She raised her eyes to meet his. A dark, masculine eyebrow arched and his impassive demeanor slipped for an instant, revealing grim humor. Steffania screwed her mouth into a scowl. {I’d rather have the destroyers.}
Ramsey exhaled with a soft snort and returned his gaze to the phantasmagoria outside the plex-glass. Privately, he agreed with Steffania. He supposed he was a selfish bastard to have tunnel vision when it came to Alessa DeAlbero, but he wanted the pardon and the legitimacy that came with it. He wanted it bad. He wouldn’t allow the League to fuck this up for him.
A gentle, vertical descent of the air-limo warned of their arrival and Ram surveyed the scene as they started their landing. The massive, old-Earth Greco-Roman villa with its sprawling grounds of lush plantings and outdoor baths didn’t surprise him. Any man who sponsored gladiator games in NT Solar 4656 was an ardent lover of anachronism. What sent every curse word he knew flooding to the tip of his tongue were the hulking shadows with glowing red eyes that slunk alongside the humanoid patrol.
Ram had rock-solid confidence in Steffania’s ability to disarm any electronic system. Eluding observation from one of the numerous security guards patrolling the grounds would be difficult but do-able. But infinitely, horrendously worse, the guards held remote controls for the studded metal collars of gene-altered fell-wolves – quadrupeds of murky origin bred for their savagery and tracking ability. In the deep past, some enterprising geneticist combined a large, venomous lizard and a vicious canine to create a visual horror with an unparalleled ability to track and kill. These genetically enhanced monsters approached a sentient intelligence and possessed the nanotech ability to heal almost any wound in a matter of minutes. You could not disable them with flesh wounds. You killed them by decapitation or destruction of the central nervous system. Their presence explained the open – vacant – expanse of beautiful grounds.
Ram’s mind recoiled from the mounting complications. Contacting the League might be their only option. The bitter thought that DeLorion knew all this when he told Ramsey just to get DeAlbero to the pick-up point sat like a lead sinker in his mind. He hoped he could do it without getting them killed, but at every turn the odds of success shrank.
{Damn-it-all to hell, Ramsey, fell-wolves.}
{I see them.}
{See those black rounds protruding from ports on the perimeter towers?}
{Yes.}
{Those are interphazar pulse cannons. I see enough firepower there to take out a Class M star cruiser. Who has that on a private estate? Shit, Ramsey. What are we getting into?}
{We are about to find out.}
Ram glanced toward Steffania but she simply shook her head and settled into grim silence.
With a hissing of hydraulics and a slowing purr of the motor, the air-limo rocked gently into a lush green carpet of vegetation then settled to a stop. The low whine of the powerful engine hushed and the pneumatic hiss of the doors unsealing filled the cab. Servants’ hands opened the vehicle’s ‘gull’ doors. Mute attendants ushered the four occupants to a paved walk leading to the estate’s main, and extremely ostentatious, entrance. Other servants followed with the luggage.
Niles Hunt peeled off just within the entrance with a small bow and a muttered, “Please stay here. I’ll send someone to show you to your rooms.” Ramsey watched Niles stagger away, holding a hand to his temples; after a few strides, he stopped, wavering, and wobbled off in the opposite direction.
Ramsey swung around slowly to gaze at Pansy. “How many drinks did he have, sweetheart?”
The tiny beauty blinked innocently. “Six.”
Ramsey choked a laugh down to a snort and Steffania murmured an amazed, “Six?”
The innocence of Pansy’s smile contradicted the glint of mischief in those violet eyes. “I offered more but he couldn’t hold the glass.” She shrugged with a well-what-was-a-girl-to-do look on her face.
Ramsey fixed his attention on the three figures making a straight line for them. “Heads up, ladies,” and just like that their moment of shared humor ended.
Pansy shrank behind Ramsey. He could feel her fist a handful of his shirt and press her face into his back. Steffania stepped to his shoulder and watched their approach.
“Dominus DeKieran, welcome to the estate of Veacon Narr. I am Manu Delroy, Dominus Narr’s Secretary for Social Functions.” A slender, non-descript male of medium height dressed in a carefully tailored suit of dark fine-cloth bowed then extended his arm. “Eagan and Hoyle are assigned to assist you during your stay with us.” He indicated two men of uncertain age in long robes of pale grey who stood with passive vacuity at his side.
