“You don’t need to truss me up like this. You know I don’t know how to fight.”
“I know this because? Oh, right, because that’s what you told me seven years ago.” Duster touched her face, cupped her chin and tilted her head back so he could peer into her eyes. “Seven years is a long time. Who knows what you’ve managed to learn?” Lowering his gaze to the open V of her robe, he added, “I’ve learned an awful lot. Thanks to a woman erroneously dubbed Remarkably Average Mary, I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover.”
“Is she the woman you met three years ago?”
Duster found it odd that Diane had such a desperate need to know the details. “I met Mary seven months ago, actually. Scary Mary.” Duster checked Diane’s restraints again. “You ever heard of the Purple Lady of Corona?”
“Scary Mary is the Purple Lady of Corona?”
“One in the same.”
“How many nicknames does this woman have?”
“More than enough. The most fitting one, though, is Scary Mary.” Shaking his head, Duster gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh. “That woman.”
“Are you in love with her?” Despite her effort to appear indifferent, her concern came through loud and clear.
“You know, in a way, I think I am.” Duster did love Mary. Not the way Diane thought, not the way he’d let her think, but he loved Mary because he finally understood Michael’s obsession with her. Duster underestimated Mary once, but Michael, that pig-headed ass, underestimated Mary repeatedly until she made it damn clear she had the most dangerous criminal mind either of them had ever encountered.
“Does she love you back?”
Rather than answer her question and put her fear to rest, he said nothing. Mary was a menace. Smarter than hell, that woman could eventually work her way out of total lockdown. Duster admired her, respected her, even feared her. “Scary Mary. She’s one of a kind.”
“And she’s on Windmere.”
“Is she who you’re after?” Duster hadn’t thought of that angle, but it fit. There was an awful lot about Mary neither he nor Michael knew. As the Bandit of Taiga, Mary made a bundle of bitter enemies. As the Purple Lady of Corona, she undoubtedly made even more. Hell, just her walking into a room would piss some people off, given the arrogant strut she had. No matter what her nickname, Mary had a real knack for making enemies out of people within five minutes. Moreover, her mysterious father was an IWOG officer. As crazy at it might seem at first blush, Diane could have been after Mary.
“I’m not after anyone,” Diane defended.
“Just money.” Duster turned his attention to her restraints. He realized he wasn’t checking them as much as he was feeling the way the silk robe clung to her hips. Damn it. He had to get his hormones under control.
“I give up. I’m not going to argue with you anymore.”
“Gee, that’s too bad. Looks like we don’t have much to say to each other, then.” Duster got behind her and marched her to the bridge. “Take a seat.”
Diane made an ungainly plop in the copilot’s chair. When her robe lofted open, she tried to close the loose flaps by wriggling her legs and squirming her hands. All she did was widen the gap.
Duster grinned. He had a wonderful view of her legs all the way up almost to her tight, wet— “Leave it.”
Diane lifted her head like a queen addressing a serf. “Why don’t you just have me run around naked?”
“It’s better this way.” Actually, he enjoyed enticing himself, teasing himself. Seeing some, not all. After a lingering look at her, he turned his attention to the dash. “Now, let’s see what we have here.”
Riveting his hands to the keypad, Duster quickly hacked into the heart of the ship’s mainframe. “Nice.” He changed all the passwords, recalibrated all the autofires, then checked the Tasher history cache.
“What are you doing?” Diane tried to sound mildly curious, but there was a distinct edge of panic to her voice.
“You know what I’m doing.” When Duster glared, her queenly look crumpled to one of frightened maid. “I’m about to find out a whole lot about you.” With another series of keystrokes, he accessed her email, her credit accounts and the entire history of her registered ship. “Well, well, isn’t this interesting.”
Diane took a deep breath. There wasn’t anything about Scott. She knew that for a fact. Only one other person knew about him, and that was the way it was going to stay. Duster would never let her go if he found out. If he was in love with another woman, she certainly wasn’t going to tell him.
