by Marie Harte
She took a hasty step back and fought the desire turning her nipples into visible beads of arousal. She crossed her arms with a belligerence the stranger couldn’t miss, while inwardly she sighed. What a waste.
Time to set the stage for Mr. Friendly. “Look buddy, Talsons’ folks aren’t welcome here, so move along to the thugs you work for and stay off my property. My brother here is Killer Drake, the heavyweight boxing champion of the BCF Southeast. So if I’m not scary enough to listen to, he is.”
The stranger’s eyes widened, and he grinned at her brother. “No kidding? Yeah, I thought you looked familiar. Great bout against Murmo last year. You have a helluva right hook. I won a bunch of money on the outcome. Thanks.”
Mannie shifted on his feet, fisting his hands. He seemed unsure about the compliment. “Whatever.”
“Hey, I’m sorry for intruding. I’ll get out of here and out of your hair. Don’t worry. I have no intention of bothering you. I’m just here to do my job for the Talsons.” He stepped back and waved, as polite and charming as Trotter was lecherous and slimy.
“Hope you like Majesty,” Tara muttered as Mannie closed the door behind him.
“What did you say?”
Crap. Mannie heard everything. If he knew the Talsons were moving drugs right next door, he’d pick her up over his shoulder and haul ass out of town.
“I said I hope you like His Majesty, as in Trotter.”
Her brother stared with suspicion but eventually moved back to his lunch and continued to nag her about leaving. After half an hour of refusing to budge, she pushed him out the door with a promise to visit next week. As if a trip uptown, and to one of the nicest penthouse apartments in Port Chase, was a hardship.
Sighing at the amount of time and great lighting she’d lost, she hurried back into her studio and applied paint to canvas. But as she worked, a dreamy lassitude seemed to fill her, and her heart directed her strokes as a face slowly took life in her painting.
4
Romy dragged his feet back to his rental hovercraft, a sporty little three-door, and sat in the driver’s seat in silence, pondering the day’s significance.
Another strange, sexual dream, a visit to Earth after so many months of being away, and a misdirection that may have just sent him hurtling into his destiny.
He’d never in his life felt such incredible hunger for a woman. He’d barely focused on the large man—her brother, thankfully—by her side. The minute the bruiser had opened the door, Romy had sensed her there behind him. Willing her to step forward, he’d done his best not to stare openmouthed in shock.
A pure-blooded Otra female, one with a noble face, powerful psychei, and a body that clearly sang to anyone with a heartbeat. Tall but slender, she possessed curves in all the right places. Damn, but he’d been hard-pressed not to reach for those luscious nipples hardening while he stared at her. Her inky eyes and full, pouty lips brought to mind midnight secrets and fertility rites. Her long hair lay like silk around her neck, bound in a blue band that let more strands fall than it held.
Which was to say nothing of the effect she had on his psychei. Standing there, staring at her, he’d felt at peace as he hadn’t in years. His energy no longer seethed and warred within him. Instead, he’d felt both excited and in control, his power growing in her presence.
She was almost too perfect. A siren’s face, a sinful body, an inner power that called to him…and comments that had unfortunately brought his libido to a regrettable halt. Her attitude toward Talson Shipping annoyed and worried him. But her last comment that he’d easily heard through her closed door was jarring.
Majesty? Trotter was running Majesty through the shipyard?
Anger burned. With deliberate movements, Romy started the vehicle and drove several hundred yards down the road, past an open, chain link fence, and onto the dilapidated property. Hell, he’d thought the place abandoned. It had no sign for Talson Shipping and looked deserted from what he could see.
Though he’d never been to Port Chase prior to today, he’d studied the initial reports his father had made on the Barkins shipping center. Whereas before the place had been somewhat busy, it now looked like a graveyard.
As he drove farther onto the property, he noted a few cargo boxes being loaded from the large space freighters, while two tankers refilled the AN-339 Water Haulers. But where was all the bustle and noise he heard when visiting Werfal 6’s ports of call? Or his younger brother’s docks in Port Watch?
Nonexistent.