A cold repugnance snaked through Ram’s gut and he heard Steffania’s subtle, quick inhale. Like poorly mended dolls, fat, vertical stitches of thick, black thread pierced through and sealed the attendants’ lips together. He wondered how the men ate or drank. Communication from them would be reduced to the most basic of nods and grunts.
Delroy nodded. “After refreshing yourself, please join us in the main gallery. Eagan or Hoyle must escort you whenever you leave your room. There are privacy doors throughout the main residence that require their DNA signature to open. I hope that won’t be a problem for you.” A coy smile widened Manu Delroy’s expression of geniality. “You needn’t have any concern for gossip from your attendants. Dominus Narr respects and protects his guests’ privacy.”
“Yes, I see that,” Ram said.
~ ~ ~
Eagan remained, an unobtrusive shadow of a presence, in their suite with Pansy, while Ramsey and Steffania followed the gray-man, Hoyle, through the labyrinth of corridors studded with surveillance cameras to the entrance of the banquet hall. With an opening sweep of his arm, Hoyle silently bade them enter an orgy of sadistic sexual indulgence and then faded into obscurity against the bare stone wall of the massive space. Ramsey paused to absorb the assault on his senses. Steffania inhaled sharply and stepped forward, pressing into his back. He understood her need for the reassurance of physical contact and braced to allow her the support of his body.
Visible in dim golden light, the remains of what must have been an opulent feast lay scattered about, food and drink abandoned for a more base activity. In every niche, on every horizontal surface, a male or a group of males violated a female orifice. Everywhere his eye roamed, a male phallus penetrated a feminine mouth, a vagina, an anus. The pale moons of male buttocks pumped and female breasts and thighs shimmied. Muffled feminine groans of distress or whimpers of protest competed with male shouts and grunts of orgasmic completion. The nose-stinging haze of a well-known hallucinogen settled in visible layers of white-gray cloud close to the floor and mixed with the tang of sweat, the musky odor of cum and the sweet stench of blood. Groups of liveried guards stood impassively in clusters throughout the huge hall. Some held gold or silver chains attached to the collars of uneasy female slaaf who wore skull-clinging hoods that concealed all but their noses and mouths – fresh fodder for rapacious appetites.
How often does a man have to see this to become indifferent? Ram’s repugnance grew.
Discarded clothing littered the floor among up-ended goblets and scattered platters in haphazard flashes of riotous color while puddles of some viscous substance stained the stone in random dark patches. Ram balked at a closer observation of the liquid. Raucous male laughter and vulgar cheers of encouragement mingled with the smart crack of paddles and whips and the screams of suffering from females bound to enormous elevated racks. Spotlights illuminated each station, creating a diorama or vignette meant to tweak the sadistic appetite of any casual observer. Some unlucky females still hung writhing in their bloody bonds – the scene ended but the curtain still up on their torment. At one station, a barely humanoid alien stroked his anatomically impossible penis through the blood on the thighs of the unconscious woman tied spread-eagled before him. Had he tried to penetrate the poor female? Probably.
{I’m glad you made Pansy stay in the room.}
Ramsey glanced at St
effania over his shoulder. The tremor in her voice made him wish he had left her behind, also. Rarely had he witnessed such perverted obscenity. He sometimes mixed a bit of sexual sadism with his dominance, but he made certain his women were willing. For some of his partners – he thought Steffania qualified – the pain of a nipple clamp or flogger enhanced their arousal and heightened their pleasure. Knowing a submissive also found gratification in their sensual games and required his dominance for sexual arousal made all the difference to him. He was nothing like these men. He didn’t get off on debasement or torture. These twisted deviants oppressed and humiliated women to feed their egocentric desires for power. Sexual gratification was merely a by-product.
“Ramsey DeKieran, our Verdantian entrant. Welcome to my humble entertainment.”
A rich baritone overrode the moans and cries of the surrounding bacchanal. The speaker, a tall, handsome, dark-headed male dressed in conservative business attire approached through the golden haze and stopped in front of Ram. At his side, Strom Kella and Vittal Lontz eyed Ram with all the warmth of a Zellovian soul-wraith. Ram had encountered wraiths on the battlefields of Verdantia during the war. Reviled throughout the galaxy, the obscenities had most likely piggy-backed on the Haarb to places where death prevailed. The foul wisps of flesh inhabited the body of the dying just prior to death and stole the soul as the last gasps of life slipped away.
