The Hand of Vengeance

by Renee Rose

  He tucked a hand under her armpit and hauled her up, firing right, left, and center as he hustled her behind a waste receptacle. He didn’t look at her once, his eyes roving, tracking the enemy. He pointed at her, still without looking. “Don’t. You. Fucking. Move.”

  “I won’t move,” she whispered.

  He darted back out, leading the fire away from her. She watched as his body count went from ten to twenty then forty. He claimed new guns from the fallen, firing two at a time then capturing an atomic blaster, which he used to send their ship into a zillion pieces of dust. He aimed and shot down every one of their ships in the sky and kept firing his weapons until the battle had been completely won.

  Silence fell. The rebel soldiers jogged around the camp with their weapons drawn, checking for any remaining enemy, but it seemed that Blade had single-handedly dispatched them all.

  She wanted to come out of hiding, to check on Dog and tend to the wounded, but she knew, now, she’d erred the first time. She didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.

  When Blade finally stalked over, he looked as furious as he had when he’d arrived like her knight in shining armor. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “Not hurt.” She kept it short and clipped. Just the facts for her angry rebel. “I’m sorry about Dog,” she said, her voice cracking.

  Blade slammed his hand against the metal trash receptacle behind her head. “I put you in a safe place. I told you to wait for me. What part of my orders did you not understand?”

  She shrank under his black gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  He kicked the receptacle. “Do you know what the Sheenaw would’ve done with a prisoner like you? Do you have any idea what they do to women?”

  She shook her head, tears welling.

  “No. You don’t want to know, Doctor. You don’t fucking want to know. Because it isn’t pretty. And they wouldn’t give a shit that you came from Earth, or that you have a medical license. All they would see is a beautiful woman to be used for the pleasure of their troops before she was put into slavery, if they didn’t kill her in the process.”

  A tear spilled down her cheek.

  His comms unit crackled. “Evacuate settlement immediately. Repeat, evacuate settlement immediately.”

  He ducked and put his shoulder in the crease of her hips, tossing her over his back and running for the bunker where they had built a large transporter in case of an attack like this. People streamed toward the bunker, some carrying or helping wounded.

  She ought to be helping them instead of being carried like a sack of potatoes, but she didn’t dare argue with Blade. Anger came off him in waves and she would do anything at that moment to make things right with him. She may have killed his dog—if so, she’d never forgive herself for it. She’d made him risk his life to rescue her, and she’d disobeyed him—again. The realization that she felt guilty over disobeying came as a surprise. At what point had she given him the authority over her life?

  As he stalked with long, determined strides and she dangled against the rippling muscles of his back, face to face with his built ass, she realized it didn’t matter. He had become an authority over her from the moment they first met, and her acquiescence wasn’t even part of the equation.

  But the change was that she’d finally accepted it. She didn’t want his anger or irritation. She wanted...hell. She wanted that fiery passion he’d shown her when he shoved her against the wall and took her mouth. She wanted the tenderness he’d offered when she’d cried over his operation. She wanted his regard, even his love. But that wasn’t going to be part of this picture.

  ~~*~~

  Blade dropped her to her feet on the ship. Catching the back of her neck, he pulled her face up to his. Her baby blues were wide and frightened. He needed to get a grip on his anger—he knew how terrifying he looked when mad—but rage still coursed through his veins. He’d turned to beast. Again. Universal God, it had been like he was sixteen all over again. All thought had left his mind, replaced only by pure emotion—pure hatred, the desire to make everyone pay for taking someone he loved. Thank God, in this case, he hadn’t lost her forever.

  He glared down at her. “If you set one foot off this ship—”

  “I won’t.” She spoke quickly, trembling under his touch. She looked so young and vulnerable. He should be moved by her temerity, but instead it only made him more angry, thinking what they would have done to her. To his little doctor.

  The place he’d gone when he saw her in their clutches had been too black. His heart had been poisoned from the beginning then finished, burned to a crisp the day his sister died. He’d never thought to use it again. But apparently it had beat again, had moved, had breathed. Because when fear had snapped its ferocious jaws on his heart, something in his chest had screamed in agony.

  He held her captive, punishing her with a look meant to make her think twice about ever again taking any action that put her at risk. “We aren’t through with our discussion,” he hissed.

  She shivered.

  He stared a moment longer then released her too abruptly, causing her to stumble back. “Medical kit is in the aft closet,” he said as he stalked away, knowing tending to the wounded would be her primary concern.

  He ran back out and found three soldiers hustling the president, Alyx, and Dasha onto the transport ship. At least they’d had the damn sense to stay put when their lives were in danger. He found Dog still alive, and handed the animal to a soldier to bring to Lara for medical care.

  Jogging back onto the field, he scooped up a young woman from where she’d been crawling on her hands and knees, blood dripping down her front. Her glassy eyes widened when she took in his face, the look of hero worship coming over her. “The hand of vengeance is swift,” she murmured.

  He ignored her and carried her in, handing her off to another soldier. He continued with his hunt, scouring the field for anyone remaining before they left this settlement forever.

