by Berinn Rae
The weasel man spoke. His voice was high pitched and squeaky. “Simple. If you die, they die.”
She raised a scornful eyebrow. “For some, slavery is a worse fate than death. I’ve met many slaves who would die to escape their torment.” She turned to her father. “Daddy, I don’t think this is a good idea. It could get me killed.”
Jamila resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She doubted she was in enough danger to need a bodyguard. This was probably a ploy to get a spy on the senator’s side. He didn’t want her going out and partying. Last year he couldn’t have cared less but this was election year, and he was more paranoid than ever about their image.
He shook his head, his stubborn chin set. “If you die, it would be a fate worse than death for them. The poison that would be released into their system would eat at their insides for over a month before it finally killed them. There is no cure. It’s a very slow, agonizing way to go. But if they accept, and keep you alive, they get a warm, soft bed, as much food as they can eat, baths, new clothes, and any entertainment they escort you to. All they have to do is follow a child around. It’s not a bad deal.”
She tensed. Jamila hated being called a child. It was a sure sign her father was trying to put her in her place and force his will on her. She was twenty-four and far past the need for a babysitter.
It was clear that some of these men were dying for a chance to be a high class servant. Some of the slaves were salivating. Not that she could blame them. They were thin and frail. A few even had bloated bellies — a sure sign of malnutrition. Couldn’t this slaver spare one nutrition bar a day to keep them from appearing like they could drop dead at any second? And they were definitely beaten often.
“Well, daughter? Examine them. Choose.”
She rolled her eyes. “Most hardly look fit enough for any work, let alone being a bodyguard.”
In fact, there was only one that was fit for that kind of duty. Glancing at his ridged body and the angry set of his jaw, she seriously doubted he’d be grateful if she chose him. However, it was her one chance to save him from some other horrible person. Other nobles would take one look at his handsome, stubborn face and have him beaten.
She walked down the line, pretending to consider them. The men didn’t get better upon closer inspection. They were even more malnourished than she’d suspected. Some could barely stay on their feet, swaying back and forth, their eyes glazed over. Others smelled awful, as if they couldn’t hold their bowel movements.
She stepped in front of the large man, who was chained in the middle of the line. “Tell me about this one? Judging by the others, you must not have had him very long. He’s still fit and not diseased.” She glanced at her father. “Unless you want to spend an incredible amount of money fixing one of these poor creatures, it would have to be this man.”
Her father arched a brow at the slaver, who immediately started his sales pitch. “I don’t know about that one. I brought him at your request, but he’s a recently captured cyborg. Could be trouble. However, he’s been docile. He’s perfect for a bodyguard. A martial arts expert. Intelligent. Obedient.”
The prisoner’s head shot up to glower at the trader, and his electric blue irises seemed to glow. Jamila rolled her eyes. That was the scowl of one obedient criminal to be sure.
“He won’t be any trouble if he hopes to live. He’s lucky he wasn’t executed for abandoning his post.”
The man’s gaze shot to hers and she jumped. No slave should dare to meet his mistress’s eyes. It would get him beaten or executed. Her reaction caught her father’s attention.
“What are you doing? Don’t you dare meet my daughter’s eyes.”
The glare he gave Jamila’s father was enough to send a shiver down her spine. It was the expression of a killer. A dangerous man. The slaver stomped down his line of pitiful souls and shoved his electric guard stick in the slave’s belly. He grunted and doubled over but didn’t go down. She gaped at him. Those things had enough voltage to knock a man unconscious and he barely moved. She shivered. Cyborgs were powerful. It wasn’t a good idea to keep one as a slave. Especially one that had escaped before.
They were genetically engineered to be faster and smarter than humans and were immune to almost any illness. But unlike normal genetically engineered people, most of a cyborg’s joints and bones were reinforced with metal and they were supposed to have some sort of computer enhancing their brains that could put even gen engineered intelligence to shame. Their nanobots helped to speed healing even further. None of that should have increased his ability to resist pain. In fact he was probably more sensitive to everything. What was done to them to make them so resilient?
