Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The Foulan’s breath hitched, but his eyes hardened. “No. I am a professional.” He took an additional step backward. “Get dressed.”

The shock of the immediate dismissal hit me. He must know I’m an Obedient and what that meant. I broke eye contact, considering my next move. Run? Submit? Something else?

“Get dressed,” he repeated, interrupting my thoughts. “Now.”

He’d already shown I couldn’t outrun him. And it seemed my feminine wiles weren’t quite wily enough for him. Submission it was, until I figured out how to escape.

Letting him turn me over to Vadhea was a nonstarter. The head of the Lynka international crime syndicate didn’t fuck around. Vadhea only sent Enforcers after Runners when said Runner was in serious shit. That meant I was in serious shit. Even if I hadn’t done anything.

That would have to be my next move, I thought, as I reversed my actions and re-dressed, including grabbing my wig after a quick scan of the ground around me proved successful, despite the darkness. You never knew when that might come in handy again. However, my main problem right now was convincing the Foulan not to turn me in. Once dressed, I opened my mouth to speak.

“Walk,” the Foulan commanded.

I obeyed, considering how to approach my entreaty. I was just a job to the Foulan. He wouldn’t want to appear unprofessional to Vadhea. Except he also thought perhaps Vadhea misled him. Could I convince him that Vadhea was wrong about the entire story?

Our strides had taken us to the forest’s entrance. The temperature dropped a few degrees upon our re-entry. I shivered. And then tripped over a root not quite revealed by the light of the two moons while I haphazardly reaffixed my wig.

“Ouch,” I cried out when I landed on all fours. Nice. Very graceful. A large, warm hand gripped my upper arm and hauled me back to standing. He gave a small push for me to walk, remaining at my back. I supposed it was too much to ask for him to see if I was okay. After all, Vadhea would pay the Enforcer no matter what condition I arrived in, as long as I arrived. Butterflies took flight in my belly. At least, I assumed Vadhea wanted me alive. Did I warrant a dead-or-alive scenario?

My thoughts had so consumed me that it startled me when we reached the other end of the forest. We’d arrived back on the edge of Idhova. Time to try again to reason with the Foulan.

“You know I’m human and that Vadhea gave you incomplete information,” I began. “What if I told you that other information you received is wrong, too?” My word choice was specific, careful not to accuse Vadhea of lying, only of being misinformed. Hell, that was probably true.

Silence followed my statement. I heard the Foulan breathing behind me, his steps sounding loud on the ground while we walked together into town. We reached the outermost stone building when he responded.

“Runners lie,” he said in his rich voice. “I have been hired to bring you to Vadhea. Human or not.” At that, we entered the town and began walking through silent neighborhoods.

The first rays of daylight broke between the dwellings. The townsfolk would soon stir. I wondered what their reaction would be to me with my wig askew from falling, in addition to being brought somewhere against my wishes. I knew not to expect help. If anyone even asked, my captor would explain that Vadhea sought me, and that would be the end of that.

Sure enough, a barrel-chested, black-haired Foulan with a full, bushy beard stepped out of a stone house. His wolflike, almond-shaped eyes alighted on us and he retreated into his home, presumably to wait for us to pass.

Sometimes I hated being right.

Other Foulans repeated that response a few more times and then we turned down an empty cobblestone alleyway, ending at the foot of a flight of stairs. I stopped and stared up, taking in the potted plants on the small landing at the top. This was someone’s home. Or someone went to great lengths to make this hideout appear like a home.

A meaty hand pressed me forward. “Up,” followed the Foulan’s voice.

I might have been tall and fast by Earth’s standards. The Foulan had already shown he was stronger and faster. I complied and trudged up the rocky stairs.

At the top, the Foulan leaned in close to me as he reached past to unlock the door with a keycard. His body heat warmed me and I fought the urge to back up into him and rub like a cat. It was so fucking cold on this planet.

