FrankenDom (36 page)

Unbelievably, his grip on her wrists eased for a split second and she took her chance.
If Shauss went with her, so be it.

Wrenching one hand free, she reached under her blouse.

He caught her before she even got close.

“What are you up to now?” he said tightly as he rolled her to her side.

The massive erection thrusting from his open uniform made her squeeze her thighs together.
“Don’t do this, Shauss, please don’t!”

“What were you trying to do?”

He used his free hand to push her blouse up and jolted at the sight of the activator
taped to her ribs. Then his furious eyes bored into hers. God, he absolutely hated
her.

She hissed in agony as he tore the device from her skin and shoved it under her nose.

“Why would you do this thing for Pret?” Minister Cecine looked like a flame-haired
Grim Reaper as he loomed over her in his long robes. “Do you have any idea of the
kind of pain this death would cause you?”

Every drop of blood drained from her head. “D-death? He said it would tr-transport
me out of h-here.”

“Miss King, this device is a feyo shell,” Kellen said harshly. “It will incinerate
you and anyone you’re touching from the inside out.”

Her world tilted. Oh God, she’d been set up.

“Jasmine?” She flinched at the accusation in Shelley’s tone. “You
helped
him?”

“How did he convince you?” Shauss barked, seemingly oblivious to his nudity. “Promises
of money? Power? Technology?”

“Nothing!” Jasmine’s eyes fell again to his angry, mile-long penis and the appendage
emerging above it before skittering to the commander. “He came to me and said that
Monica didn’t want to be with you, that she was miserable and had begged him to get
her out of here, and I thought it was true because I heard her yelling at you in your
office that day before she disappeared! Please, Commander, I swear to God, I was only
trying to help her!”

“Where has he taken her?”

“I don’t know!”

Shauss rolled her to her stomach again, forcing her thighs apart with his knees, and
she squeezed her eyes shut, nearly hyperventilating with the expectation of a vicious
rape and the horrors that would inevitably follow.

“Tell me where he took my mate,” he roared, shoving the blazing-hot hardness of his
cock against her bare bottom, “or I and every soldier on this ship will fuck your
ass into useless, bloody shreds!”

“I don’t know!” she screamed again. “All I know is they’re underground somewhere!”

A loud thump made everyone still, and then Kellen said, “Ketrok hasn’t removed her
biomet.”

Shauss heaved her off the floor and spun her around just as a flare bubble engulfed
the commander. Clamping her arms in an excruciating grip, he pulled her up until her
toes dangled in the air and his clove-scented breath gusted over her face. “If Monica’s
lost to me, I’ll be back for your ass.”

His snarl shattered what was left of her composure and she whimpered weakly as a cold
sweat broke out on every inch of her skin.
Oh God, no…

Her bladder released in a scalding torrent down her legs. The splatter on the biologic
pad seemed to go on forever as his gaze dropped to her privates and his expression
went from murderous to cruelly amused. “Well, I didn’t see that coming.”

“Please just kill me,” she choked.

He raised one sleek black eyebrow. “And waste a perfectly good piece of ass?” Setting
her down, he shoved her toward one of the guards and zipped up his suit. “Don’t let
her out of your sight, Zannen.”

The instant he disappeared in a flare bubble, Jasmine swayed, rubber-kneed and shaking.
Only the grip around her abused arm kept her upright. Tears of shame streaked down
her cheeks in cooling echoes of the rivers drying on her legs.

“Miss King.” The minister’s tone was flat as he approached. She couldn’t bring herself
to look at him but she could just imagine the expression of scorn on his face. God
knew she’d seen it often enough on her father’s.

“You will remain here,” he continued, “under guard until my daughter’s status has
been determined. Do not create any further difficulties for yourself.”

“Your daughter!” Her eyes jerked up to his and suddenly the ambassador’s true motive
for spiriting Monica away from the ship slammed into her—he planned to forge a political
alliance with their leader by claiming the man’s only living daughter.

And she had helped him do it.

