Then they began beating him—deliberate, practiced blows which were meant to cause pain rather than real damage. The entertainment had just begun, after all; there was no point in him passing out so early on.
He tasted blood as someone backhanded him across the face. He tried to kick out with his legs, but that earned him a few punches to the kidneys. Soon, all he could do was simply hang there like a piece of tenderized meat and hope for it to be over. He could take a few hits, even if they made him cough and wheeze and flail.
The crewmen wouldn’t kill him anyway, not until Rodgers decided he should die. He could endure until some kind of opportunity presented itself.
Then, one of the men yanked his pants down.
MATT’S EYES FLEW open. The darkness was broken only by the faint green glow of the strip of night lighting running along the edge of the ceiling. The wisps of panic that had seized him in the dream still clung to his body, choking him, making his throat spasm.
Beside him, Ryce stirred into wakefulness. The bunk was too narrow for them to sprawl on, and every unnecessary movement was bound to disturb his partner. Matt forced his breathing to relax, but it was too late to feign sleep.
“Is everything all right?” Ryce asked, sounding groggy.
“Yeah. Sorry. Go back to sleep.”
Ryce wasn’t falling for it, though. He turned to face Matt, his eyes glinting eerily in the green light. Through the receding haze of vague terror, Matt wondered absently if improved night vision was one of the enhanced attributes Ryce enjoyed as an Onorean. Well, half-Onorean. There was still so much Matt didn’t know about him. So much he wanted to find out.
“Another nightmare?” Ryce asked softly.
Matt nodded. It was embarrassing, really. He was a grown man, not a child to be spooked by a bad dream. Val telling him about the death of his wife had probably triggered it, though God knew, he didn’t need any more fuel for his bad dreams than he already had. There were enough odd and fragmented memories of his captivity on Dylan Rodgers’s Black Baza to last him a lifetime.
Ryce brushed his fingers against Matt’s cheek tenderly, soothingly, leaving traces of warmth on Matt’s skin. He leaned into it, craving that warmth as badly as he’d ever craved a drink.
“Please,” he whispered. “I need to know it’s you.”
That must have sounded odd. Matt didn’t know himself exactly what he meant, except it echoed something in his nightmare, something that slipped away as he tried to recall it. But apparently, Ryce was cannier than him, as he always was, because he closed the awning gap between them and pressed his lips to Matt’s.
Matt drew him closer, pulling Ryce on top of him. The thin blanket slipped, leaving their skin exposed to the cool temperature-controlled air. The kiss deepened, both of them holding on to the minute wonder of this intimacy, its simple sweetness. The lighting remained steady, but the dimness around them seemed to change quality, embracing them in a cocoon of safety rather than pressing down on them.
It was only a trick of perception, but Matt didn’t care. He finally broke the kiss, gasping for air, and ran his hands over Ryce’s smooth skin, the muscles flexing under his touch.
“I want you,” he whispered, surprising himself with the raw desperation that laced his voice. “I want you to—”
He couldn’t say “fuck me.” That would be a lie. With Ryce, it would be so much more than simple fucking, enjoyable as it could be. They hadn’t taken things that far yet, choosing instead to go slow with the physical aspect of their relationship. They had all the time in the world to explore each other’s wants and needs without rushing, to build on the unlikely and wondrous bond that had brought them together. But now, in the embrace of darkness, Matt needed Ryce to ground him, to keep his mind from drifting off to those forgotten and forbidden places within that terrified him.
Ryce didn’t respond at first, and the silence grew heavier with every second. Finally, he drew slightly back, looking down at Matt. Their bodies were still pressed together, with only the fabric of their briefs separating them, leaving no room to doubt that physically, at least, Ryce was no less aroused by their caresses than he was. But at the same time, Matt could feel the distance between them stretching, the warmth seeping away with every quiet heartbeat.
“I’m sorry,” Ryce said. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I don’t think I can. Not yet.”