It wasn’t a question she could voice in this room. Her father was against genetic engineering and body enhancements. She couldn’t believe he’d considered this man to guard her. Though, he was a slave, and her father probably figured that was a cyborg’s rightful place if they had to exist.
“Well, Father, this has to be the one. He’s the only one fit for any kind of work.”
Her father snorted. “A bit of a stubborn creature. You’ll have to tell me if he exhibits any willfulness. He’ll have to be punished for it.”
Jamila nodded, but couldn’t manage to say anything. If she opened her mouth she’d probably tell him he was a bastard for wanting to beat a man who had every right to be “willful.”
“How much?” He and the slaver started haggling over the price. Her father was a cheap man, and a hard bargainer. He’d likely get the slave for less than he was worth.
She examined her new acquisition while they bickered. He gave off dangerous vibes that set the hair on the back of her neck on end. No one would mess with this man without facing death. He shifted his stance and rolled his shoulders, displaying fine muscles in his chest. He definitely wasn’t what she was used to. There wasn’t a feminine feature on his face. His angular jaw was clenched as he stared arrogantly forward, instead of looking down at the ground as he was supposed to. Though, that rule probably wouldn’t apply to him. A bodyguard couldn’t stare at his feet all day.
Jamila’s gaze fell to his tattooed arms and she couldn’t resist touching the colorful flesh. Would it feel different than normal skin? She’d never seen anyone with tattoos up close. They were beautiful. She ran her hand along his warm forearm, examining them, and he tensed. When her gaze moved back to his face he was staring down at her and flashed her a crooked smile that made her stomach flip. She removed her hand and stepped away.
“If you don’t gain some manners, my father is going to have you beaten. I can’t stop him,” she whispered.
His gaze slid down her body, male appreciation showing on his face as he scanned her from head to toe. She rolled her eyes. He was sure to get hit often. Would he try to hurt her? It wouldn’t surprise her. The man was a criminal, arrogant, and impossibly stubborn. He would probably think her father would free him if he could gain an advantage over him. Such as holding his daughter hostage. Did the slave know what his bands could do if he vexed her father? They could cause more agony than any whipping.
“I’m not afraid of a little pain. It’s worth it to watch such a fine woman.” His gaze rested on her nipples, hard from the cold. She had the absurd impulse to cross her arms over her breasts. The gods only knew why. The sheerness of her robe was indecent to annoy her father, but plenty of men had seen her topless. Her breasts were probably the most famous ones in the galaxy. That’s what happened when you became a drunken party girl who flashed nosy paparazzi while stumbling out of a courtroom. She suppressed a flinch at the memory. She lived to rebel, but the year after her mother’s suicide had been a horrible one. She didn’t remember most of it.
Jamila shouldn’t have been surprised that he spoke to her. He wasn’t a normal slave, and clearly hadn’t been in the trade long enough to know any better. Most didn’t speak at all unless they were asked a direct question. She’d been in some households where slaves’ tongues were removed if they broke
the rule. She shuddered. She’d have to teach him some hard and fast rules or he was going to end up dead.
Maybe her father would let her free him some day. As soon as the notion came she dismissed it. It wasn’t done, and even if she did, as a cyborg he’d go right to one of the Haven districts where the genetically engineered and enhanced people were forced to live. If he wasn’t detained or executed by the government. He’d probably have a better life with her.
“Father, if we’re done, I’d like to take this man to bathe.” Her gaze slid to the slave. “Sorry, but you stink, I’m sure due to these others and the terrible conditions you’re likely kept in.”
The slave nodded. She was sure he could smell himself, and the people around him. Cyborgs were supposed to have a heightened sense of smell.