Jasmine felt sick. When Pret had come to her, she’d considered the possibility he
wanted Monica for himself and immediately dismissed it. He was a fussy old diplomat
who exhibited none of the brooding sexual hunger all the other Garathani males radiated,
while Monica was a belligerent little Goth doctor who loved nothing more than letting
the air out of pompous windbags with her verbal darts. She’d drive him crazy within
five minutes.

So much for her powers of deductive reasoning. The idea that Monica might be fighting
Pret off right now just about killed her. Thank God the doctors hadn’t removed her
biometric implant yet so Kellen and Shauss had a chance to find her before it was
too late. The man was old and thin but he was Garathani-tall and he hadn’t just gone
through a life-threatening physical transition. If anything happened to Monica, she’d
never forgive herself.

“Yes, my daughter—whom I may never have a chance to know now, thanks to you. I suspect
she would die before submitting to Pret. So you understand,” his pointed look became
even more pointed when it drifted below her waist, “why I’ll be disinclined to protect
you should anything happen to her.”

A tremor shook Jasmine as sharp prongs of awareness penetrated her shock. She was
mostly naked in front of a bunch of seven-foot-tall aliens who hadn’t had sex in over
a decade. If Cecine chose to withdraw his protection, Shauss would probably order
them all to fuck her to death—after he’d exacted his own personal revenge.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, quelling the urge to slide a palm protectively over
her crotch as more tears rolled down her cheeks.

After staring at her for another agonizing moment, Cecine snatched a roll of fluffy
white material out of thin air and handed it to her.

“Clean and compose yourself as best you can.” He turned to Shelley. “Nurse Bonham,
do you require a physician?”

“No!” Still sitting at the table, Shelley kept her arms wrapped over her bulging stomach.
“I just want to go home.”

“In due time.” He sent stern a look Jasmine’s way. “Zannen, see that she conducts
herself appropriately until I return.”

“With pleasure, Minister.”

She pressed her lips together, not daring to look up at the source of the growl as
Cecine stalked out.

“Jasmine, what did you do?” Shelley whispered, leaving dark mascara smudges as she
wiped her eyes with unsteady fingers.

Jasmine couldn’t speak around the tears. And what could she say that she hadn’t already?
That she was trying to think for herself, to do the right thing, to prove that she
wasn’t just Daddy’s little embarrassment? Her father would say that’s where she’d
made her first mistake—thinking for herself. She hated that he was right. If she’d
just stuck to the mission, none of this would have happened.

But if she hadn’t acted, she would have spent the rest of her life wondering if she’d
deprived Monica of her one chance at freedom. That was a burden she couldn’t have
lived with. Period. She’d made the best decision she could based on the information
available to her at the time, and now she’d just have to live with the consequences.

Unfortunately, so would everyone else.

She stood up straighter and swiped eyes with her free hand, determined not to act
like any more of a victim than she already had. After all, Cecine hadn’t withdrawn
his protection just yet.

Taking a deep breath, she glared down at the long, hard fingers clutching her arm.
“Do you mind?”

“Not very well,” came the gravelly reply.

“Listen, you…” She glanced up and gasped, instinctively trying to pull away. Jesus,
he looked like Mr. Clean’s evil twin, with flat black eyes, bushy black brows, a big
pitted bowling ball of a head, and a grid work of scars ringing his thick, tanned
neck. She hadn’t even realized there
were
bald Garathani, much less ugly ones, but this guy was all that and more.

Her eyes widened—he even had a shiny black ring in his left ear.

“I’m listening, but I’m not hearing anything,” he informed her with a smirk.

She jerked her arm. “Let go of me.”

His grip tightened for an instant before he relented, and she flexed both arms gingerly.
She’d be one big bruise tomorrow. Assuming she was still alive tomorrow.

Taking a deep breath, she unrolled the spongy fabric, which turned out to be a large
towel of some sort. She looped it over her hips and then hesitated, glancing around
at a half-dozen chiseled faces. They all just stared at her like stray dogs at the
butcher shop window, so even though it went against every instinct, she turned her
back and leaned over to pat her legs and feet dry, making sure her rear stayed covered.
Everything else could drip-dry—there was no way she was wiping her crotch in front
of all these males.

When she rewrapped herself and tucked in the corner of the towel at her waist, a guard
she recognized from the compound, Ensign Verr, scooped up her skirt and held it out
to her. It was completely ruined, the back seam ripped from top to bottom, so she
folded it and set it on the table.