Matt knew well enough by now that, for Ryce, a strong emotional connection had to precede a sexual relationship, and if he said he needed more time, then they weren’t there yet. It left Matt slightly disappointed. Not with the lack of sex, but with the realization that despite them having lived together as a couple for nearly a month, sharing every aspect of their lives, it seemed like Ryce still didn’t feel as strongly about Matt as Matt did about him. About them. As if he doubted Matt’s feelings, his commitment.
Granted, Matt hadn’t said the words Ryce might have been waiting for. He’d never said them to anyone, not in the romantic sense. The concept of love was too big for him, too intimidating; it was something that happened to other people, not to him. And if it did, it would only be a matter of time until it was taken away from him.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. He still held on to Ryce, but his touch softened, losing its urgency as he squashed his arousal. “There’s no pressure. You know I’ll wait for you for as long as you need, right?”
Ryce settled back without answering, stroking his hair, and Matt closed his eyes again, willing himself to relax and accept the affection for what it was—a precious and fragile thing, far more important than momentary satisfaction. The gentle touch and the smell of Ryce’s clean skin helped calm him. His racing heart slowed, and his thoughts cleared, leaving nothing but fatigue. The nightmares had a tendency to drain him emotionally, but it was so much easier dealing with the aftermath, lying in Ryce’s arms.
Eventually, Matt reached down and pulled the blanket over their cooling bodies. He thought lazily about going back to his own cabin, to give Ryce a chance to rest after effectively ruining his sleep. But he had to admit there was no way he was getting up now. In fact, he wanted to stay there in the dark for as long as he could, listening to the sound of their hearts beating together. If only they could stay like this forever, suspended in the sweet limbo between sleep and wakefulness.
But he could feel Ryce was still wide awake, and he squeezed his hand gently.
“You okay?”
“Yes. But…there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Uh-oh. The pleasant numbness Matt had been slipping into dissipated, leaving a faint trace of anxiety. The “we need to talk” routine was never a good thing.
“Sure,” he said, stroking Ryce’s palm with his thumb to hide his worry. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I realize this isn’t the best time to bring this up. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it for a few days now, but with everything going on—the engine breaking down and Val’s arrest—there hasn’t been a chance to—”
“Ryce, please, just tell me what’s it about.”
Ryce took a deep breath, as if before a plunge, and Matt braced himself for something deeply unpleasant.
“Nora called me about a week ago.”
“What?” He must have not heard correctly. Why would his sister, a Major in the Federal Fleet, be calling his ex-military boyfriend?
“Nora called me,” Ryce repeated patiently.
“Why would she call you?”
“She wanted to offer me a job.”
Matt sat upright on the bed, his heart once again pounding against his ribcage like a frightened bird, but for a whole different reason. A part of him wondered if he was still caught in a nightmare, one where everything he held dear evaporated even as he tried futilely to grasp it in his hands.
“What kind of job?” His voice sounded hollow and foreign in his ears.
“She wouldn’t specify.” Ryce sat up as well. “Apparently, most of it is classif
ied. All she could say was that it involved the Mnirians and that she would like to bring me on as a consultant, given my expertise on the subject.”
“A consultant,” Matt echoed, trying to rally his scattered thoughts. “And what do you think it would require? You won’t be joining the ranks again, but anything involving Mnirian technology is confidential. There’s no way they’d let you even be in contact with us, much less stay on Lady Lisa. You’d belong to the Fleet again, for as long as they’d want you. Are you seriously considering going back there after all the crap they’ve put you through?”
“I’m not considering anything yet,” Ryce said, a touch defensively. “And you’re being entirely too dramatic. It’s a job offer, not a prison sentence. Anyway, I’m still not sure what this is all about. Major Cummings told me to call her back if I’m interested, and I believe after all she has done for us, I ought to at least hear her out. Do you think…” He trailed off in the face of Matt’s moody silence.
“It’s not that I’m not grateful to my sister for getting me off grand larceny and treason charges after our little kerfuffle at Colanta,” Matt said finally, hoping he didn’t sound as caustic as he felt. “But if she wants to steal you in favor of her war games, she at least could have had the decency to notify me first.”
