Woven

by Elle E. Ire

  She’s right. I know she is. I’m already in for it with my insecurities and self-esteem issues, and Lyle is watching this entire display, for fuck’s sake. He has to have some idea of what’s happening between my legs where the tablecloth hides my partner. But at this moment I’d let Kelly strip me naked and take me on top of the fucking table, I’m so hot.

  There’s more shuffling and shifting at my feet, Kelly maneuvering into what I hope will be a position to push me over the edge. “I’m going to cut this connection,” she says. “I have an idea. Trust me.”

  “Okay,” I growl back. I trust her. I do. With everything I am and will become. There’s no one else I trust the way I trust Kelly, even after what she did to me all those years ago. A faint click sounds as she drops the call.

  I take slow, even breaths, or at least that’s what I try to do, but they shudder out of me in audible gasps. I make the mistake of glancing up, the whip holder bringing his weapon down once more between Saarah’s legs. Jacks stares at me from the side of the stage, watching, evaluating my responses. I’m a test subject, an experiment.

  I guess I always have been. Why not once more?

  Kelly’s fingers find my waistband again and pull it out from my body, then slip something cool, hard, and plastic into my underwear, parting my lips to let its smooth surface rest against my most sensitive parts.

  What the hell?

  My inner eye recreates the shape of it, forming a picture of it in my mind, identifying it just as the comm unit vibrates between my legs… and doesn’t stop.

  Oh.

  Kelly’s got it on some kind of constant alarm, set to vibrate only, no sound, though I can just make out the buzzing with my enhanced hearing. It’s intense and everywhere, large enough to hit all the places I need it to where her fingers couldn’t reach.

  As hot and aroused as I am, it doesn’t take long.

  My eyes close. I lean back in my chair and struggle to take deep breaths. When this happens, I don’t want the attention of the entire cavern on me.

  Even so, when the orgasm hits, it hits so hard I go rigid, my neck and buttocks the only parts of me in connection with my seat. It’s a fight to remain silent, teeth drawing blood as I bite my lower lip. I don’t quite manage it, letting out a faint whimper of relief while the aftershocks course through me.

  I drop down and slump over the table, barely aware of the cessation of the buzzing sound and Kelly removing her comm. She crawls out from her hiding place, straightens her tight skirt, and retakes her chair, carefully not making eye contact with me.

  My fingers fumble across the table, wrapping themselves in a trembling grip around the now-full glass Cate must have dropped off at some point. I dart a look over each shoulder before downing the pricey whiskey in a couple of shaky gulps. No sign of the servant-slave. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t see my response to the entertainment before giving me a modicum of privacy.

  When I glance at the stage, Jacks is still watching, a smug, knowing smile on his lips. No pretense of privacy there.

  Before this ends, I am going to wipe that grin off his face. Permanently.

  Chapter 14: Kelly—Aftermath

  Vick is regrouping.

  “I’M GOING to kill him,” Vick says for the third time. It’s quiet, under her breath, but I glance up and down the narrow tunnel leading to our temporary quarters in the slave complex. A few other buyers, their clothing askew, hair mussed, and in general disarray, walk in front and behind us, but they don’t react. I spot the second female VIP from our table, without her assistant, coming out of a side corridor. She gives us a quick, curious look and hurries on her own business.

  Lyle brings up the rear of our trio. He rushes to catch up to me while Vick strides ahead. “She needs to calm down,” he whispers for my ears only.

  “Working on it.”

  “Work on it faster,” Lyle says. “She’s got that temper of hers just beneath the surface. It’s controlled now, but if she doesn’t bury it deep, she’s gonna blow our cover.”

  We’ve both seen the full extent of Vick’s temper. Last time she used it to not kill but utterly destroy Rodwell, the bastard who raped her and killed her father before she could reconnect with the last remaining member of her family. Her use of fatal force went way beyond what I’d ever thought her capable of, way beyond what she ever thought she was capable of. She hasn’t forgiven herself for those monstrous acts, regardless of the provocation, and if I don’t reach her, she’ll do it again.

