by Cynthia Sax
Unleashed Menage
Cynthia Sax
Prison escapee Traz captures Falyn, the most foolishly trusting and overtly sexual female he has ever met. The exotic future-bender isn’t destined for him. She’s to take his beloved sister’s place, becoming a merciless assassin’s sexual slave.
Traz restrains Falyn, binding her wrists to the merc ship’s walls. When she convinces him to strip her and take his pleasure from her willing body, Traz indulges again and again, fervently trying to sate himself before they reach the rendezvous point.
Falyn escaped her luxurious prison with her companion android, only to be taken prisoner by Traz, the man she is destined to love. The scarred criminal gives her the pain she needs and the passion she desires, using her android to make all but one of her secret dreams come true—the dream of being loved forever.
Unleashed Menage
Cynthia Sax
Chapter One
“Hey, buddy, you want a hit?” An androgynous creature grabbed Traz’s jacket sleeve as he passed. “Eight credits for the best high this side of Karenne 10.” In his second right hand, he held a filth-encrusted Mox-X inhaler.
Traz lifted his head and met the drug addict’s bright-yellow gaze. “The last man who touched me died.” He looked pointedly down at his arm. A fine layer of red dust covered the recently cleaned black leather.
“S-s-sorry, man.” The user released Traz, stumbled backward into a pile of garbage, pivoted on his scuffed heels and scurried away, sucked back into the Palavian slums from which he’d come.
Scared off by a face only a sister could love. Traz tugged his hood lower over his face, shielding his mismatched eyes. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rested his fingers on the triggers of his concealed guns and continued walking through the lawless city.
Chaos reigned in Palavia, the planet located smack-ab in the middle of No Man’s Land, a contingent of sectors residing outside the control of both the Federation and Balazoid forces, far from the fighting between the two factions.
Fires illuminated the crowded streets, the ash mixing with the dust and the smoke partially covering the smell of urine, sweat and debris. A woman shrieked curses in a language Traz didn’t know and men yelled, pushing each other and brandishing guns. Traz ignored the commotion, moving purposefully toward the rendezvous point.
A small shadow followed him, too obvious to be a Federation merc seeking to return Traz to the prison hellholes of Gehenna 5, too discreet to be a curious pedestrian. Since arriving at the docking bay, Traz had been watched. That had to be Horst’s doing, his friend and fellow prison escapee as wary of strangers as he was. Traz navigated faster through the crowd, eager to get the information he needed and leave.
“Are you interested in a good time, tall, dark and sexy?” a prostitute called to him, the girl younger than his sister Sabria had been when she became Traz’s responsibility. The baby-faced waif shivered in the cool night air, her skirt barely covering her nonexistent ass.
“He’s a man, honey.” Her competition, a decade older and a century harder, stepped out of the alley. “He needs a woman, not a girl.” She flashed Traz her three breasts, her blood-red painted lips gleaming predatorily in the flickering light.
The other working ladies cackled and nudged one other, bringing Traz more unwanted attention from passersby. Their handlers, sleezeballs of every species, leaned against their over-accessorized vehicles and watched their investments, their colorful faces lined with a harshness Traz had often seen in his own reflection.
Fuck. I hate this planet. Traz scowled, longing for the peace and cleanliness of his ship. I’d come here to help Sabria and no one else. He increased his speed, his sense of urgency escalating. Every minute Traz spent on Palavia translated to one more minute Sabria was forced to sexually please her Balazoid captor. His baby sister was held as a prisoner of war at some unknown location, a location he’d asked Horst to pinpoint.
It’s my fault she was captured. Traz hunched his shoulders as he entered the food and beverage precinct. I shouldn’t have parked her on Symrah III, not while the Federation was at war. I shouldn’t have left her alone and unprotected.
The crowd slowed to a frustrating standstill, visitors and locals lurking around the replenishment stations. Streetside chefs hawked their wares, fighting to outsell their competition, and the smells of charred meat and spices tickled Traz’s nostrils.