“Be that as it may, I am asking for your input,” Ryce said, his tone significantly colder. “I’m not seeking approval, but I’m not going behind your back, either.”
Matt took a deep breath. He didn’t want to get further into a pointless argument—especially seeing as Ryce’s mind was apparently already made up, and Matt’s opinion on the matter was all but irrelevant. And as far as Ryce was concerned, the opportunity couldn’t have come at a better time. With everything that was going on, it was unclear whether they could stay afloat much longer. A gifted pilot and scholar of Ryce’s caliber would have no difficulty working his way back up the Fleet career ladder, given the option to return to its ranks in any capacity.
Ryce was going to leave, and Matt couldn’t—wouldn’t—do anything to stop him. But he owed it to Ryce to be honest.
“It’s your call,” he said, doing his best to sound nonchalant rather than petulant. Ryce’s expression told him he wasn’t doing a stellar job. “You know how I feel about having any liaisons with the Federal military, and the fact my sister is the one facilitating them doesn’t make it better. You’ll be working for them again, getting involved in all their dirty politics. Wasn’t that the reason you joined my crew—to escape this kind of bullshit?”
“That wasn’t the reason,” Ryce said quietly. “You were.”
Matt stared at him. The planes of Ryce’s face fit together like a beautiful puzzle, half shrouded in shadow, and he swallowed hard, overwhelmed by emotion.
Of course he knew it was true. Simply being together, sharing the same bed, even if it was just for sleeping, was proof enough of that. But hearing it stated outright was almost too much to process. It robbed him of all his defenses, of all his outrage.
“I’m not jumping into anything,” Ryce said. “I just want to hear what they have to say.”
Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was too tired to continue the conversation, and he’d already made his stance clear.
“You’re right. If it’s important enough that they want you back on board, it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear the details. Just…keep me in the loop, okay?”
“Okay,” Ryce said slowly. “I’ll do that.”
They settled back in bed, their hands lightly touching, but neither made a move to close the distance again.
Chapter Five
“ARE YOU NERVOUS?” Tony asked.
They were sitting in the Interstellar Medical Aid reception area. It was generic, as waiting rooms went, but still much nicer than that of Station Security. A heavily pregnant woman and her partner were sitting in the corner, both too engrossed with their commlinks to pay them much attention. Three Parveni travelers, with their long, equine faces and brightly patterned garments, occupied another corner. IMA station branches often catered to aliens, especially if they could boast xenomedicine experts or actual alien physicians working for them.
Matt kept checking his commlink—studiously avoiding making eye contact with Ryce, who was sitting next to him—though what he was expecting to find there, aside from the slowly ticking time, he couldn’t say. It wasn’t as though a magical solution was somehow going to fall into his incoming messages tab. If anything, it was a gateway to receiving even more bad news.
“I’m not nervous,” he told Tony. “I just hate to be kept waiting. Apparently, I have an issue with linear time progression.”
The truth was, he was fretting. He couldn’t get the conversation he’d had with Ryce out of his head. So, instead of focusing on the upcoming meeting, he was running future scenarios in his mind, and all of them appeared exceptionally bleak. He’d barely exchanged a word with Ryce this morning, and while he supposed it was asinine of him, he simply didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound sour despite his best efforts.
He couldn’t control his boyfriend’s decisions. Better to concentrate on the things he had any chance of influencing, namely, charming IMA officials into handing an exclusive carrier contract to a defunct ship. Which sounded totally plausible and not hard to do at all.
“Is everything all right?” Tony asked in a low voice, looking between him and Ryce. Unfortunately, she was too sharp not to sense the tension.
“Couldn’t be better,” Matt muttered. Ryce moved uncomfortably in his seat and gave him a sideways look.
Tony frowned and was about to say something when a red-haired person wearing an IMA badge and holding a commlink approached them.
