Handsome Devil (4 page)

She slaps the metal bars beside her. “It's called respect, asshole. Never trust a guy who doesn't treat his mother well. Or his mother-in-law.” She narrows her eyes at me. “My sister said no. Deal with it.”

I cross my arms over my chest and consider her. “Ferissians honor their mothers.”

“
You expect me to believe that when you can't even let a girl say no? Ha.” She winces and grabs her forehead. “Ow.”

My chin experiences the echo of an ache, reminding me just how she got that bruise on her brow. “You have a lot to learn, Agmoiria.” It is not my job to explain mating rituals to her. I will leave that to Feruz. My only task is to secure the youngest of Moiria Jenner's brood. Feruz's success depends on whether he can intercept his Bethina enroute.

His plot, his problem. My part in this is all but done.

I turn on my heel and put the Agmoiria out of my mind.

My ship is small, able to be comfortably crewed by one but capable of holding up to four humanoids. There is an airdock, where I normally would keep a prisoner, but this is no ordinary bounty run. The Agmoiria is precious cargo. I moved the cage to the bridge in an attempt to keep my eye on her.

Once the airdock is bypassed, there is a series of corridors. There is a commons area on the left. On the right is the main engine room. Further down the catwalk will find one in the portion of the ship with the living quarters. The rooms are fitted for my size, something I required when I purchased the vessel. Space is a vast concept, but ships are more often than not too cramped for my liking. I combined two rooms to create an exercise area, another necessity for my kind.

Beyond those areas is an armory and eventually the bridge. It is an efficient floorplan, and suits me well. All controls lay at my fingertips, but for the few panels scattered throughout the ship for convenience, but here is where the true power lies.

I slide into my chair and open the communication link to my brother.

His face appears on the viewscreen. “Is it done?”

I jerk my head to indicate the female over my shoulder.

“
If you're the brother, let me tell you right now, pal, you are
dead meat
,” she thunders.
 

I quirk my brow at Feruz, who grins, his teeth gleaming. “Excellent,” he states, satisfied. “It is good to know spirit runs in the family.”

“
Don't give me that 'our children shall be strong' bullshit! You've messed up big time. Think Betty is going to forgive you for using her baby sister as bait? No way, Jose. She'll rip out your very impressive eyebrows with a tweezer first, and then she'll get started on the hair on your balls. Ever been waxed, guy? It's not fun. Tweezing is going to be agony.” It sounds like a hand slaps the bars again. “And don't get me started on what I'm going to do to pretty boy over there for being a part of it.”

“
Marvelous,” is Feruz's only answer. I do not have the decorum he possesses; deep chuckles rumble in my chest and roll out of my throat. With every word she speaks, my brother becomes more determined to have Bethina. Ferissians need fierce females willing to butt heads without hesitation. I have not met Feruz's female, but I have heard tales of her legendary temper. It is almost as ferocious as her mother's.

The Agmoiria is only confirming what Feruz already knows—Bethina is a match for him.

The female howls in frustration. I believe she kicks the cage, because I then hear a hiss of pain.

Feruz turns his attention to me. “She is injured.”

He does not refer to the abused toe she no doubt currently suffers from. “As am I,” I reply calmly. “Half humans are not as weak as their counterparts.”

She huffs but says nothing. I know the silence will not last for long. “Are you prepared?” I ask my brother.

Feruz rubs his shaven scalp, the rasp transmitting clearly. “I am scanning for incoming ships. It will not be long.”

There is nothing more to be said on the subject. This is my brother's endeavor. My continued presence will only create complications. “Luck to you, Feruz.”

He glances behind me. “And to you, brother.”

The transmission ends. I immediately set to work.

“
So kidnapping brides is a thing for you.”

My theory was correct. And this time it seems she's opting for the calmer approach. I key in the coordinates for the next space station. “It is not a
thing,”
I correct without looking back. “It simply doesn't elicit the
tizzy
it does from certain species.”
 

“
Tizzy?” She sounds extremely affronted.

