Sextus

by Alana Khan

  Sextus withdraws from me without warning, kisses my lips softly, sweetly, then even more chastely, and then gently flips me over so he’s spooning me from behind. He kisses the top of my head, with sweet smooching sounds, and slips his arm around my waist.

  “There, little Lexa. You can no longer say you’ve never been kissed.”

  Chapter Five

  Lexa

  I guess it speaks loudly of my loathing of dirty hotel rooms, because I begged to go out to eat this morning, exposed peaches and all, as opposed to staying in that filthy rat-trap.

  This restaurant is great. We’re in an intimate high-backed booth that provides a smidgeon of privacy. Sextus ordered me the Lusion version of French toast. It has fruit compote on it that tastes vaguely of ripe peaches.

  I’m sipping a dark breakfast drink that doesn’t come close to crappy hospital cafeteria coffee much less Starbucks, but the gray-skinned, dark-nippled waitress assured me it contained the intergalactic version of caffeine—a good start to my morning. Actually, it’s more like three in the afternoon—poker is a nighttime sport.

  What happened last night is the elephant in the room. Neither of us has breathed a word about what happened in our bed. Maybe he regrets it, I don’t. When the conversation lulls I nurse the memory, feeling my pulse quicken and my core clench.

  I know I was about a decade overdue for my first kiss, but it still feels like a wonderful rite of passage. Ridiculously enough, I’m glad I shared it with Sextus.

  I hate his name by the way. I mean, come on, it’s not subtle at all. And don’t even get me started on his nickname. What am I supposed to do? Call him Sex? Really?

  He needs a nickname that has nothing to do with sex. Something plain and easy with no double meaning to get me tripped up. Joe. How about Joe? I’ll try it out.

  “So, Joe, I have to tell you I…” So now I get embarrassed? “I have no regrets about last night. Do you?” I bite my bottom lip waiting for his reply, hoping he’ll give the correct answer.

  He’s been casual and cool and nonchalant since we woke up with our limbs entwined and his dick pressed against my backside. But in answer to my question, he spears me with a gaze hot enough to melt metal.

  “Glad to hear it, Lexa. No regrets on my end.” He smiles at me and his icy blue eyes look turquoise for the briefest moment. “So explain why you’re calling me a slang word for a breakfast drink this morning.”

  “Well, yeah, it means coffee.”

  He lifts an eyebrow in silent question.

  “Like this,” I point to my cup, “only better. Way better,” I add so I don’t ruffle any of the blue male’s feathers. “But it’s also a man’s name. Kind of a generic male’s name.”

  “And what’s wrong with this male’s generic name?” he asks pointedly, indicating his chest with his thumb.

  “I don’t know what Sextus means in your language. In my language sex means intercourse. Calling you that is...awkward.” He says nothing, he just keeps staring. “Slightly embarrassing.” He’s looking at me like he’s waiting for a better explanation. “Suggestive.”

  “Now that I know what it means on your Earth, I like it better,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders and a grin. “Since we shared that kiss last night, I give you permission to use my nickname, Sex.” He smiles broadly. I don’t know if he’s messing with me or not.

  I’m not making any headway here. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. “Okay, Sex,” I say with a straight face, but then break into a giggle.

  I wait until we’re done eating before I ask my burning question. “So, since we shared those blazing kisses last night, I’ll assume we’re friends. And if we’re friends, I get to ask you why you seemed so upset with the purple male yesterday.”

  Uh oh. I watch the open expression on his face shutter closed. His muscles tighten. Eye contact is broken as his gaze flees from mine. The calm, easy banter of moments ago will be ancient history.

  He swallows several times in quick succession and pushes his plate to the edge of the table.

  “This isn’t the place, Lexa. I’ll tell you back in our room.”

  ~.~

  We stopped at the front desk to grab more towels. This clerk asked for three credits each, and we were both happy to pay it.

  Now we’re sitting on towel-covered chairs at the wobbly round table in the corner of our dimly lit room.

  Sextus takes a deep breath. “Sextus means intercourse in your language. It means sixth in mine. I was sixth of nine children. Of all the younglings, I was closest to my younger sister Septima. She was beautiful and always happy. As opposed to me. I tend to brood. Perhaps you’ve noticed.”

  He gives me a tiny smile, then continues, “But she was always cheerful. I thought of her as my joy. I was sixteen; she was fourteen when the slavers touched down. We were a remote planet, perhaps a little less advanced than your Earth. We had no space travel, no lasers, no adequate weapons to fight invaders who came to steal our fertile women and our fighting-age males.

  “The slavers came and easily rounded up every living being in our remote village. We were defenseless. The well-armed thieves forced eligible males to line up on one side, females on the other. They pointed at the ones they wanted.”

  The pain on Sextus’s face is so raw it’s hard to look him in the eye—like I’m invading his privacy.

  “There was very little resistance after the first three males attacked the invaders and were reduced to char by their advanced weapons. As much as we wanted to protest, it was obviously futile.