“To the Federation.” A teetering man, dressed in a blue Federation fighter pilot uniform, raised two tankards above his head. Ale spilled over the brims.
“Fuck the Federation,” a man yelled back and the crowd cheered, the Federation hated by most residents of No Man’s Land.
While the two males confronted each other, bellowing and blustering as though they were primitive beasts, a pint-sized form streaked in front of Traz. The little thief bumped into the intoxicated fighter pilot and deftly lifted his communicator.
Too slow. Traz had been quicker as a child, when he’d resorted to petty thievery to feed Sabria. Now he’d use those same skills to free her. Traz turned right at the second noodle vendor, ducked into the adjacent beverage station and headed to the back room, his small shadow remaining outside.
The tall, bald and tattooed attendant nodded Traz through, not that he could stop him, the hourly employee being no match for a seasoned killer. Traz located Horst in the deliberately dimly lit room immediately, smelling the prison escapee before he saw him, the Ungarian’s aroma pungent.
Traz slowly circled the room’s perimeter, searching for threats in every dark alcove. He found none, the space empty, and he returned to Horst’s table, looming over the seated criminal.
“Even if I lost my mind and decided to sell your paranoid ass out, the Federation isn’t buying, friend,” Horst quipped. “They’re in the middle of a war with the Balazoids, if you haven’t noticed.”
“I noticed,” Traz rumbled as he filled the vacant seat, the chair squeaking under his weight. “And you’ve got balls, calling me paranoid. You had me followed.”
“That’s my stepson. He was curious to see the male who broke me out of Gehenna 5.” The blue wolfman stiffened, his hairy shoulders straightening. “You didn’t harm him, did you?”
“No, I didn’t touch him.” Stepson. Horst has a family. When did that happen? Traz shifted in his seat, envy mixing with his disbelief. “Do you have the information?”
“I have the information.” Horst tapped a tablet. “But I shouldn’t give it to you.”
“You owe me.” Traz narrowed his eyes, his temper frayed. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be rotting in that hellhole.”
“That’s why I shouldn’t help you.” His friend slid the device across the metal table. “Because messing with this mixed-species asshole will get you killed.”
“I’ve messed with worse.” Traz scanned the intelligence, recording the details with the blink of his artificial eye. Fuck. He’s an assassin.
“No, you haven’t.” Horst scratched the wide band of scars circling his neck, souvenirs from their time in prison. “He is half-Balazoid, half-who-the-Grrap-knows, all bad news. The killer they named Dreck annihilated an entire Federation base by himself. Stay away from him, friend.”
“Can’t.” Dreck flies a single-manned fighter ship. Traz noted the last seen coordinates. Not too deep in Balazoid territory. “He took my sister as his breeder.”
“Grrap!” The scratching stopped. “How’d you allow that to happen? You normally have her locked down tighter than a Gehenna 5 docking bay.”
“My last job was dangerous, lucrative but highly risky.” Traz tapped his guns, the organ reaper he’d apprehended not surrendering without a bloody fight. “I parked Sabria on Symrah III.”
“Symrah
III.” Horst tilted his hairy head. “That should have been safe. Federation-controlled—”
“Symrah III was Federation-controlled.” Traz winced, pained by his mistake. “The Balazoids invaded the planet before I could return.” He returned to the information on the tablet, rolling the screen. Dreck flies a customized single-manned fighter ship. Fuck. That will be tougher. “Sabria managed to get a message to me. I couldn’t hear all of it, but she did name her captor.”
“Dreck,” Horst guessed. “Grrap, it would be him. Traz, I know how you feel about your sister.” He leaned forward. “But this…this is impossible. He’s the biggest, baddest Balazoid there is.”
“Impossible is how you described escaping Gehenna 5 and look how that worked out.” Traz shrugged, having no choice. Sabria was his responsibility, his sister, the only person he’d ever loved.
“You lost an eye during that escape,” the former military man drawled.
“I got it replaced.” Traz examined the fighter ship’s proposed routes. Every route heads away from the Balazoid’s home planet. Why?