I smirk at the viewscreen.

I hear her pacing the small confines of her holding cell. Considering her stature, it is not as incommodious for her as it would be for me, but there is not much room to maneuver. It's the cruder model of the series, designed for lower sentient beings. I see no reason to put her in the more advanced units. It would be, as Earthlings say, overkill.

She is only a temporary resident anyway. We are on our way to the space station, where I will drop the Agmoiria off with a transmitter and a few credits. She'll be able to find her way home without a problem.

“
If it isn't a thing, what is it?”

To tell or not to tell? It will be a while before we reach Cheerpera, and I have a feeling the Agmoiria is not the sort of female that lets silence reign for very long. Not when she wishes to know something. I tap the console, debating with myself. Feruz should be the one that gives the accounting. I am not a fan of the monologue-ing urge some males experience in these situations. I prefer to state the facts and move on to the next job.

“
Look, if your brother marries my sister—and that's such a big
if
I can't find the words to describe it—we'll be family. The least you can do is let me in on the details."
 

I hear clothing rustle and turn my head to listen better. But the noise has stopped, and I am forced to spin my chair to see her leaning against the bars, brown eyes intent on me. She is far from cowed by the situation.

The least I can do, is it?

I regard her lazily. “I am a fan of war.”

She tilts her head. “That's...random information, but I can't say I'm surprised.”

My arms crossed, my legs splayed, I sway back and forth in the chair. “I collect quotations on the subject. There is a particular human phrase that I am fond of:
Forewarned is forearmed
.” I lift my brow. “I believe arming you is the last thing I wish to do.”

“
Seriously? You're not even going to give me a hint?”

“
What is there to add, female? I have told you the circumstances.”

“
But you haven't
explained
anything. Where did your brother meet Betty? What made him decide she's mate material? If I were you, I'd be a little worried about his mental state, by the way. Nobody would pick Betty out as wife material, unless this is that paranormal werewolf-type thing I keep reading about.”

I blink. “What is a werewolf?”

“
Never mind. They aren't real, but the legend says that they see their predestined mate and that's that. Instant love.” She peers at me. “So? Is that what's going on here?”

I cannot help it; I laugh. “Predestined mate? As in, a higher being has engineered the match?” I shake my head. “Very impractical.”

“
Focus, M'anu. You were just explaining to me what this was all about.”

“
No,” I say as I sit forward, “I was not. There is no reason to do so. What I will do, however, is fetch the appropriate medkit to repair these little scratches you have delivered.” I stand, relishing her scowl. “When I am finished, I will retrieve a second kit for you, along with food.” I do not smile, but I let her see my amusement. It riles her, which is exactly what I intend. “It would not do to let you starve while in my custody, would it, Agmoiria?”

She snorts, her nose wrinkling. “If this is an example of your tender loving care so far, Ferissian, I'd hate to see you angry.”

“
Yes,” I tell her as I stride past the cage, “you would.”

Chapter Three

I hook an arm through the bars and lean against it, watching the Ferissian's tight ass as he walks the catwalk and disappears down the stairs at the end. There is probably miles of machinery below him, every bit of it designed to make sure we don't blow up or otherwise die a horrible death is this vacuum.

M'anu. Sounds kind of like Manuela, but when he says it I can feel his voice vibrating in my bones. I've got a thing for deep voices. And tall men.

It's times like this that make me think of my ex Claire and dearly wish I'd been able to make it work with her. Not that homosexual relationships are any easier than hetero ones, but she never tossed me across a courtyard either.  

I have got to get the hell out of here.

I lean my forehead against the cold metal, wincing at a twinge in my bruise. He sure left his mark on me. The only thing that makes it all better is knowing I kicked his ass as best as I could. But now I've got bigger things to deal with. I am in a cage, in space, and that's obviously got to change.

So I start unbuttoning the rest of my blouse. It's pretty dead anyway. I toss it to the smooth floor and get to untucking my tank. I've got to work quick. This is going to be 25% brainwork and 75% physical strength, and I'm under a deadline.

