He stood for a moment in his quiet tont, his gaze turned inward. The calm felt anti-climactic.
 

He shook his head at himself. He’d asked Logan for help, admitted he was fallible and look—his tont hadn’t blown up around him and glancing up at the rooftop surveillance holovid, outside the camp was quiet and the sun was still shining.
 

Would wonders never cease?

Chapter 23

Slidi opened the link and waited, a smile of anticipation on her carefully gelled lips. She straightened so she sat in Vadyal’s opulent chair like a queen, her brilliant gold lii silk cape thrown open to reveal her scarlet gown and the jewels hung around her neck and from her ears.
 

Her hair was dressed high, with more jewels and her favorite slave stood at her elbow, ready to serve. His dark beauty was a perfect foil for hers.
 

A bit much, she knew, but she was counting on the theatrical effect to make her point. She was now royalty of a kind, having moved light years beyond the shop girl who had waited on rich bitches, bringing them little plates of chocolates, and coffee that was the perfect temperature, then running again to bring them gowns and other finery.

She was the queen of an illicit empire, and it was time certain beings knew this.

Haassea, the owner of the exclusive boutique and spa on Earth II, was in her office. And she was not alone, her handsome husband and partner Traay was at her side. Both wore immaculate business wear, Haassea’s in Maitresse’s signature cream, Traay’s olive gray to set off his extraordinary green eyes.

They both stared at Slidi with wonder, although of course they tried to disguise it behind haughty stares.