Jamila’s father flashed a tight lipped smile. “Not yet, daughter. We haven’t settled on a price, and I must speak to your slave alone before he begins his duties. He needs specific instructions and some knowledge of how this household is run. I can’t have him being as blatantly offensive as he’s been so far. Then I will call a servant to take him to you. You’re dismissed.”
Great, she could go back to bed.
• • •
After what seemed like hours of haggling, the senator had finally settled his price with the slave owner. Galen stood there the whole time, attempting not to yawn and roll his eyes. Why had he agreed to do this? Of all the missions, on all the planets in the galaxy, this was what he’d picked. But he was one of the best at subterfuge, so it made sense. The job hadn’t even begun and he already regretted taking it. Though the senator’s sexy daughter would probably make it more fun. There was something about her. Galen couldn’t quite explain it.
She was sad. And clearly fed up with her father. Not that Galen could blame her. The man was a blowhard. The classic politician. But why was she depressed? No immediate answer came to mind. What could possibly be wrong in the spoiled, little, purebred girl’s happy life?
The slaver pulled a remote from his back pocket and hit the release on the chains that bound Galen to the others. There was a crash as they hit the floor and Galen stepped out of the line. None of the slaves tried to flee. They stared at the ground, silent and subdued. Had all the fight been beaten out of these people? He hadn’t been among them long enough to know. The trader had been instructed to sell him as soon as possible. That he was dangerous.
Not that the creep was going to mention that to the senator. Even authorized cyborg dealers were greedy little fucks. One day it would be his downfall. If he sold a slave he claimed was perfectly well behaved and it happened to kill someone, the trader would likely go to trial and be executed. But it didn’t seem to matter to him as long as he made plenty of money to feed his expanding waistline.
The senator didn’t even spare him a glance as he pressed his thumb to the credit scanner. “Sit down, cyborg.”
It was on the tip of Galen’s tongue to tell him where he could shove his uppity attitude. Thankfully, he’d learned that thinking before you spoke was a better idea. So he sat.
The slaver and his remaining product filed out of the room. “Odious toad,” the senator murmured under his breath.
Galen arched an eyebrow. Maybe Cyrus Clearborne did have some good qualities. Or at least knew what made a person a son of a bitch.
He finally looked up. “What is your name?”
“Galen.” He didn’t add anything more. Most low born people no longer had last names. Identification was so instantaneous that the government felt it was a waste. They were all numbers to them.
“Well, Galen, if you fail me I’ll turn you over to the government. As long as you keep my daughter safe, we’ll have no problems. She means the world to me, and has no idea how much danger she is in. Most threats to her are idle, but we have had some that have become very specific. They are including details of places she’s been. Pictures of her coming and going from shops. There has even been one attempt on her life that was thwarted by my own guards. She knows nothing about it, and you’re not allowed to tell her. While my staff investigates this new threat, you’ll be responsible for making sure she’s safe at all times. That girl better not even get a splinter while under your care, or we’ll have to re-evaluate your place in life.”
Galen nodded. He knew how it was going to be. It was what he’d been sent for. But he doubted the man’s love for his daughter. He had no caring note in his voice when he spoke about her. The majority of the new threats his daughter was getting were from Galen’s own people, but word of these pictures of her worried him. His people hadn’t been sending those.
“I also have additional tasks for you. My only child has a bit of a rebellious streak.”
That was putting it lightly. There probably wasn’t a thing that girl hadn’t done, and the whole galaxy had probably seen her do it.
“I’d like you to keep her out of embarrassing situations. No partying, no flashing the cameras, no drug use or drinking, no getting arrested, and no sex. The voters already think she’s a whore, and I think she spends way too much time in bed with too many different men. I’m going to marry her off, and I’d like for some of the horrible rumors to fade before the wedding, so the groom isn’t bombarded with stories about the men she’s been ‘dating.’ Elections are next year. I need this girl’s reputation to become, and stay, sparkling clean until then.”
