Chapter Three

M enace rubbed the back of his neck and paced back and forth in his bedroom. He had the door to the playroom cracked open so he could hear Naya and come to her aid if she needed him. Not that she'd let him help her. The woman was so stubborn and rude she'd probably refuse his help even if he were the last man in the universe and she faced certain death.

He blew out a frustrated breath and tried to figure out what the hell to do next. He had been warned that some brides could be testy after a Grab, but nothing had prepared him for this. Carrying her out of the forest, he'd felt the fight leave her. He hadn't been stupid enough to believe she'd willingly submit herself to him as a wife, but he had hoped she would be amenable to giving their new situation a try.

All that hope had been shattered the second he'd taken her onboard the transport ship. Such a string of filth and cursing he had never heard! And that was saying something coming from a man who had served on the front lines with the infantry for nearly two decades. The colorful combinations that she abused him with had left more than one fellow soldier snickering.

Not even gagging her with one of the soft training gags had been enough to shut her down. She had simply grunted and kicked and jerked at the cuffs he had used to keep her in her seat. Worried she would injure herself, he had been on the verge of requesting a sedative from one the medics. Apparently the idea of being drugged scared her because she had quieted down almost instantly.

After the nightmare trip from the surface to the docking station on the Valiant , Menace had dreaded taking her through the intake procedure and medical exam. To his utter shock, she'd behaved herself. It wasn't until she'd nearly completed intake that he realized why she was being so cooperative. That sharp, intelligent gaze of hers was scanning the ship. He'd almost been able to hear the gears turning in her head.

Concerned she would try to run—or worse—Menace had blindfolded her for the trip to his private quarters. As smart as she was proving to be, Menace doubted it would even slow her down if she escaped his quarters. He was certain she'd memorized every step, every turn and every ding of the elevator as it moved between the floors of the med bay and the housing section. Just in case, he had put travel restrictions on her ID chip to prevent her from leaving his quarters without him or one of the escorts on his emergency contact list.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. After seeing the way Hallie made Vicious smile and laugh, he'd let himself dream of this moment. With envy, he had watched their gentle interactions, the soft words and lingering touches, and yearned for it. He'd yearned for a woman to ease his burdens, to bring him happiness and show him love.

Instead of finding his helpmate, he'd Grabbed a woman who seemed intent on making his life miserable.

But it didn't have to be this way. She wanted control, right? Well, he'd give her a choice and then she'd be free to choose to be happy with him.

He strode to his closet, pushed aside the sliding silver door and rifled through his sock drawer for the one pair of white socks he owned. A white flag of surrender wasn't standard issue for the duty uniform. A sock was the best he could do.

Nearing the door to his playroom, Menace realized Naya was being awfully quiet. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge. He tapped the doorframe, activating the mechanism that pulled it wide open, and stepped into the room. The sight that greeted him left his mouth gaping wide open. "How the hell did you get loose?"

"Oh, nice of you to come check on me now!" She shot an angry glare his way. With one ankle still cuffed to the chair where he'd placed her after her shower, Naya frantically worked to pick the lock. "What if I'd passed out chained to this chair?"

"There are sensors in the cuffs. They measure your pulse and respiratory rate. If you'd been in any distress, I would have been alerted." Menace shook himself from the stupor of finding her nearly free. "How the hell—"

"For a soldier, you're really bad at frisking." She stuck out her tongue at him. "Always check the cheek, Menace. You'd be surprised how easy it to hide something like, oh, a hairpin in there."

He remembered the small black pins she'd been wearing in her hair during the Grab. He'd been sure he'd taken them all when he'd pushed her into the bathroom for her shower. Apparently he'd been wrong.

In a flash, she worked the final cuff free and jumped to her feet. She raised her hands as if prepared to fight him. "Get back, Menace!"

"Or what?" He laughed and shut the door. He pressed his thumb to the keypad there, activating the biometric lock. "You'll stab me with a hairpin?"

She glared at him, her dark eyes flashing with such intense hatred. "Don't tempt me." She snatched up the chair and wielded it like a bat. "Maybe I'll knock you upside the head with a chair. How does that sound?"