Another guard handed over her flats, which she stepped into gratefully. The biologic
pad lining the ship’s interior was a brilliant innovation, absorbing biological byproducts
and returning oxygen and nitrogen to the atmosphere, but she’d had enough of its squishy
moistness under her feet.

Of course the bald one tried to hand her what was left of her underwear. The tattered
scrap of lace looked ridiculously tiny in his gigantic fingers.

“Keep them as a souvenir,” she snapped.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes widened when he raised the fabric to his nose. “No! I was—”

Zannen inhaled so deeply she was surprised it didn’t disappear into one of his nostrils.

“You’re disgusting,” she told him.

He grinned widely, baring enormous white teeth. “You’re the one who just pissed herself.”

Flushing scarlet, she turned away, knowing there was no comeback cutting enough to
top that.

“You may as well be seated,” Ensign Verr suggested. “You’re not going anywhere until
we know Dr. Teague is safe.”

Jasmine sat, keeping the towel securely around her while avoiding Shelley’s reproachful
stare. The scissors still lay on the table, a stark reminder of how ineffective she’d
been. Why hadn’t she stuck those back into her skirt pocket when she was done cutting
Monica’s hair? She still wouldn’t have posed much of a threat to Shauss, but she might
at least have been able to take her own life before he outed her as something other
than human.

Maybe it wasn’t too late. After all, no matter which way this went down, she came
out the big loser. She’d either suffer and die at Shauss’ whim, and possibly take
her father down with her, or go home with her tail between her legs and suffer her
father’s undying contempt for the rest of her life.

All it would take was one good, hard jab straight up between—

“I’ll take these.” Zannen’s hand covered the scissors and slowly slid them off the
side of the table. “Little girls shouldn’t play with sharp toys.”

Damn it, couldn’t she catch just one break today?

Keeping her eyes on the table, she muttered, “Bastard.”

“You have no idea. Yet.”

Her breath caught at the silky insinuation. He was just waiting for Shauss to come
back in a rage and turn them loose on her.

Another tremor shook her. She wanted to stay strong, to face whatever happened to
her with courage and dignity, but she didn’t know if she could. She’d just about lost
her mind when Shauss jumped on her earlier, and she hadn’t even really believed he
would obey the commander’s order, or at least not at first. Now that she knew what
was coming, she might be able to handle it if he came back and finished what he’d
started. She’d earned his wrath, and the idea of being punished for her sins was somehow
acceptable. Honorable, even. If her father became a target as a result, he’d just
have to roll with it—he’d known the risks going in as well as she had.

But there was no honor in ending up a
piece of ass
for this ugly brute. The degradation would be unbearable.

He trailed a fingertip along her jaw and she jerked her head to the side, glaring
up at him. There was no way she’d let him have her—she’d tear his eyeballs out first.

“Lieutenant,” the other man said in a warning tone.

Zannen just smiled and resumed a watchful stance over her.

Too discouraged to deal with Shelley’s condemnation, Jasmine rested her forehead on
her crossed arms and started praying in earnest.

Please, God, let Monica be okay…

* * * * *

Three days later she was still praying, though her tone had gone from plaintive to
aggravated.

God, please let me out of this hellhole!

Ignoring the burning in her biceps and abs, she clung to the bar and pulled herself
up in another gorilla chin crunch, and then another, and another, blowing out with
every one.

Three whole days! It was just unbelievable. Monica had been rescued, the ambassador
was in custody, and the Garathani
had
to believe that Jasmine had been duped into cooperating in the abduction…and yet
she was still a prisoner in her own quarters. Why?

All she’d wanted when Zannen and Ensign Verr shuttled Shelley and her back to the
surface was to pack up her stuff and watch the Beaumont–Thayer compound disappear
in her rearview mirror along with the rest of snowy Montana. Instead, the bastards
had ransacked her room and confiscated her laptop, her extension phone and even her
cell phone, which was lying dead in a drawer because there was no reception out here
anyway. She’d screamed bloody murder the whole time, but they might as well have been
deaf for all the attention they paid her.