  What Jacks did to her back in the main cavern, well, the other buyers wanted it, and Valeria Court would have wanted it. But Vick isn’t really Valeria Court. Other members of U Ops sign up for this knowing that they may be placed in horrible situations. Vick knows too, but she has no choice, and I know she wouldn’t have joined the Storm’s ultra-secret department if she’d been given any say in the matter. So where does the blame really lie? The Storm sent her in. Jacks essentially forced her to orgasm against her will, but her persona would have been willing. I’m the one who facilitated it, but…. Crap. Will Vick blame me as well?

  I study her emotional aura, the blackness swirling around her, all the colors of anger, guilt, embarrassment, and faint hints of fading lust mixed into one dark cloud. There’s no indication any of it is directed at me, but empathic talent is far from an exact science. Quickening my pace, I move to stride beside her. It’s not easy, given her longer legs, but I manage by almost jogging down the tunnel. Her jaw is set, eyes narrowed, expression fierce.

  “Vick?” I ask, voice tentative. “Are you mad at me?”

  The question stops her cold. Literally. Lyle’s boots scrabble on the stone floor as he skids to a halt to avoid crashing into us both. Vick whirls on me, shock fighting with her furiousness.

  “What? Why would I be mad at you?”

  I wave a hand vaguely back the way we came. “Because I… I made you… it was me who—”

  Lyle’s cheeks flush pink. He turns around and strides a few paces away, studying the nearest oxygen mask dispenser with intense interest.

  Vick catches my flailing hand in her own, tugging it gently down between us. She pulls us over to the wall, leaning me back against it. Then her mouth comes down on mine. Hard.

  Her kiss is fierce and desperate, displaying all the desirous remnants I detected earlier. Her tongue snakes its way between my lips, finding mine and claiming it, and the rest of me, as hers. I’m losing myself in the kiss when there’s another burst of familiar feeling, that aggressive, dangerous, deadly pattern of thought I picked up on in the cavern. At first I worry it’s coming from Vick. Her fury at Jacks is intense, and we’re in close proximity. Very close proximity. But that maniacal edge to it isn’t hers. She’s had her borderline insanity under control for a long time now.

  I open my eyes, unaware of when I closed them, and spot a female figure ducking around a curve in the corridor. A slave? A guard? Regardless, a peeping Tammy, and one who wanted what I or Vick was getting.

  Through our bond, Vick must pick up on my sudden discomfort. When she pulls away, I’m breathless, my blood pounding in my temples and the residual lust I absorbed from her making me shiver where I stand.

  “Sorry,” she says, panting, breaking eye contact. A few buyers chuckle as they pass us, then hurry on to their rooms. “Sorry,” she says again. “I just… I’m still… shit.” Vick takes a moment to compose herself, then makes another attempt at coherent speech. “The drug isn’t all out of my system. No, I’m not mad at you. You did what I asked you to. You even waited for my permission. And honestly—” Her lips quirk upward in a brief grin that sends relief coursing through me. “—if we’d been anywhere else and you’d asked me to experiment, I would have enjoyed it. Aphrodisiacs aren’t my thing, but this was… impressive, though the mixture still needs work. I just hate not having choices. I never have them. I’m not mad. At you.”

  I consider telling her what I felt and saw, but we have more immediate problems to resolve. “You
need to get over being mad at all,” I tell her. “For the slaves’ sake. We can deal with it later. I promise. For now, you can’t let yourself be distracted.”

  She laughs softly, without humor. “You mean more distracted. Yeah, I know.” She gives herself a shake. “I know,” she repeats. Her expression shifts to something I can’t identify. “I thought you’d be mad at me.”

  My eyebrows go up. “For what?”

  “Well, I mean, I caused you to be in that position. Yes, I know it was the drug,” she says, putting up a hand to forestall any argument from me. “But I was careless, assuming VC1 could handle it. And then, well, I needed mechanical, um, assistance to—”

  “Whoa. Stop right there.” I place a finger over her lips, quieting her. “Seriously, Vi—” I catch myself. “Valeria. Considering your reputation for playing the field against both teams, I’m kinda stunned by some of the things you never tried.”