  “Males of my species don’t reach maturity until their twenties. I weighed half of what I do now. I wasn’t strong. Septi was so beautiful, even though her figure hadn’t ripened it wasn’t surprising the lavender male in charge of the process pointed to her.

  “I stood between two of my older brothers who forcefully linked arms with me to keep me from doing something stupid.”

  My heart is breaking for him. He’s always been the perfect picture of strength to me, but now I see his angry armor cracking. No wonder he didn’t want to do this in the restaurant, he’s showing me his vulnerable side. I doubt many living beings have seen it.

  “The male in charge held an andar in his hand. It’s a stiff three-foot whip with two tails. He snapped it against his tall, black boots as he went down the line asking the males questions, squeezing their biceps, occasionally punching them in the solar plexus to see their strength and pain tolerance. If any didn’t pass muster, he cracked them hard once across the face with his andar, drawing blood and leaving a scar that the male carried the rest of his life.

  “The females had to endure different examinations.” He shakes his head. It’s clear he’s all the way back in that time and place, reliving the experience. “In front of the whole town.” His throat convulses as he tries to regain his composure.

  “Septi was special. She was sweet and happy and the best person I’d ever met. But she couldn’t add or spell. She wasn’t...like the rest of us. If you talked to her for more than a minima, it was obvious.

  “The moment the male noticed her...differences he said one word, ‘defective.’ Then he whipped her with that andar over and over until she fell to the ground. He didn’t stop until long after she quit moving. My older brother, Quin, grabbed me so hard I couldn’t move. He put his hand over my mouth so I couldn’t cry out. I…”

  Sextus isn’t in this room anymore. He’s in a place that’s long ago and far away. I was a shitty psychotherapist, but I know enough to shut up and just hold the space with him. I can’t imagine what it was like to stand by, powerless, while they beat his favorite sibling to death. Clearly, it was a seminal moment that shaped him from that day forward.

  “I was young and naïve when I vowed to find that motherdracker and kill him someday. Revenge was the reason I left my home planet and enlisted with the Federation when they came looking for volunteers for their dracking army. It got me off Ceruleous. The military taught me how to use weapons, ma
ke bombs, and kill. From afar I followed Daneur Khour’s rise to power in that dracking cartel.

  “Yesterday I sat less than ten fiertos from Khour all day, nurturing a hundred ideas about how to kill him—all of them involved a great deal of pain over a long period of time. When you’re done making your money, I’ll get you safely aboard the Tranquility, then come back and kill him.”

  “If you manage to do it, his henchmen will kill you, Sextus.”

  “I understand that, Lexa. I’ve always known I’d die in the process.”

  My heart is breaking—mostly for him, but partly for me. Twenty-four hours ago I wanted nothing to do with him, but right now I’m selfish and don’t want to lose him.

  I crawl into his lap, lay my head on his chest, and nestle under his chin. I take comfort from his presence and hope I’m giving him solace as well.

  This story explains so much about him—his anger and isolation—and why my “untouched” status is something he won’t violate.

  Listening to the steady beat of his heart, my mind wanders for a moment. All at once a plan barrels into my head. It doesn’t tiptoe in, one piece at a time; it arrives fully formed, complete.

  Sextus is probably paging through his internal photo album of his beloved sister. I’m running various scenarios in my head until I’ve worked out every conceivable angle. I’ll tell him my idea later, when he’s ready to hear it.

  ~.~

  “We should get you to the casino, let you make the money you need to buy the property you want,” his voice rumbles in my ear.

  I must have fallen asleep on his chest. I’ve never felt as safe as I do in his arms. Climbing back into my own chair, I decide I need to run my plan by him.

  “I know you want to kill Daneur Khour, Sextus. Hell, after what you told me, I want to kill him, too. But I don’t want you to die.” I look at him meaningfully. “I have an idea. Can I share it?”

  He looks at me skeptically. I realize he’s been committed to this plan his entire adult life, but I hope he’ll listen to mine.

  “I want revenge, little Lexa. Nothing you say can change that.”

  “Can you hear me out, though?”

  He nods his head.

  “I’ve heard Daneur Khour’s name mentioned on the Tranquility. I know he’s the galaxy’s biggest hardass. It also sounds like he loves money more than anything else.

  “Maybe I wasn’t clear before, but I was raised to be a thief, a con. I’m not a pickpocket or a burglar—although I’ve been schooled in how to do that. I’m more of an expert at getting people to willingly part with their money. What I didn’t learn from my father, I learned from his friends, I called them 'uncles,’ mostly when they were sitting around a poker table.

  “I’ve run some cons, never as the brains, mind you. But I have expertise.” I look at him directly, hoping my face expresses things my mouth isn’t ready to say. “I don’t want you to kill him at the cost of your own life, Sextus. But you can hurt him. You can hurt him in his wallet.

  “I’ve decided on a variation of the Fiddle Game. The mark has to be a greedy bastard for it to work. There’s no question Khour fits the bill.”