“Word is regular sexual release keeps those Balazoid bastards sane.” Horst relayed rumors Traz had already heard. “He won’t give his breeder up without a fight.”
“Unless he has another breeder,” Traz murmured. “And the other information?”
“The other information is in the tablet’s second sleeve. That plan is as impossible.” Horst snorted. “Future-benders are top security level, all but one held in guarded complexes. Which makes sense. Their predictions of mates and destined loves give the Federation control over their top men. The Federation would be stupid not to secure them.”
Control the mates, control the men. “And the future-bender who isn’t held in a guarded complex?” Traz’s heart stuttered as the woman’s image loaded. She had the face of an angel, her long white-blonde hair framing pale skin and large, trusting violet eyes. Beautiful didn’t describe her. She was ethereal, delicate and sublime, an otherworldly creature existing in a dimension filled with faith and goodness, a dimension he had no knowledge of.
She’s a trade-credit, inmate. Traz hardened his already hard soul, squashing guilt that had no place in the real world he lived in. She’s a product to be exchanged for my sister and nothing more.
“They keep her on a station hidden in an uninhabited sector,” Horst shared. “Supposedly she can’t work on the ground.” The wolfman flipped his hairy hand over, his palm facing up. “I know what you’re planning, friend. It’s not going to work.”
“You don’t think Dreck will trade my sister for a future-bender?” Traz raised his scarred eyebrow, his gaze remaining on the future-bender’s image. “Future-benders are rare.”
“You and I and the entire Federation army know they’re rare,” Horst remarked dryly. “Dreck isn’t dumb. He’ll make the trade, I don’t doubt that.”
“You doubt my ability to secure the future-bender. Horst, Horst, Horst.” Traz clucked his tongue. “How many times do I have to prove myself?” He shook his head and reluctantly moved to the other information contained in the tablet. “Is this delivery data current?”
“What do you think?” Horst rolled his brown-and-yellow eyes. “Those clearances will get you docked, but you have to make it to the inner chambers on your own. Only six people in the entire Federation have access, that section is fully automated. They don’t allow anyone within half a station of her.”
“I won’t be asking permission.” Traz reviewed the requirements. Retinal scans. Doable. Passing the surveillance of the multiple doors. More tricky. “I’m about to prove you wrong yet again, my doubting friend.” As Traz returned to the woman’s image, he experienced the peculiar tightness in his chest once more. “I’m taking her.”
“If you do that, I won’t doubt you ever again.” Horst lowered his burly brows, the thick ridge of hair shielding his eyes. “No one has taken a future-bender alive before.”
“That’s why she’s the bargaining chip I want. Dreck won’t be able to resist her.” He slid the tablet back to Horst and stood. “I have to go, the sooner I do this, the sooner my sister is freed of that Balazoid bastard.” Traz patted the big man’s hairy shoulder. “I’ll buy you a drink next time.”
“If you survive to see a next time,” Horst grunted.
* * * * *
He’ll find me here. Falyn stared up at the white ceiling, a brown square of fabric clutched in her hands. He will.
The Federation scientists had originally wanted her to work in a heavily guarded future-bender complex on-world. They’d utilized techniques ranging from luxurious fruit baths to painful electrical shocks to force her to comply. Knowing it’d be impossible for her destined mate to free her from that complex, Falyn had resisted the Federation’s efforts and had refused to work. Eventually, the Federation gave up and they had moved her to her present station, a station orbiting nowhere.
Falyn laid the fabric over her face and breathed in, smelling engine lubricant and stale perspiration mixed with a hint of musk. She closed her eyes.
Darkness. Nothing. There was no image of the mate this Federation mechanic was destined to love for a lifetime.
“Failure,” the automated voice chirped.
“Fuck.” Falyn tossed the cloth across the chamber, disgusted with herself for the three failures in a row.
John caught the square in one hand. “You have two more assignments to complete.” There was no sympathy on his scarred face. “Complete this cycle and you won’t have to report in until the next cycle.”