“I’m Veacon Narr. I know you have met Dominus Kella and Dominus Lontz. So glad you agreed to join our celebration.” Narr’s eyes held Ramsey’s with open, unthreatening warmth. “You saved me a significant amount of embarrassment, Dominus DeKieran. I’m in your debt.”
Ram bowed his head without expression and his voice emerged flatly. “Even on my backwater planet, we hear of Veacon Narr. How could I refuse?”
Narr tilted his head back and laughed pleasantly. “Ah, and yet Niles told me, initially, you did. We will have to work hard to overcome your resistance to our hospitality. Allow me to take you to our guest of honor. After all, he is the reason you are here.”
Ramsey nodded. {Stay close, Captain.}
{Like a second skin, DeKieran.}
He followed as the three men wound their way across the hall through fornicating pairs and trios. At one point, Ram stepped sideways to escape the spurting ejaculate of some incontinent prick. Steffania’s hand clutched his belt at the small of his back and tightened. Without a second thought, he closed his hand over hers, cementing her hold. Their destination turned out to be a small alcove separated from the main hall. Unlike the hall Ram had just walked through, all the occupants of this section were fully clothed. Tok’s bulk thrust up from the center of a group of well-dressed entities, as if a mighty fortress surrounded by a shantytown.
These must be the planetary dignitaries.
Ramsey caught the behemoth’s gaze and nodded.
“Ramsey, my friend. Come. You and your pretty lady, join us.” The Khlossian indicated a position at his side and smiled broadly at Ramsey and Steffania.
Veacon Narr made the introductions, carefully ignoring Steffania, and the dignitaries surrounding Tok enveloped Ramsey with eager questions concerning his bouts and fighting techniques. Apparently, the barbaric Verdantian was “sexier” than the behemoth from Khlossus. By subtle degrees, they shouldered Steffania away from Ram and Ram away from Tok. In spite of his curt responses, the deluge of inquiries never slackened. It seemed their bloodthirsty curiosity could not be slaked.
{Ramsey! Ninety degrees left. Far wall.} Steffania spoke from the position she had taken up outside the circle of males closed around Ramsey.
Ram cast an ostensibly desultory glance left, spotting immediately the reason for the strident alarm in Steffania’s voice. Two large men, in the uniform of Strom Kella’s guard, dragged Pansy along the outskirts of the hall, walking so swiftly and holding her so tightly that her toes only skipped along the inlaid marble floor. The terror on her face shouted her distress in spite of the large male hand that covered her mouth and made deep indents into the woman’s soft cheeks.
A growl grew in volume in his chest. Working between the bodies in his way, Ramsey intercepted the two guards, forcing them to stop by physically blocking their path.
“Stop. Release my slaaf.” Pansy cast an imploring glance at him and seemed to melt in the hold of her captors. “I am Lord Ramsey DeKieran. Strom Kella gave this slaaf to me for my use while on Vxloncia. I still require her services. Release her.”
With measuring glances at him, some sort of silent communication passed between the two guards. “As you command, Dominus DeKieran.” With a curt nod, the two guards released their captive, turned abruptly and exited the hall, leaving him with the distraught Pansy. She prostrated herself on the floor before him, her forehead pressed into the hard stone before rising to her knees and looking straight ahead. Her voice stumbled out with a tremulous catch.
“Tha...tha...thank you, Dom...Dominus.”
Ramsey started to help her to her feet, but Pansy’s intent look just beyond him had Ram checking over his shoulder. Strom Kella bore down on them. His rigid demeanor bespoke fury contained through severe exercise of will. Ramsey turned to meet him, his own anger a slow, roiling boil, and freed his desire to savage and rend – if only with words.
“Those guards wore your livery, Kella. You have committed a deadly insult. You dare to violate my rooms and steal one of my possessions? You are a common thief. You gave this slaaf to me for my use while on Vxloncia. I am still here and I still require her service. Explain yourself or I will leave this planet on the first available transportation, and I will relish telling Veacon Narr who is responsible for the resulting fallout.”