A few humans patrolled the fence, looking more like bums than security, and the small contingent of workers by the docks made him wonder if he’d arrived on a holiday. Sure, it was hotter than hell, but this was a working, money-making shipyard, wasn’t it?
He’d yet to see one of his kind working, which was odd considering the employment report he’d read on the shuttle. According to Talson records, Trotter had hired nearly thirty Otra from the ‘Or Fal and ‘Or Ryi clans. Yet the dozen Otra Romy psychically sensed on the compound remained inside one of the complex’s buildings.
Romy felt uneasy. Trotter had been in charge of the Port Chase facility for the past six months. What the hell had he been doing in all that time? And why hadn’t Romy’s father caught wind of the wrongness of this place before now?
Romy parked the craft and strode toward the nearest building. He’d been planning to arrive for an inspection of the property, but now he thought the better of it. His mind raced to come up with something he could use to slip in undetected as a Talson. Spreading his psychei, he picked up several nearby thoughts and concocted a hasty plan that might work.
Most people knew Roarke, Val, Z, and Rhenec—their father. Talson Shipping’s heavy hitters. But very few knew of or had ever seen Romy, and he liked it that way. He’d spent much of his growing years in academia, and lately, trying to get a handle on his emerging abilities. Normally his brothers and father handled the family business.
“Hold it, friend,” a growling Otra declared the minute Romy stepped into the large warehouse. “Who sent you?” He latched onto Romy’s arm when suddenly another Otra appeared out of nowhere. The pair effectively caged him between their brawn. The names Min and Daket Yal came to Romy. “Never mind. The boss will talk to you himself. And you’ll tell him everything he wants to know.”
The two men chuckled, their eyes flat, their hands hard, as if used to manual labor. They looked enough alike to be kin. A cunning intelligence mirrored the hardness in their gazes. Yet their thoughts were loud and surprisingly unguarded as they talked to each other.
“Think he’s a spy? Trotter said the Talsons were starting to grow suspicious about the arms shipments.”
“I don’t know. Either that or he’s Fromer’s favor paid in full. You know Trotter’s been wanting a pyrotech to protect us from the Threader gangs across town. They aren’t very happy about Trotter’s recent success in the Majesty trade.”
“Brother, you know we need to leave. This Majesty shit is wrong on too many levels.”
“Tell that to Trotter. I tried to get out when he started pushing it, and he threatened to kill you faster than I could blink. We can’t leave now, not yet, Daket.”
“Shit. Bastard’s onto us, eh?”
“I’m not sure how much he knows, but we have to time this just right. Patience.”
The larger bruiser on Romy’s left glared at him. “Fine. So we keep our eyes and ears open until we find a way out of here. But we need to watch this guy. There’s something about him that’s off. He feels like a tight-fisted drum, Min. I can’t make out his psychei, though I can feel his power. Weird for a pyro, you know?”
“Keep on your guard, and let’s bring him to the boss.”
Romy did his best to remain expressionless, but fuck. Majesty? Arms? Trotter and a stranglehold on his employees? What the hell?
They kept him tightly between them as they walked up several flights of stairs. At the very top, the level branched out to encompass the entire floor
, unlike the open space below. They reached a steel-door and pushed through without knocking. Apparently Trotter expected them.
Romy studied the tall Otra with regal bearing who stood behind an expensive desk. Jonah Trotter, the son of Itan and Gera Trotter ‘Or Fal, old friends of Romy’s father. Romy gave him a deferential nod as he studied the man’s darkened aura. Not normal, and not healthy at all.
Inwardly cringing, Romy kept his internal shields taut. Jonah Trotter was much worse than the spoiled son of his father’s close friends. Murder had bloodied his hands. Now Romy had to prove it.
“So, you’re Fromer’s pyro, hmm?” Trotter asked, his stare commanding.
“Yep.” From what Romy gathered from several mental comments he’d already overheard, Fromer was a thug and major supplier of Majesty, as well as a man who owed Trotter several favors.
“What’s your name?”
He easily picked information out of the Yal brothers’ minds. Trotter’s was a bit harder to see, but Romy searched just the same. “Luke Drowe.”