I unsnap my bra, keeping one eye on the door. My nipples go instantly hard. It's freakin' freezing on this ship.

I flip the undergarment over. I hate underwire bras with a passion. They cut into my skin. Unfortunately they also happen to conceal some very useful equipment, and I'm not talking about my B-cups.

My thumbnail works the filament out of the wiring case. A long blue cord slides out. I quickly put it on the floor and get the companion red strip from the other side. Part of the reason I learned how to sew was because I had to hide all of this stuff somehow throughout my wardrobe. There are plans for plans that go wrong, and this is plan number 146.

My skin is pebbling with the chill, and I get the bra clipped back in place as soon as humanly possible, followed by my tank. I glance at the catwalk again. All clear.

The filaments are more clay than anything else. A human wouldn't know what he or she was looking at because the elements aren't found on Earth. By itself, each filament is harmless. But when they come in contact for longer than thirty seconds, they turn into a kind of acid that eats at metal. It doesn't last long and I'm not sure I even have enough to get out of here. I just have to hope.

Hey, it's more than McGuyver had, right? And he always got out of his SNAFUs.

I pinch pieces from each part until there are four each. If I put them at just the right points, they should eat enough of the metal to create a doggy door I can get through. I bite my tongue between my teeth as I work, twisting the red and blue pieces together as fast as I can then sticking them on the metal. Two, three, four, sit back and hope for the best.

Longest thirty seconds of my life.

But I hear the hissing as I keep an eye on the door. It's working, it's working! My heart races. I bounce on the balls of my ballerinas. When the hissing finally stops, I have to force myself to wait a few seconds longer. No way in hell am I getting any of that on my bare skin.

I kneel and thread my fingers around the bars. I give it an experimental jiggle. Mobility. I jiggle harder, and then clink! The joints detach.

Alright. Now we're talking.

The tables are turning, Ferissian.

I carefully set the piece against the wall. My blood is singing and I feel like a million ants are crawling over my skin. The best way to do this is on my back, I decide, and essentially pull myself out.

I lay down and skooch up. Everything goes really well at first. My arms go through, naturally, then my upper body.

My hips don't budge.

I squeeze. I twist. I strain. I pedal my legs in the air and make really unattractive grunting noises.

I try backing up and going through again.

Nada. Nothing. Nix.

Damn these birthing hips!

My head falls back with a thump on the floor. “Seriously?” I ask the ceiling.
This
is my Achilles Heel?

I lift myself up on my elbows and inspect the situation. Half in and half out. If he comes back and I'm stuck like this, I am NEVER going to live it down.

It's the jeans, I decide. They're the skinny kind, but the denim is still thick enough to make a difference. I reach through the openings and quickly unbutton and unzip; I wiggle around a bit to see if more room has presented itself.

Oh thank God is has.

I pull myself out with my hands, scooting on my butt with my jeans around my knees. Good thing I wore my granny panties; my cheeks on this floor would be like a tongue on ice.

Then I'm out.

Bwahahahahahaha!
I sing in my mind, getting to my feet and jumping around trying to pull my pants back up. Skinny jeans are a bitch, but I'm so impressed with myself I don't care.
 

Okay okay okay okay. I'm on the bridge, the brain of the ship, so I dash over to the spinny chair and practically throw myself into it. Step one: figure out where M'anu is and keep him there. The last thing I need is for him to come back and gum up the works.

The control panel is exactly what the name suggests—a giant panel of plasticesque material that extends well beyond my wingspan on each side. I drag my finger across the surface to call up the command menus.

You know, college never really interested me. I wasn't ready to pick a path for my brain. I could never find the right direction. This stuff, though, is as easy as breathing. I just...get it. Maybe it's because I grew up learning to crack into weapons systems for fun. Maybe it's because Mom thought it was funny to let me play around with a model Earth government-issued security code generator. I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if I should have stayed in space, where my fingers can fly over the touch keys without a second thought, like now as I try to locate M'anu.