"Like first-degree assault," he muttered.

"Exactly! Now get my clothes and get the hell out of my way."

Menace let his interested gaze rake her naked form. His cock instantly responded to the sight of so much silky, brown flesh. The memory of her struggling beneath him in the forest sent heat rolling through his stomach. So small and hot, her body had instantly called to him. The sight of her naked skin made his heart race.

Her perky breasts heaved with every shallow breath. Her nipples had drawn tight to dusky peaks. Not from arousal, of course. Fear. Cold. All those things could elicit the same response.

His needy gaze moved lower. His fingers just itched to ride the gentle slope of her curving waist to her full hips and thighs. Though petite, she carried more weight than most of the women he'd seen from her planet. She had the sweetest curves he'd ever seen. What he wouldn't do for the chance to worship between her thighs.

"Are you deaf? Where the fuck are my clothes?"

Her waspish tongue ripped him from his lusty thoughts. Frowning, he said, "They're in the laundry. I'll give you clean clothes in the morning. If you cooperate," he added, figuring this might be one of the few bargaining chips in his arsenal.

"Cooperate?" She scoffed loudly and let the chair drop with a noisy clatter. She gestured to the wall of implements he'd so carefully organized. Some of the floggers and crops and canes he'd had for years. Others, like the gags and clamps and toys, he'd chosen in preparation for bringing home a new wife. "Look, I don't know what you think is going to happen tonight, but I'll tell you this, Menace. The only person getting their ass beat tonight is you ."

And there it was. Under all that bravado, she was afraid. She was scared. Of me.

The knowledge hit him hard. Realizing he'd gone about this all wrong, Menace quickly reassured her. "Naya, I told you earlier today that I will never hurt you. I meant that. Never will my hand or any of those things," he pointed to the wall, "touch you without your consent."

"Well, don't hold your breath! My consent to be battered and abused will never come."

"Battered? Abused?" He reeled in shock at her strong language. "Naya, domestic discipline and a little rough love between a husband and his wife is not abuse. So long as there is consent," he added. "It's sexy. It's exciting. It's intimate and loving."

"Sexy? Intimate? Loving? " Eyes wide, she vehemently shook her head. "I'm sorry but this torture chamber isn't inspiring any feelings of sexiness or intimacy."

"That's because I've screwed this up," Menace admitted. He took a cautious step forward. "I should never have followed the usual protocol for claiming a wife. I should have done this differently." He exhaled roughly and ran his fingers through his hair. "Can we just—can we call a time-out here?"

Her expression softened. The fists that had been raised and ready to pummel him slowly dropped. "All right."

"Thank you."

She gestured to his hand. "Why the hell are you carrying around a sock?"

He glanced at the white sock and sheepishly smiled. "I came in here hoping to offer you a truce. I didn't have anything else white in my quarters."

Surprise filtered across her beautiful face. "A truce? Why?"

"Because this isn't the way it's supposed to be, Naya. I don't want a war with you.

That's the very last thing I want from you."

She swallowed hard. "What do you want from me, Menace?"

"I want…" He faltered and search for the right words. "I want a wife and a family. I want you to be here when I come home in the evenings, Naya. I've spent the last twenty-four years of my life training, fighting, training some more and trying not to get killed. I've earned the right to some comfort, to some happiness. I want—I want that with you. Let me make you happy."

She moved closer, the caginess gone from her once-mistrusting gaze. Now she looked at him with sadness in her dark eyes. "That's not the way happiness works, Menace. The people in a relationship have to be happy by themselves before they can be happy together." She hesitated. "Are you happy, Menace?"

"I am," he replied honestly.

"But?"

"But I'm lonely," he admitted, baring his secret to her. "Were you happy in Connor's Run?"

"Most of the time," she confirmed.

"But?"

"But it's a hard life down there on Calyx," she said.

Menace seized his opening. "I can give you a better, easier life here, Naya. You'll never be hungry. You'll never be cold. You'll have access to medicine and technology. You'll never be alone again. I will take care of you."