  She remains silent, waiting for me to explain. I can’t help rolling my eyes at her.

  “There are tons of reasons why someone who really wants a pleasant sexual experience might not be able to, well, achieve one: stress, tiredness, you name it and it can interfere. There’s no shame in employing a little automated stimulation.”

  Vick gets a funny look on her face. “Is this something you’re into?”

  I lower my voice to a sultry purr. “How do you think I get through those nights when you’re away on missions without me?”

  Her mouth gapes open.

  Reaching out, I close it for her. “Oh, do we have things to explore when we get home.”

  “Yeah, definitely.” She grins and waves Lyle over. “Come on. Let’s do this.”

  We make it back to our quarters without another incident. When we step through the doorway, Alex looks up from where he still sits at the vidcom and waves a weary hand.

  “You were supposed to sleep,” Vick scolds, though there’s no ire in it.

  “Only broke through their communication scramblers and shields a few minutes ago,” he says. “VC1 is amazing. She bypassed three security systems, rerouted their transmissions to both clear us a frequency and cover all our signals, and matched our voice patterns to three of their senior guards’ to make it look like those guys are betraying Jacks if our messages get intercepted.” His expression when he stares at the vidcom screen is one of undisguised fondness.

  “Thank you,” VC1’s voice says from one of the speakers. She sounds surprised. And pleased. More emotion than her words normally convey.

  “Excellent job, both of you.” Vick heads for the bedroom the two of us are sharing. “Let our backup know to be on the alert. I’m gonna change and do some reconnaissance.”

  “Vick,” I call, stopping her before she can step through the doorway, “are you sure you’re up to this right now?” I keep my tone gentle. I don’t want to embarrass her further or set off her anger again, but if that drug is still affecting her….

  “I’m okay. Wired, actually. Seems to be an aftereffect.”

  I open my shields, studying her emotional mix. She’s right. Her energy levels are very high. A trace of lust lingers but is fading fast. The anger has receded.

  “If I get what I need,” she continues, well aware that I’m analyzing her, “we’re calling the reinforcements in before daybreak, or whatever passes for daybreak on this rock, and we’re ending this now.”

  I lock eyes with her. She meets my gaze steadily, calmly. I nod once, acknowledging her competence. “What time is it, anyway?” I ask, lacking Vick’s internal chronometer and not finding one attached to a wall.

  “About three forty in the morning,” Alex provides. “According to the daily schedule I found, there’s a skeleton staff working overnight, including a much lighter guard shift and some of the unpaid workers—”

  “You mean slaves,” Vick corrects him. “Call them what they are. They’re why we’re here.”

  “Right,” Alex says, flushing. “They’ve got some slaves working in the kitchen areas doing food prep for breakfast at nine, and a few more on call for anyone who wants… services… during the night.”

  Ready and waiting sex workers. My fists tighten at my sides, and I will myself to unclench them. Vick’s earlier anger is rubbing off on me. I follow her into the bedroom, where she’s rummaging through her suitcase, pulling out her all-black tactical suit. She strips and slips it on. The loose-fitting bodysuit hangs on her until its special fabric compresses, shrinking around her limbs and torso to form-fit her perfectly. Normally she’d add a layer of flexible armor over it, but if she’s caught in that kind of gear, it will give her away as a merc for certain. As it stands, she looks like she’s wearing some sort of sex-play catsuit—a plausible explanation if it fails to keep her hidden in the shadowy tunnels.

  “I’m fine,” she repeats, as if expecting me to argue further now that we’re in private.

  Or maybe she’s trying to convince herself. I hope she’s really okay. She’s getting better and better at hiding some of her stronger emotions from me, dampening them down beneath her implants’ suppressors. Without connecting fully with her, I can’t tell for certain, and that would imply a lack of trust.

  “Focusing on the job helps me ignore the last of it. Besides, if I don’t do this now, we’ll have to wait another full day. They triple the security in the daytime.”