Buying us more time. “Fine.” Falyn settled back on the support. “Verify connection.” She touched the sensors attached to her forehead, the machine reading her brainwaves, recording any predictive images she saw.
“Connection verified,” the female voice confirmed, her robotic tone carefully calibrated by her Federation handlers to increase productivity.
Once, she’d had a human assistant, a nurturing female she’d called Mom. When Falyn reached maturity, Mom had been dismissed, her presence deemed a distraction. Also eliminated were windows and communicators and any other unnecessary contact with the outside.
She was a prisoner, caged in a world of monotony, trapped due to the powers she’d been born with. Her only company was machines and John, the companion android the Federation had begrudgingly given her to burn off her distracting sexual needs.
Soon, I’ll be free. He’ll come for me. Falyn forced herself to relax.
John passed her another square and Falyn plopped the red fabric on her face, discouraged by her failures and expecting nothing from this new assignment.
A woman looked up, her singular blue eye sparkling, and she smiled, displaying a cute gap between her front teeth. Freckles dotted her skin, visual proof that, unlike Falyn, she’d recently seen the sun. Her nails were neatly trimmed and short and her smock was splattered with bright colors. A caregiver…children. The mystery female’s happiness layered over her, the emotion as alien as she was.
“Identification successful.”
“Lucky her.” Falyn sat up and lobbed the cloth to John. He was dressed in the black leather he also wore, the man she’d seen for herself, the rescuer she impatiently waited for. “Status?”
“You’ll know when he arrives.” John pressed his lips together, expressing his displeasure, her android programmed to not appreciate her questions, his intolerance preparing Falyn for her future life with him.
While Falyn had merely guessed at her destined love’s personality based on the snippets of him she’d seen, she knew John’s appearance was identical. His black hair was cut ruthlessly short. A deep scar sliced his left eyebrow in half and continued down his tanned cheek, his missing brown eye replaced with a technologically enhanced orb. More scars circled his neck, remnants of a prison stay. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow and his big body rippled with muscle.
“One more assignment,” John ordered.
“One more.” I have to be strong to e
arn his love. Falyn fell back on the support, every cell in her exhausted body screaming a protest. “Verify connection.”
“Connection verified.”
The decadent fabric smelled of expensive cologne. A bureaucrat. Falyn’s top lip curled with distaste. One of the villains who locked me up.
A male immediately dominated her thoughts. He was small and refined with a cold false smile plastered on his aristocratic face. His icy eyes narrowed. He sniffed with disdain and turned away, showing her his slender shoulder.
“Identification successful.”
“Unlucky him.” Falyn ripped the connectors from her forehead, wincing at the sting. “I never promise the love will be returned.” The machinery retracted into the wall.
“The Federation makes them believe the love will be returned.” John towered over her. “Get up.” He grasped her hand, his palm solid and rough, and he pulled her upright, the tiled floor cool against her bare feet.
“Yes, and they tell me I’m a guest.” She rolled her shoulders back and her joints popped, her muscles sore from hours spent working. “The Federation lies. Guest implies I’m free to leave.”
John directed her into their sparsely decorated sleeping chamber, the Federation deeming that personal effects interfered with her productivity. “We will leave.” He yanked at the flimsy straps of her gown and the fabric fluttered to the tile, revealing her body, naked other than the collar around her neck. Her nipples tightened, stimulated by the cold air and his rough treatment. “On the bed. Assume the position.”
Punishment. A frisson of trepidation crept up Falyn’s spine. She climbed onto the bed and knelt, lowering her torso, stretching her arms on the bed and tucking her legs under her ass. “What did I do wrong?”
“You complained and you questioned.” John pushed her hair over her shoulders and placed a metallic tab on the back of her neck below her collar. “Does he look like a man who tolerates either?”
“No.” She closed her eyes, both dreading and welcoming the pain, the training necessary to prepare her for their escape. “I deserve level five, twenty counts.”