  “I don’t want his money, Lexa. I won’t be satisfied until I take his life.”

  Grabbing a deep breath, I focus on my hands resting in my lap. “Okay, never mind.” It’s obvious he doesn’t want to hear me out, I’ll shut up.

  “Go ahead,” he tells me. I assume he took pity on me.

  “You might have been too consumed with your own thoughts yesterday. Maybe you didn’t hear that half the comms he took at the poker table were about a painting he’s trying to track down. A Broog painting. From his red period.

  “Yesterday morning at breakfast Tawny told Thantose she discovered the Broog painting from his red period in our hold is a forgery.” I wait a moment, then see the light dawning on his handsome face.

  “The Fiddle Game leads the mark to believe that the owner of an object is unaware of the item’s true value. The mark believes he’s swindling us out of a valuable piece when in reality, we’re taking money from him for a relatively worthless item.”

  “So we let him know we have a Broog, but we don’t know it’s one of the most valuable art treasures in the galaxy? No one’s that stupid,” he says.

  “The personas we were role-playing yesterday are perfect. I’m a lucky ditz who’s indulged by her horny owner. You bought me an obvious forgery when we were shopping in the back streets of Lusion. It will still be in the expensive frame we ‘bought’ it in. I stupidly believe it’s the real thing and I’m over-the-top ecstatic about it. You know it’s worthless and you paid too much. But you know you’ll get a very enthusiastic blow job for your generosity and you don’t care.

  “We pique Khour’s interest, he takes a look and believes it’s a true Broog. Remember that Thantose paid two renowned experts to vouch for its authenticity—even they couldn’t tell it was a forgery. Khour will be salivating.

  “He’ll offer to double your money for it, but I’m on a leash—attached at arm’s length to you. You can’t do a deal with him privately, and I’m so in love with the painting he keeps raising his offer. It will get sky high before you convince me to take the money.

  “The minute we complete the deal, we hightail it to the Tranquility and leave atmo.” I nod my head happily. “We screw him, all the while protesting that we know the painting’s worthless. He convinces himself we’re the stupid ones and believes he’s pulled a fast one on us.

  “It’s win/win. We fuck him. You get a smidgeon of revenge. I get a ton of money to settle somewhere safe.” I raise my hands in a “ta-da” motion.

  Sextus

  She looks so happy and proud of herself I hate to burst her dream. Her expression reminds me of Septi when she was ecstatic over the smallest pleasure. Those memories, especially when they hurtle at me unexpectedly through time, clench my heart.

  “I can help you with your scheme, Lexa,” my voice sounds tentative.

  “But…?” she asks.

  “He doesn’t deserve to live. Someone should have put him to death a long time ago, like an animal that’s gone mad.”

  She’s silent for minimas. She admitted she’s a schemer. I imagine she’s plotting her next hustle.

  “Okay then, help me. He said he’d be on Lusion for three more days. Let’s just keep role-playing this ridiculous couple today, giving him the impression we’re both simpletons. That shouldn’t be hard for you to do, Sex.” She smiles openly at me—she’s flirting. My cock twitches just being on the receiving end of that look. “Tomorrow we bring the painting. What do you say?”

  What I think is that I won’t be alive in a week. What I think is that I’d like to kiss her again, even though she’s an untouched. What I say is, “Sounds like you’re the brains of this outfit, Pet. Just tell me what to do.”

  Lexa

  Sextus is planning on killing that purple bastard—that’s clear. What’s also clear? I like his company and don’t want him to die. I’m going to play along with him, and frankly, I think he’s playing along with me. I’ll figure out a way to keep my big, blue pal alive.

  Chapter Six

  Lexa

  Khour’s got the money to play at the high stakes tables across the room, but he makes a beeline to my table. I won a lot of credits off of him yesterday. Me, a small faceless female on a leash. I bruised his little ego. I knew he’d seek me out today.

  I’m on top of my game, and my luck is holding up, too. That’s an unbeatable combo. I’ve tripled my stack all while flirting shamelessly with Six—I’ve decided to call him that instead of Sex. I’m liking the black hood more every day, it gives me license to say the things I normally hold in.

  “Are you going to get me drunk on nectar again tonight?” I goad him as I do a sexy shimmy under my burka’s yards of black cloth, then stroke his thigh from knee to...far too high.

  “Perhaps, but maybe that will be after I punish my little pet for forgetting her
place.”

  His eyes flash angrily, although I don’t know if he’s mad at me, or just ready to explode because he’s sitting at the same table as his nemesis.

  “Let me take my little pet to relieve me. I mean,” he dramatically clears his throat, “relieve herself.”

  Oh, this is fun. Harmless, sexy flirtation at the klempto table.

  We walk way too fast to the restroom that’s half a mile away. I’m scurrying to keep up with him—I don’t want him to yank my neck with that damnable leash. He pulls me into the private restroom more forcefully than I’d like, closes and locks the door, then puts his back against it.