  Five minutes until takeoff. A countdown projected from the ship, warning of its imminent departure. He jogged back into the building to do a check of the interior then out onto the field, checking wrecked hovercrafts for any survivors.

  One minute until takeoff. Fifty-six, fifty-five.

  He spotted an old man struggling to stand, panic on his lined face. Blade hooked a hand under his armpit and hauled him to stand. He would carry him but he knew how much it would hurt a Jeselian male’s pride. Instead, he dragged him forward, toward the ship.

  Twenty-nine, twenty-eight…

  “Vengeance!” someone yelled from the closing hatch. “Run!”

  “Vengeance is still out there! Open the hatch!”

  The hatch would not be reopened, though. Once the countdown began, only the captain could stop it, and there wasn’t time to notify him. He’d have to forget about the old man’s pride. He scooped him up and jumped for the rising gangway, catching the edge of it with his foot and lunging forward. He spilled his cargo, but both of them were propelled forward as the gangway folded closed toward the remaining gap between the metal jaw-like doors.

  Soldiers pulled the old man from his grasp, yanked them both in safely, just as the doors clamped shut and the craft lifted off the ground.

  Bailey jogged out, his forehead creased with concern. He relaxed when he saw Blade and the old man sprawled on the floor. “You made it.”

  Blade climbed to his feet.

  “It would have weighed on my conscience to leave behind the man who single-handedly won that battle for us.”

  He scrubbed his face with his hand. He knew this was Bailey’s way of thanking him, but he wanted no part of it. He’d never enjoyed the legends that surrounded him, and he didn’t want today’s story added to the tales. Not Lara’s story. Because dammit, he didn’t want to be that man anymore. Especially not with her.

  ~~*~~

  Lara worked for hours re-assembling a makeshift clinic and treating the wounded. Sadly, the number of patients was small, as alm
ost all had been slaughtered, with very few wounded. Dasha had treated Dog, boosting the animal’s vitals until the shock wore off. It seemed like he would live. Even so, threads of insecurity and regret swirled around her psyche.

  She knew the moment he entered the room. The air left it in a rush. Blade stood in the doorway, dark and imposing, holding a long piece of sweet-reed. Somehow she doubted it was to quench her thirst.

  He said nothing, simply lifted his chin and brows to signal to her.

  She didn’t know what it said about her, but her body responded before she’d even made up her mind. She bowed her head and walked to him, and, in doing so, made the particulars of their relationship clear to everyone in the room. She belonged to him, submitted to his authority, accepted his discipline. It was humbling, but not as humiliating as she’d thought it should have been. After all, he was clearly the most dominant male on the rebel ship and a hero to all his people. Was it so terrible to bend a knee to a man like him?

  He turned when she reached him, walking away, apparently trusting she’d follow. Of course, she did. He didn’t look over his shoulder to make sure, didn’t wait for her to catch up. He walked to a room and placed his palm against the key screen. The door slid open. She hadn’t been assigned a chamber yet—or if she had, no one had shown it to her. She looked around the tiny compartment with interest. White molded walls gave it a clean feel. The bed attached to one wall was larger than the small, single cot she’d had at the rebel camp. This one appeared to be made for two people. Two built-in pillows lay at the head of it. Drawers and cabinets were built right into the walls, almost invisible to the eye. The door slid shut behind them.

  “This is our chamber.”

  Her eyes jerked to his in surprise. Since when did they share a room?

  He flexed the sweet reed between his two hands. “Take off your clothes.”

  She gaped.

  He met her stare evenly, his face hard but not brutal as it had been before. The aura of anger had left. Now she felt only sheer, uncompromising determination from him.

  She forgot how to breathe, a fact which she didn’t note until she swayed on her feet.

  Dropping her gaze, she heel-toed out of her shoes then pulled down her leggings and panties in one swoop. If he wanted to punish her, she’d accept it. The Universal God knew she owed him that much after almost getting his poor dog killed and forcing him to rescue her.

  She pulled her medical tunic off over her head and dropped it on the pile of clothing at her feet. Something about stripping for discipline had her heart in palpitations. What it lacked in eroticism, it made up for in submission. And she already knew—although she didn’t understand it—that her body craved his domination. Blade’s face could have been made of stone for all the expressiveness she found there. Even so, her pussy leaked for him. Damn her traitorous body.

  She unhooked her bra and released her breasts, heavy and aching with need. Lifting her chin, she conveyed a little splinter of defiance, as if to show him that his order to strip had not daunted her. Which wasn’t remotely true. The trembling in her legs would soon become apparent as it traveled higher and higher.

  He pointed with the cane to the bed. “Bend over.”

  She didn’t want to. She really didn’t want to. Although she’d never been caned, she was a doctor and scientist and she understood about surface area and velocity. That thin rod would hurt a lot more than his belt or hand.

  “Show me your obedience, and I will show you mercy.”

  His words made her belly tumble in a somersault. She didn’t want to need his mercy. Grown women—respected doctors, Earthlings who had lived with the equality promoted by the Unified Countries, should not have to plead for mercy from grown men.