Trotter studied him with intensity and a flare of energy that bespoke power. To counter his scrutiny, Romy focused on thinking about nothing but his supposed boss, Fromer. From the men around him, details emerged.
“Describe Fromer to me,” Trotter ordered.
“Short, fat, and angry.” He grinned when Min and Daket Yal snickered. Apparently they weren’t fond of the obnoxious bastard. From the memories both had of Fromer, Romy could only hope he’d never have to meet the lowlife. A pimp, a drug dealer, and an arsonist. What a guy.
“Funny, but you don’t strike me as the type to associate with Fromer. And you’re not ‘San Fal.” Which any Otra would know, as those in the ‘San Fal clan were blond.
Romy shrugged and let flame light his fingertips, proving his ability to create fire out of nothing, something normally only the ‘San Fal could do. “I’m special I guess.” The fire didn’t lie. “I owed Fromer a favor. He owes you a favor. One big, happy family.”
“Hmm. So you know what I need from you?”
“Some security around here to keep the Threaders off your stuff, your Majesty,” he joked, to which the Yals chuckled. He continued to wonder at his initial impression of the pair. They didn’t feel evil or bad, but they’d made some poor decisions. Maybe he could use them to his advantage if Trotter put his back against the wall.
An odd burst of sexual heat filled him, a feeling of feminine need that didn’t belong in this place at this time. Memories of the woman in the tub returned, and he had to shake his head to rid himself of the desire filling him. Talk about poor timing.
“Majesty, yes.” A grin curled Trotter’s thin lips. A haze of familiar psychei flared around the powerful Otra, and Romy blinked. No wonder his father and had been snowed by this creep. Trotter wielded persuasion with true skill.
Conscious he needed to stick to his script, Romy smiled and projected himself warming up to the man. “I appreciate the opportunity to return Fromer’s favor. Work on the other side of the harbor has grown dull. Everyone’s afraid of Fromer and his network. But the Threaders always prove entertaining.” Romy wondered if he should, then pushed the question. “Not to mention your centerfold next door. Woman’s got a temper to match her looks, hotter than flame.”
“You got that right,” Daket murmured. He glanced at his brother, and they both looked away from Trotter as the sudden silence grew oppressive.
“Min, Daket, leave me with our new hire.”
“Sure thing boss,” they said as one and vacated the office.
“Have a seat, Luke.”
Romy sat, curious to see Trotter’s reaction to his neighbor. Just thinking about her made Romy hard again, and he was irritated to find Trotter’s aura glowing a bright red with angry passion.
“Tara Drake is off limits to you and everyone else here. She’s trouble, but trouble I’m handling. I don’t want you spooking her or pissing her off. God knows the woman takes affront to everything to do with Talson Shipping as it is.”
“Why? You’re a charming guy, and Talson Shipping brings revenue to this shitty little port. What’s her problem?” Romy pushed feelings of empathy for his new boss.
Trotter sighed. “I wish I knew.”
You’re selling illegal Majesty, asshole, and she knows it. Worse, she’s blaming Talson Shipping for your crimes. And if you haven’t handled her by now, it’s because she’s as immune to your persuasion as she was to my mind-reading. He’d done his best to probe her and her brother about Talson Shipping and what they knew about the area, but the pair had remained closed to him. A rarity in itself.
Tara grew more and more intriguing.
Trotter explained, “Her brother is Killer Drake, a champion boxer with a poor temper. Killer’s a good person to have on your side. He’s popular with the press, the mayor, and this town. And his fists are lethal. The last man to screw with his sister wound up in the hospital with a broken jaw.”
“So you’re afraid of him?”
Not a smart thing to say, but Romy needed to see just what Trotter was made of.
“No.” You idiot hung on the tip of Trotter’s tongue, though he didn’t say it. Romy felt his razor-sharp disapproval almost like a physical blow. Again, that impressive persuasion. “I’m not afraid, I’m smart. In time, Tara will come to me on her own.” He smiled, and Romy saw the onset of violence pooling in Trotter’s aura. “I’ll straighten her out. You do what you’re told, and we’ll all get along.”