Deliberately sounding bored, she said, “I can’t imagine what you find so fascinating about my transactions.”
“Well.” He tapped the screen. “Your network, for one. I didn’t know you were working with them. How long have you been a member of Network Thirteen?”
“Since the day I met you.”
There was a long pause as all the implications of that sunk into Duster’s mind. He nodded, as if that lone fact made everything click. “So that’s why you betrayed me the first time. I guess Michael was right.”
“About what?”
“That you really did want me dead. See, I always thought you just wanted to get away.” Duster frowned, his hurt stamping clear lines across his brow. “You really did want me to die in that shuttle, didn’t you?”
“I wanted you to survive. I helped you get away.”
Duster uttered such a harsh and bitter laugh, she winced.
“Right!” Duster snickered. “You helped me ever so much by strapping me into a shuttle that had barely an hour of air left. Oh, but yes, before you left, you accepted my ring of betrothal, then screwed me senseless.” He shot her a grin and a tight wink. “That was a nice touch.”
Diane felt the ring against her back. She wanted to yank it out and show it to him as proof she loved him, but she couldn’t. Not with her arms strapped down. Besides, he’d only take it away from her. He’d probably think she had a duplicate made to trick him. Overcoming his distrust seemed impossible, and she became ever more discouraged to try. If she wanted to keep the ring, she would have to hide it at her first opportunity. And she did want to keep the memento of a time when she had been thoroughly in love and that depth of emotion had been reciprocated.
“How many other men have you seduced for your network?” Duster kept his attention on the screen as he scrolled through the information logged in her ship’s memory. Without a qualm, Den of Iniquity gave up every secret it held. Network Thirteen never did care much about computer security. What little Diane had added, Duster whisked away like so much pesky dust. “I asked you, how many men, besides me, have you seduced for your network?”
“None.”
Duster rolled his eyes. “Don’t you even try to spring the lie on me that there’s been no one but me.”
Wisely, Diane kept her mouth shut. But it was absolutely true. She’d been with no man but Duster Jennings. And she knew he’d never believe her.
“Just so we’re both real clear on the concept, your network can’t help you.”
Diane inadvertently cast her gaze to the panic switch.
“Don’t waste your time.” Duster flipped it back and forth with a lazy, flicking finger. “Doesn’t work now.”
Slumping back in her chair, she suddenly brightened. If she didn’t contact them within a week, they would come. Not that she wanted to see them again. She’d been scrimping endlessly to get away from Network Thirteen. Seemed she’d found her exit strategy, but she had taken herself from the frying pan and into the fire. Still, the network was better than what she would suffer at Duster’s hands.
“Don’t look so happy. Even if they look for you, they won’t find you. I’ll strip every Ollie off the ship.” He shrugged. “With no trackers, there’s no way for them to find you. You starting to get the picture?”
Swallowing hard, Diane searched desperately for something, anything, that would get her out of this mess and away from Duster. He hated her. He wanted to hurt h
er. In a twisted part of her mind, she agreed with what he wished to do. She deserved to be hurt. Well, not hurt, really, but subjected to his wicked needs. Duster wanted to make her pay with sex, and she wanted to let him.
“Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?” She tossed the idea out to see if his hatred ran that deep.
“Kill you? Oh, no. That would make it easy on you. And I don’t want to do anything that’s easy on you.” Trailing his fingers down the edges of her robe, he pushed the silk until it just barely covered her now tightly constricted nipples. “I’m going to make you regret you ever met me.”
Swallowing hard, she whispered, “I’m already there.”
He laughed, low and throaty, maliciously seductive.
Somehow, the way he had her dressed, exposed yet covered, felt far more provocative than if he’d just stripped her bare. Worse, her lack of coverage excited her, which in turn, shamed her deeply. If it were any man but Duster, she would have fought tooth and nail. But she couldn’t battle with him. In a strange way, she craved his touch, even if it came from a core of loathing.