“Ms. Joyce? Mr. Spears? And…?” They checked the commlink before raising their eyes to Ryce expectantly.
“Mr. Easom,” he supplied politely.
Hearing Ryce’s real name spoken aloud still felt a bit weird to Matt. He was used to thinking of him as Ryce Faine, which was what he called himself when they first met. Old habits die hard.
“Of course. I’m Mx. Conn. Please follow me.”
Despite the awkwardness between them, Matt was glad Ryce had come along. His eloquence and level of professionalism was a serious advantage when it came to conducting business negotiations in any setting more formal than the local pub.
They were led into a generic meeting room, which was decorated in a stark whiteness that reminded Matt of a hospital. Taking seats around a shiny oval table, they waited while Ryce took it upon himself to fix them all coffee from the sleek machine tucked in the corner.
The coffee was actually very good, but it did little to ease Matt’s anxiety. It wasn’t just this meeting he was worried about, but the entire array of problems they’d found themselves entangled in with no readily available solutions in sight. The busted engine and Val’s past catching up with him were bad enough, but the possibility of Ryce leaving (and there was little doubt in Matt’s mind this was eventually going to happen) was the final straw that cracked his fortitude.
After a few minutes of silence, a dark-haired, middle-aged woman wearing the white IMA uniform entered the room.
“I apologize for the delay,” she said, sitting at the head of the table. “It’s a busy day around here. I’m Dr. Yang. Nice to see you again, Antonia.”
Tony nodded politely. Matt could tell by the set of her shoulders and the tightness around her mouth that she was tense. At least no one was giving her the side-eye, and Dr. Yang, the head of the local branch, seemed nice.
“So, I understand you’re interested in submitting a bid for delivery services to the Elysium-8 moon outposts?” she asked, addressing Matt.
“That’s right,” he said. “We have a Phaeton hauler—not a large one, but very fast. We could cut your current delivery times in third, if not more, for those emergency shipments. Mr. Easom here has all the details.”
“I took the liberty of drafting a proposal,” Ryce said, read
ily taking over. He tapped his commlink, sending the document to Dr. Yang’s address. “As Captain Spears said, we estimate our flight time from Freeport 73 to the more distant moons, like Dinona and Comera, to be around three to four days. Emergency flights can be made even faster, around two to three days—at a higher price per run than the regularly scheduled hauls, of course. Still, you’ll note our rates are very competitive, compared to same-sized haulers.”
Emergency flights on a busted engine, Matt thought, but, of course, said nothing out loud.
“The numbers certainly look good,” Dr. Yang said, skimming the proposal. “I must say I’m pleasantly surprised. And very glad you came to me with this, Antonia. I’d say you have excellent chances of winning the bid. There aren’t a lot of applicants for this particular job, I’m afraid, and your technical capabilities are very impressive, at least on paper.”
Tony gave a tight smile and pulled at her braid.
“There is a slight setback,” Matt said. The last thing he wanted was to commit to the job and then let Tony take the blame if it fell through because he wasn’t honest from the beginning. Or at least as honest as the situation allowed without scaring off a potential client right off the bat. “We’re in the middle of some, um, upgrades on the engine. So we can’t start flying until everything is ready.”
Dr. Yang frowned. “How much longer until you’re operational? The bidding ends in about a week; we’re very eager to get started with the new service as soon as possible, whoever they are. Folks working in the mines on those moons need their medical equipment, and with the new research facility on Sota close to completion, the shipping schedule is bound to become hectic.”
“We should be done by then,” Ryce said. He sounded convincing enough to Matt, but that wasn’t saying much. “And if the terms of the contract allow for an advance, we could do an even more substantial systems overhaul, to give you an extra edge.”
He paused as Dr. Yang shook her head.
“There is no advance. In fact, our payments are strictly quarterly, per standard procedure. Frankly, if your ship isn’t in working order, I’m not so sure I can even let you bid. We’re looking for solid proposals, and this—”
Ashore Page 4