“Right-O.” Romy stood, recalling one vital piece of information he needed to share on the off-chance Fromer’s real pyro showed up. “Mr. Trotter? One more thing. Fromer didn’t want me to mention it, but there were rumors of the police trying to infiltrate the organization by using a man undercover. I wouldn’t be surprised if trouble heads this way. Majesty has a way of making the cops look twice. You know?”
Trotter nodded sharply and looked to the exit. Romy left, sliding the door closed behind him. He found the Yals waiting for him.
“Lucky for you, you passed inspection.” Daket’s vision of Romy’s throat slashed, his body dragged under the harbor’s water by a concrete ball felt all too real. Apparently, the Yals had seen a lot of bad in the time they’d been on the yard. But to Romy’s surprise, it didn’t seem as if the brothers had participated in anything worse than security services and the occasional beat-down of Otra who deserved it. He wondered at their psychic talents. Best to know everyone’s scorecard at the beginning.
“I’m a pyro. What are you two?” he asked even as he began to make sense of their different energies. Yet something made it hard to see exactly what should have been obvious about the pair. Did Trotter’s influence exist this far, that he could shield his personnel from invasion?
“I’m a telekinetic,” Daket said.
“And I’m a telepath.” Min gave him a curious once-over. “Can’t read you, though. Like a closed book.”
“Hey, I work around Fromer and his friends. You want to stay alive, you keep thoughts tight, your secrets even tighter.”
They nodded at his reasoning and showed him around the yard. As they walked, they made conversation, asking where he was staying, what he thought of Port Chase as a whole, and settled on his new favorite topic of conversation.
Tara Drake.
5
“Hell, yeah, I’ve been wanting to hit that piece of ass next door ever since we got here,” Min admitted as they sat in one of the security stations. Several monitors viewed the southern end of the yard, showing nothing and nobody currently working at this end. “But you even look at Tara the wrong way and her brother’s breathing down your throat.”
“Not to mention Trotter going off the deep end,” Daket added. “Man has it bad.”
“Why doesn’t he just work his mojo on her?” Romy wanted to hear them confirm what he thought he knew.
A moment of silence passed, and he had the uneasy suspicion he was missing something. But if the brothers had communicate
d telepathically, he should have sensed it. He could have pried for answers, but he had to keep a lid on his energy. As it was, the damn stuff continually seethed inside him, seeking an outlet.
Daket answered, “Doesn’t work on her. Hell, nothing seems to. I can’t move a thing near her place, and Min can’t read her. It’s like her place is a neutral zone. Trotter thinks it has something to do with that OQ statue in her place. His whore was supposed to grab it from her last night.”
“But?”
“But after she blew Trotter and left, she disappeared. Min and I weren’t working last night, but rumor has it Tara Drake killed her.”
Romy blinked and accepted the bottle of Otra Fine Ale that suggested the Yals weren’t as common as they appeared. Daket grabbed one for himself using his telekinesis.
Romy shrugged. “I don’t know. I met her, looking for this place. I didn’t mention it to Trotter because he almost lost it ordering me to leave her alone. But she seemed pleasant until she heard the name Talson.”
“Pleasant.” Min snorted. “Made you hard, right? It’s like she’s in Selection, but you can sense she’s not. It’s weird.”
Selection, of course. Romy now understood what had been so appealing about the female, aside from her looks. Selection worked like a female’s heat. When a female Otra entered that special time, she sought a mate or readied to produce offspring. Her pheromones went crazy, attracting any and every Otra male in sight if she wasn’t mated. Yet he hadn’t sensed that when he’d seen her this morning. He’d been attracted as hell, but there’d been nothing hormonal about it but his own overeager glands.
“Oh look, wait. There she is.” Daket pointed at the screen in the upper corner.
Romy leaned closer to the monitors and stared, absorbing her every detail and committing it to memory. Long wavy hair hung in a ponytail down her back. Her skin seemed almost incandescent, glowing with a sweaty sheen under the harsh summer sun…where it wasn’t blue from her knees to her ankles. Hmm. Another piece of the puzzle. The woman was either a house painter or an artist.