The heavy stone door swung open with ease, revealing a surprisingly cheerful, if small, space inside. The scent of cinnamon greeted us. It had a different name on Foula, but the odor and taste mimicked the Earth spice. Maybe someone had been cooking. A couch-like piece of bubble furniture with an orange blanket across it was against the far wall opposite the door. A low table sat before it, with electronic lights hovering above, casting a gentle illumination.

To my immediate left was a table for two, with a small plate in the middle. On the plate were several round balls. I knew from my time on Foula that these were the equivalent of salt-and-pepper shakers containing the savory spices Foulans doused all their meat with at almost every meal.

I turned my head to the right. My eyes jumped past the stone and electronic cooking box—like a fancy combination oven, microwave, and air fryer—to the bed pushed against that wall. Made of the common iridescent stone mined on the other side of the planet, the bed was massive and covered with a bright purple blanket.

Someone loved their bright colors. That suggested it wasn’t the gray-clothed Foulan who had brought me here. Was this a waystation for Enforcers, or was this someone’s home he’d paid to use? I considered and rejected that he’d commandeered it. That wasn’t an Enforcer’s style. From everything I’d heard, they were all about the rules and regulations.

The Foulan pushed me toward the bed and I stumbled, not understanding. Then I saw the chains.

Damn it.

Sure enough, after taking the three steps to the bed, he roughly pushed me to sit before reaching for the higher restraint. Looming over me, he grasped a shiny black circle from the wall and clasped it around my right wrist. It melded itself against my skin. Although lightweight and not uncomfortable, it was still a heavy-duty metal controlled by alien technology. There was no way I was getting out of it without his electronic keycard.

He kneeled down to grab my legs by the ankles and swing me onto the bed.

“Hey,” I objected to the manhandling, my breath quickening at the thought of being held against my will.

The Foulan ignored my objection. He used one hand to hold my legs to the blanket. With the other, he grasped the second chain at the foot of the bed and clasped the metal loop around my right ankle. Like the one on my wrist, it melded itself snug over my leggings.

He stood immobile, staring at me shackled to the bed. I was thankful he’d restrained me in a seated position. I felt a teeny, tiny, less out of control that way. His black eyes were unreadable. To my surprise, he dropped to the bed to sit beside me, the warmth of his hip against mine.

I shuddered.

His left hand lifted. I bit my lower lip, not missing when his eyes followed.

He reached out to place the palm of his hand against the righthand pocket of my vest. Even sideways, his large hand engulfed the area. I felt his warmth clear through my ribcage. He massaged through the fabric, and a flash of desire sparked. I stared at his clean-shaven face. He kept his gaze locked on his hand against my ribcage.

Was he avoiding my gaze?

He slid his hand lower to the top pocket of my leggings, his finger wrapping to the edge of my hipbone. His fingers moved over and around the fabric covering the pocket, reaching dangerously close to my crotch, which became heated despite not even being touched. Without meaning to, I angled my hips up and into his hand.

At my movement, his eyes rose to meet mine. He frowned and withdrew his hand to repeat the exploration on the other side.

When he dropped his gaze again, I glanced at the bulge in his pants. Was he upset at himself for being turned on? Was I wrong and he didn’t know that I was brought here to be an Obedient, purchased with a promise to obey carnal requests?

The Foulan placed his right hand against the left pocket of my vest. This time he splayed his fingers, the tips brushing against the underside of my breast as he massaged through the pocket.

“Shouldn’t you have searched my clothing when I removed it before?” I quipped when I realized he was searching my pockets. My voice sounded breathy to my own ears. Was I turned on by his groping again, too?

The Foulan ignored my question and skimmed his hand over my midsection to the leggings pocket below. His fingers pressed along the center of the pocket and over the seams. When he paused with his fingers pointed toward my pussy, I spread my legs, reconsidering my earlier plan of seducing him to free me.

His grip tightened and I waited. With what seemed like deliberate slowness, he peeled his hand off of my body, first his fingers and then lifting his palm. He stood, angling away from me.

“Rest,” he gruffly instructed over his shoulder, “while I confirm I have the right Runner before transporting you to Magvu.”

At the mention of the Syndicate home planet, my heart jumped into my throat and the growing desire extinguished.