Pinning her with a hot, wanton gaze, he trailed his hands between her breasts, then down to her belly. Ever so slowly, he skimmed his fingertip to her thighs. One thick finger pushed the robe aside, exposing her trembling legs.
“Open to me.”
Diane pressed her thighs together like a vise.
“Open your legs.” Duster trailed one demanding finger up the valley of her thighs. “Or I’ll make you.”
Wordlessly, she defied him, even though some twisted part of her wanted to do exactly what he said. How would he react if she leaned back, spread her legs and boldly told him to take his time?
When he grinned, Diane feared he’d read her thoughts.
Duster licked his lips. “You’re not getting this, are you?”
“What? That you’re a pervert?” Like she wasn’t.
“Pervert? No. Can’t be perverted for me to take what’s rightfully mine.”
“For the last time, I’m not yours!” She hoped her fury masked her desire.
“You are. By your own choice, you’ve made yourself my whore.” Duster forced his hand between her knees.
“Duster, please, don’t.” Diane closed her eyes. She bit her lip and hung her head so he wouldn’t see the pleasure on her face. Let him think her hiding from him was because of shame. “Please don’t do this.”
Working his hand inexorably up, Duster whispered, “I remember when you would beg me to stroke you. How you would whisper plaintive words for me to fill you, to bring you to climax. And now you beg because you don’t even want me to touch you.”
Lifting her face up with his other hand, Duster said, “Open your eyes.”
Diane did.
“Which is the truth, Diane? The way you were seven years ago, or the way you are now?”
“I wanted you then. I don’t want you now.” Afraid he would read the lie in her gaze, she added, “Not like this.” That was as close to the truth as she could get. She pulled her head out of his grasp. She would not submit to him with more lies between them, and she would never allow him to take her in anger. “You don’t want me. You want to hurt me. I can’t believe you’ve changed so much. That you’ve become such a cruel person.”
“Betrayal has a tendency to do that to a man. Your betrayal. The man you don’t like, the man who’s tormenting you?” Forcefully, he grasped her chin and made her look at him. “Is a man you created. Better take responsibility for what you did and just accept it.”
Diane swallowed hard.
“Open your legs.”
Peering into his eyes, Diane realized she had little choice. He could do anything he wanted, with her consent or not. With a crude yank, Diane spread her legs, pointing her toes into the neospring floor for balance as she sat in the copilot chair. “Go ahead. If it will make you feel better to do this to me, then just go ahead.”
Duster held his hand only inches away from the juncture of her thighs. Wanting to touch her, wanting to force pleasure to her body, wanting to directly feel what he’d only imagined as he rocked against her in the shuttle—all of that pushed him to take what he felt was rightfully his. But as much as he wanted revenge, he didn’t want to hurt her. And then he did. It was crazy. Loving her, hating her, longing for her and rejecting her all in the same breath. Confusion made him pull his hand back from her enticing, provocative display.
“Get up.”
Diane stood with as much grace as she could. Her tawny eyes went wide as she no doubt wondered what he would force her to do next. Vanilla-musk from her and leather-canvas from him filled the air around them, increasing his torment. Her spellbinding hair tumbled down to her hips, hips Duster wanted to grasp while he plunged in a strong, steady beat that matched the pounding of his heart.
Yanking the edges of her robe closed, more for his benefit than hers, Duster took her to her bedroom.
Diane trembled as she approached the bed. It pained Duster when he felt her raw terror. Hell. She thought he was going to rape her. Honest to a fault within the confines of his own mind, Duster admitted he wanted her. She couldn’t offer much resistance in a fight, and they both knew it. What held him back was what raping her would do to her. That prideful arrogance would be destroyed forever, and he would never be able to face himself again.
Without a word, he tied her to her bed with her own silk robe belt, then walked away from her. He took the high road no matter how much he wanted to stay in that room and see if he could tease her into willing submission. Determined, he left her alone. No matter what, he wasn’t going to be thinking with his dick this time.