  But she was scared of his cane. Her inner thighs vibrated together now, moistened by the dripping of her overactive pussy. She swallowed and walked to the bed. Placing her hands on the bed, she eased her torso down. The blanket was of spider silk, an incredibly soft silky fiber found only on Jesel. A blanket like this would cost at least a thousand IPCs on Earth. She didn’t have time to marvel at the fact that the standard issue blankets were made of spider-silk, though, because Blade had moved to stand behind her.

  “Are you going to keep your arms tucked under you like that, or shall I tie your wrists?”

  She hadn’t even realized she’d pulled her forearms underneath her torso, as if to hug herself for comfort.

  She licked her lips to moisten them. “I’ll keep them tucked.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

  “If you reach back, I’ll double your punishment. It’s for your own safety. Are you sure you don’t need help?”

  It was silly, but she took a little satisfaction in the fact that he still cared about her hands even now that the surgery on his people’s president had been completed. “I won’t reach.” She cared about her fingers, too.

  Even so, she found herself grasping her own wrists to keep her hands from flying back when the first swish of the reed came down. The cane left a line of fire burning across her buttocks. It hurt. It hurt so badly, it made her want to run from the room. It took a solid three seconds before she could exhale the breath she’d gasped. Blade seemed to be waiting for her to recover because he didn’t deliver the next stroke until she had.

  The next one came down below the first, just as excruciating. She panted into the fine-fibered bedcover, wishing the punishment were over. How many strokes would he give her? Could she take it?

  The swish of the reed slicing through the air again reached her ears a split second before the third line of pain erupted across her backside. Her brain began to fog.

  He struck her with the crop again. On the fifth stroke, without any conscious thought, she surged up, crawling onto the bed, away from him.

  “Back in position.”

  She froze in place, the room silent save for the rasping of her breath. He wanted her to willingly place herself back in position. She couldn’t seem to move—she didn’t want to go back there, didn’t want to be whipped any more. She should have opted to be tied up—it would have been easier that way.

  Now he was asking her to go back of her own volition, just as she’d stripped and bent over the bed and offered her ass up for his caning of her own accord.

  “Please...Blade.”

  He didn’t speak, but she felt something from him. Some deep emotion—not anger. Something else. Anguish, perhaps. His breath sounded raspy now, too. When he still didn’t answer, she found herself backing up, putting her feet back on the floor and presenting her welted, quivering cheeks for further punishment.

  “Is it too late to ask you to tie me up?”

  He didn’t speak but grasped one wrist then the other, bending them into the small of her back. He held them caged in his large palm, his touch gentle but firm.

  He whipped her with the cane again.

  She rose up on her tiptoes, tightening her buttocks as if that might somehow ward off further assault. Hot tears welled.

  Another stripe then another.

  The tears spilled. Her compliance turned to anger. Where the fuck did he get off anyway? Never mind that she had consented to it by offering up her bare bottom; now she only wanted it to be over.

  He gave her two more searing stripes then released her hands, dropping the sweet reed to the floor with a clatter. His large hands fell on her shoulders, tugging her up, but she twisted and shoved at his chest.

  “Get away from me,” she spat.

  He didn’t allow it. Scooping her up, he held her against his chest.

  She struggled against him, turning again to glare, but when she saw his face, she went still.

  Blade’s face was twisted in anguish, and his lashes were wet.

  Chapter Nine

  His tight chest ached and his breath came in ragged gulps. It had nearly killed him to cane her. What had happened to him? Everything had changed. Discipline had always been a simple matter—if someone under him disobeyed, he punished him. End
of story. It was not a savory activity, but it had to be done.

  Punishing Lara had torn his heart right out of his chest. And to have her angry with him made it all the worse. Despite her rejection of his comfort, he refused to let her go, clutching her fiercely to him, as if even now the damn Sheenaw might come and try to take her away from him.

  Lara reached for his face, and he jerked at the contact, so unused to allowing anyone to touch him. Instantly sorry, he grasped her hand and placed it back on his cheek, holding it there, savoring whatever urge had caused her to touch him that way. Did it mean she forgave him?

  His nose burned. He knew he was squeezing his little doctor too tight, crushing her against his body, but he couldn’t make himself ease the grasp.

  “I can’t—” He cleared his throat as if it would make the words come out better. “I couldn’t stand to see you harmed.” He wanted to explain to her why he had been so angry, why he had thought it necessary to give such a harsh punishment, but his words sounded too simple, too vague. How could he possibly explain the pain he’d felt when he saw her being taken by them? The blackness that bubbled out of his heart? The blind fury that turned him into a killing machine?

  “Dog is all right,” she whispered.

  “I don’t care about Dog.” He didn’t mean to snap at her. It seemed he only knew how to make things worse. “I mean, I’m glad, but I’m not angry about my pet getting shot.”

  “Why are you angry?” she whispered.

  He stared over the top of her head, seeing his crying sister being dragged by the mine’s drunken Sheenaw foremen. He should have acted then. He would have saved her. Vengeance and justice meant nothing when you had no one left to love. Empty constructs that would never, ever satisfy, never fill the empty space between his ribs.