Galen hadn’t expected that. How was he supposed to keep a well-known party girl from doing what she wanted? Especially since she could threaten to have him killed if he didn’t do what she said.
“Now, I know she’s likely to threaten you, but you’ll have to hold your ground. As long as she doesn’t come to me with allegations of rape, I’ll assume you’re doing what I’ve asked, and give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“And if she comes to you with allegations of rape? Which she’ll probably do as soon as she figures out it’s the only thing that will get me off her back.”
A harsh edge entered the man’s voice. The first sign of emotion Galen had seen. “I’ll have her examined. If you have raped her, you’ll be castrated and handed to the government.”
Ouch. Don’t fuck boss’s daughter was going straight to the top of his no-no list. That was a damned shame. She was a fine piece. Probably wouldn’t touch him anyway. Well-bred women were like that. They seemed to think that genetic engineering and cybernetic systems could be passed like some disease, when in reality, a team of doctors had to be very determined to turn you into what Galen was. He didn’t want to lose his cock for some slutty senator’s daughter anyway. He’d already have one scar from this mission, he didn’t need any more. The barcode burned into his flesh might come out with cosmetic surgery, but there was no way to be sure.
“Do you understand, slave?”
“Of course.”
Cyrus raked a hand through his graying hair before crossing his arms over his chest. He was in remarkable shape for his age and station in life. Most nobles were thin and frail. There were few that were healthy enough to gain weight, but Cyrus maintained his appearance. Why? “I want you to comprehend how much danger she’s in. My political rivals aren’t above having us both killed.”
“Then why don’t you have a bodyguard?”
“I have several assigned to me, like the rest of the senate. And she’s no doubt safe while I’m here. But I’m leaving soon. Not only does she have my political rivals to deal with but she’s also generally disliked by everyone.” The senator nodded. “Now if you’ll go with Louisa, you can bathe, and attend to my daughter at once.”
Chapter Two
Jamila wasn’t able to go back to sleep after her encounter with the slave. Was her father threatening him now, or giving him instructions? The door to her rooms slid open and a line of servants filed in. She pushed herself up.
“What are you doing in here?”
They marched to her closet, gathered a row of clothing, and left the room without answering her. “Hello? Wha
t are you doing?”
The slave appeared at the entrance. “Get up, and get dressed. You’re moving. I’m Galen, by the way, so you don’t have to continue to call me ‘slave’ as I’m sure your father will.”
“What?” Outraged, she jumped off the bed. He couldn’t just move her wherever he pleased. Her foot got tangled in the thick blankets and she would have tumbled to the ground if he hadn’t grabbed her.
“I can’t guard you here. I need to be close. We need adjoining rooms.”
She shook her head and pushed away from him. “That’s unacceptable. I enjoy my privacy, Galen. I won’t be sharing a room with you.” She couldn’t bear to have him that close. He was beautiful, and virile, and so much more attractive than any male she’d been near. But after her recent escapades she was taking a man break.
He arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t say sharing a room, I said adjoining rooms. And you don’t have a choice. It’s my job to protect you, and considering what will happen to me if I fail, I’m not going to take no for an answer.”
She shook her foot to untangle it and stumbled away from him as she broke free. “Well, I’ll go to my father about this. It’s inappropriate for us to share a room. He’ll object.”
He flashed her a tight lipped smile. “You’d be wrong. I cleared it with him. Don’t worry, princess, you’ll be settled in another room by the end of the day, and you won’t even have to do any of the work to get there.”
Jamila rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point. I like this room.” She didn’t really care. All of the rooms were the same. There was no reason to object to moving, except that she didn’t want to share a room with this man. She wouldn’t be able to get away from him if he lived right next to her.
She opened her mouth to argue with him, and paused. Maybe she should see this as an opportunity. Her father had only bought him to keep her safe. What if she could get him to admit to her father that he couldn’t manage it? She’d chased off plenty of others. Tutors, men, governesses.