Stripping Den of Iniquity of all the trackers, better known as Ollies, gave him the diversion he so desperately needed. If he’d become an expert on anything, it was distracting himself from sexual thoughts. No man remained celibate for seven years without learning a lot of tricks.
Duster smashed all the Ollies and tossed them to recyc. He carefully scanned the ship a second time and then a third. Certain he’d gotten everything, he worked his way back to the gaudy common room.
Silky couches and drapes of fabric in a multitude of rich colors, thick wool carpet of black and mounds of velvet pillows filled every inch of space. The central room looked like a whore den but smelled like vanilla-musk. Heavy and thick, the scent seemed to be everywhere he went. Diane had the maddening scent infused within her body. When she’d yanked her legs apart in submissive defiance on the bridge, he smelled the full tang of her wet slit mixed with that perfume. He knew that smell and responded to it like an animal in heat. But then he retreated like a critical, calculating human.
Once he made his way to the bridge, he checked his fuel reserves, found them full, then plotted a course to Windmere. He had to do it standing. If he sat, he’d wrench his dick in two. The entire ship smelled like Diane. So damn distracting, that smell. He wanted to punch himself in the nose just to stop having to smell and taste that wicked, compelling odor. What he wouldn’t give for a pocketful of wonderfully engrossing crackleseeds.
What the hell was he going to do? Keep Diane on Windmere, force her to satisfy his needs? How could he do that to her? Damn, he wanted to. He wanted to wring every last bit of pleasure from her that he could. Keep her forever. Make her submit to him again and again, until he finally slaked his burning need for her. The most base, animal part of him wanted to force her to be his whore.
What a loaded word. Just thinking of that word turned him on. To think of it in conjunction with Diane made him one good stroke from climax. She was his first love, the only love of his life. Compelling her to his every erotic whim simultaneously shamed him and made him mad with lust. Even if hatred burned in her eyes the entire time, he wanted to feel her body below his. Just one more time. Hell, hatred would burn in his gaze as he rode her.
I’ll just keep my eyes closed, and then I won’t care what’s in her gaze, and she can’t see what’s in mine either.
Because he knew she would see the darkness of love betrayed, but also, far behind where he simply wouldn’t be able to hide the truth, she would see his longing for forgiveness. Not forgiveness from her, but forgiveness of her. Even now, even filled with anger, he wanted to forgive her. He wanted to put everything behind them and move forward.
I am such a sucker.
Her being a member of Network Thirteen explained everything she’d done seven years ago. Apparently, when her father sold her into slavery, she aligned herself with the group of vengeful women with one goal—eradicate the slave trade. They willingly let themselves be sold into slavery, then, once aboard a slaver ship, they would commandeer the ship or die trying. The group called themselves Network Thirteen after an ancient document called the Constitution. Amendment Thirteen abolished slavery.
The fact that she’d left him alive was staggering and obviously a mistake. The members of Network Thirteen killed slavers, they didn’t reform them. Much like how the IWOG dealt with book smugglers. Killing was so much easier than trying to make them see the error of their ways. Death was always a permanent solution, where rehabilitation was only so-so.
Taking a deep breath, pushing aside his confusing thoughts and those that literally made his body ache, Duster examined Diane’s email more closely. Hunting for the truth to what she’d been up to for the last seven years, he looked for connections to other people. As he scrolled through meaningless and irrelevant chatty missives, he suddenly wondered if she had a husband.
“What if she has kids?” That would put a definite crimp in his plans. As much as he wanted to pay her back, he couldn’t hurt an innocent child by tearing away that child’s mother.
Groaning, he forced awareness away from the smell of her in the tight Den of Iniquity cockpit as he continued to peruse her email. He found one curious set of correspondence back and forth from Diane to someone named Sheldon. Short, somewhat cryptic notes. All he really got was they each wanted the other to take care, and that Diane would be gone no longer than a week. By the best Duster could tell from the strange way they wrote, Sheldon watered her plants and fed her pets—fish.
Stripper: The Fringe, Book 4 Page 5