  She’s right, of course. There were a lot more guards patrolling the tunnels when we first arrived. But there’s more to it. Her urgency flashes around her in gold sparks. “What else is going on?”

  Vick sighs. “Right. You don’t know. It’s that other woman buyer, the one two seats down from you at dinner.” She draws a deep breath. “She’s Clara Hothart.”

  It takes a moment for the name to click. When it does, I gape at her. “Wait, One World’s Secretary of the Treasury Clara Hothart?”

  “Yeah,” Vick says, strapping on a utility belt with several compartments and a knife sheath. She slips a small blade inside. “And sex performer Saarah is her missing daughter, Cynthia.”

  Vick spends the next couple of minutes filling me in on how that is possible. When she’s done, I help her on with her back holster, check that her pistol’s safety is on, and slide it home. It’s weaponry she can get out of and discard quickly if she’s discovered. Not the best armaments, but something.

  “You see why this has to get done fast. With the Secretary here, I’ve got to look out for her and her daughter both.”

  “It’s worse than that,” I say, thinking about our most recent encounter with the government official in the tunnels. “When we passed her, she was heading away from the guest suites. And she didn’t have her assistant with her.”

  “Fuck.”

  I’m definitely spending too much time around Vick, because that was my thought, exactly.

  Chapter 15: Vick—Out of Bounds

  I am getting this shit over with.

  KEEPING TO the shadows, darting from one abandoned side tunnel entrance to another, I make my way down the main corridor toward where VC1 best guesses the shield generators and controls might be. One particular chamber is giving off a huge power signature. While nothing on our stolen installation’s schematics is labeled “Slave Base Defenses,” most areas have names attached, like kitchens, banquet cavern, and guest suites. But there are several large unmarked spaces that have life support running to them. They’re a good bet for the generators and prisoner holding. I just have to confirm my suspicions before I accidentally bring the Storm’s weapons raining down on the wrong spots.

  VC1 points out that while the controls might be nearby, the generators themselves may be above ground after all since the shields extend both above and below this moon’s surface. That would be the best-case scenario. If they’re on the surface, especially if I can shut them off for a few seconds, the Storm’s weapons can destroy them easily. If they’re below hundreds of feet of rock, we’ve got bigger problems.

  Our ships have lasers that can bore down t
hrough the surface, but it will take time—time during which prisoners can be moved, evacuated, or killed. Time during which a defense can be mounted, though Jacks isn’t supposed to have any significant space force.

  He wasn’t supposed to have an underground hideout, either.

  I swallow my frustration over our terrible intel. There’s nothing I can do but roll with what I’ve got.

  Following the map VC1’s projecting on my internal display, I take a right at the next branch of the tunnel and stop when something flickers at the corner of my vision: my personal locater wristband. Instead of the constant green glow I’ve become accustomed to, the light at the center of the bracelet flashes rapidly in warning yellow. I’ve entered an area that’s off-limits.

  Must be on the right path.

  There’s no sign of the Secretary of the Treasury anywhere, though I’m keeping an eye out for her. Wouldn’t do to let her get caught in the crossfire.

  A flash of movement catches my attention and I whirl, peering into the darkness with my enhanced eyesight. Nothing. Maybe one of those lizard-dragons, though I’m nowhere near the underground lake. Maybe some other creepy-crawly.

  Maybe these narrow tunnels are fucking with my claustrophobia again, making me lose my shit. But I can’t shake the feeling I’m being followed, watched.

  Are they tracking me? I ask VC1. I had her alter the outgoing signal from my locater band when I left the guest suite, transferring it to the sitting room’s vidcom unit so that if anyone did a search, it would place me there. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned tonight, it’s to double-check.

  They are not, she responds, sounding miffed. Will you be second-guessing me from here forward?

  Yep, definitely miffed. Only when my life’s at stake.

  She shuts up. Guess I hit a nerve. Or a logic circuit.

  I turn the bracelet toward the inside of my wrist so I’m not lighting up the corridor like a beacon and continue onward. There’s sound coming from up ahead—soft conversation, some shuffling movement.