“Empty words, DeKieran,” Kella sneered. “We both know you won’t make good on that threat.” His eyes slipped to Pansy, flattened on the floor in obeisance. “I will have her back.”
Violet eyes filled with venomous abhorrence lifted to his.
“Why, Dominus? So I don’t make known how you tried to drug Dominus DeKieran? Tried to rig the outcome of the games? Imagine the furor in the galactic betting houses. I heard losses destroyed an entire drug cartel. I doubt the losers of the bets riding on the outcome of the Dominion Games will remain idle at news of your attempted fraud. Consider the scandal, the loss of revenue—and all linked to you, Dominus Kella. Narr will banish you if he doesn’t kill you outright.”
Kella appeared stunned—as if one of the bronze statues lining the hall had suddenly come to life and mauled him. With a curse, he sent a heavy boot punching into her soft abdomen.
“Silence! Filthy sl – ”
Ram’s fist and knee connected with Kella’s face and groin in quick succession and the man slammed to his knees with a grunt. With a snarl of pure rage, Ramsey grabbed the front of Kella’s tunic and jerked him up to smash him again, but Pansy wrapped herself around Ram’s knees.
“No! No, Dominus, please! You will only make trouble for yourself. Please. Dominus, stop!”
{DeKieran, stop. Pull it together. We can’t do this here.}
Steffania’s hand closed over a fist pulled back to deliver a second blow. Ram hovered on the threshold of abandonment. The lawless, unrestrained carnage of his prior years clawed to escape his iron will with an almost physical pain. He longed to feel Strom Kella’s jelly-filled orbs bursting under his thumbs as he gouged out the creature’s eyes. He imagined the crunch of cartilage when his hands tore Kella’s ears from his head. Perhaps doing so would exorcise the impotent rage and vicious disgust that had permeated his gut since coming to this planet.
Ramsey strained like a racehorse held too long in the starting gate while Steffania pushed his arms down and finger-by-finger freed Kella’s tunic from his clenched fist. She wrapped her arms around his upper arms and torso and pressed her body into his.
{Ramsey. Think. Alessa DeAlbero. You cannot do this, DeKieran. Think.}
Ram eyed the black-clothed enforcer with frigid loathing. He barely registered Steffania’s weight fla
ttened against his length or Pansy clinging to his legs at mid-thigh. “Harm anything that belongs to me again and I will kill you.”
Kella raised his head, locked eyes with Ramsey and sneered, “Another empty threat.”
Their contretemps had drawn spectators. Steffania’s urgent, “Dominus DeKieran – Dominus DeKieran,” had finally hauled him back from the edge of violence and he allowed her to separate him from Strom Kella. Steffania was right. He couldn’t do anything here but mark Kella for death. Only after promising himself that satisfaction did Ramsey allow Steffania and Pansy to move him back even further.
“Dominus Kella, please explain why you have inconvenienced one of my honored guests.” Veacon Narr’s melodious voice rose over the background of orgiastic grunts and strained moans.
With a grimace, Kella straightened. “My apologies,” came out sounding as if the words had lodged in his throat like a steel-spiked ball. Kella sketched a bow to Narr. “I understood that Dominus DeKieran no longer required the services of this slaaf.” Kella motioned to Pansy. “I was mistaken.” He bared an upper lip in what Ram supposed was a smile. “If you will excuse me.”
Ramsey watched the Enforcer retreat and Narr watched Ramsey. A smooth smile replaced Narr’s fleeting expression of annoyance. “Such a zealous man – efficient, but sometimes he over-reaches. I am sorry for the unpleasantness. I will personally assure the future security of your rooms.”
Ram pulled his eyes away from Strom Kella’s back and nodded. With a smile, Veacon continued, “Let’s rejoin the Khlossian. He was asking where you had gone.” Narr held his arm out in the direction of Tok and the dignitaries with all the practiced graciousness of a perfect host.
“I would like to see my slaaf back to our room. They have been exposed to enough this evening. I will rejoin you as soon as I get them settled.”
A transient emotion flickered across their host’s face too swiftly to be identified then Narr’s genial smile slid back into place with well-oiled smoothness.
Hers To Cherish (Verdantia Book 3) Page 15