"Why?"

"Because owning a wife, mastering a woman, it's a precious thing. It's the one thing I've strived for all these years. Owning you is my reward."

Her voice grew tight and annoyed. "I don't want to be owned."

He understood her frustration with her new classification. "The laws are the laws, Naya. I own you now, but that doesn't mean you're property. It simply means that I'm responsible for you. I will never treat you any differently."

"Yeah, sure you won't."

"I won't," he insisted.

"You own me, Menace. We're different."

"On paper," he said. "In real life, it's nothing like that. Don't think of yourself as being owned. Think of yourself as my partner."

"Your partner?" she repeated in disbelief. "You just said that mastering me is something precious. How can we be partners if you're my master?"

"I want to be your master when we're in here or in my— our —bedroom. The rest of our relationship would be equal."

She rubbed her cheek and shook her head. "I don't understand, Menace. It doesn't make sense to me."

"It's because we're from two vastly different cultures." His gaze skipped around the playroom as he tried to think of a way to explain this to her. Noticing the way she rubbed her upper arms, he unbuttoned his uniform shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. "Here. Take this. You're cold."

She eyed the offered shirt for a distrusting moment before finally taking it. "Don't think this is winning you any favors."

He chuckled softly. "Believe me, Naya. I'm starting to understand just how hard I'm going to have to work to earn your trust."

"Good luck," she said grumpily and slipped into his shirt. "That extra appendage between your legs has automatically put you on my shit list."

He grimaced. "Could we maybe tone down the language a bit?"

She blinked at him. "You have a problem with cursing?"

"I do."

"But you're a soldier. You're, like, a soulless killing machine. You hunted me down like a rabbit and dragged me back to your ship like a prize. I'm supposed to believe someone cold enough to do that to me doesn't like to hear a good fuck you once in a while?"

He gritted his teeth at her description of him. "I am not a soulless killing machine. Every single life I've taken in battle has stayed with me." He tapped his chest. "I carry the horror of war with me every day. It's not a game to me, Naya."

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she finished buttoning the shirt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

He sighed and slashed his hand through the air. "It's fine. It's forgotten. I'm sure you've spent most of your life hearing awful things about my people."

She nodded. "So far most of them have proven true."

He followed her gaze to the wall of impact-play implements. Remembering her earlier statement, he clarified, "This isn't a torture chamber. This is a playroom."

"Playroom?" She laughed. "I think words may not have the same meaning in your culture as they do in mine. A playroom is where kids keep their toys."

"Well, this is a playroom for adults. These are our toys."

"Your toys, maybe," she replied hotly. Pointing at the wall, she said, "I am brutally aware of what those felt like on my bare ass. I assure you there was nothing playful about it, Menace."

His gaze moved to the thin, snappy cane. "You've been caned?"

"Yep."

"By a lover?"

She snorted. "By a principal and a teacher." She pointed out a long leather strap. "My mother was rather fond of one of those."

He was taken aback by the idea she'd been struck by her mother and in school.

"Your teachers hit you?"

She stared at him as if he were the dumbest man in the universe. "Well, yeah. It's called corporal punishment, Menace. You know, that thing you want to do to me."

"No," he said quickly. "I don't want to beat you as punishment. What adults do in the privacy of their playrooms is in no way comparable to a grown adult beating on an innocent child."

"To be fair, I wasn't always innocent."

Menace grunted in irritation. "It doesn't matter. We don't strike children in my culture."

"But you go to military school at like, five, right? You honestly expect me to believe no one at the academy ever knocked you around?"

He shook his head. "Never. Not once."

"You were obviously luckier than me."

He was beginning to see that. Her obstinate behavior made more sense. "Why did your teachers strike you?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes it was for fighting. Most of the time it was for code infractions. My mom…" Her voice trailed off to nothing. "I didn't always have a clean uniform for school. That was a big no-no. I finally figured out how to do my own laundry. Then, after my dad died, I missed a lot of school or I was late. Eventually I just decided it was easier to leave school than have a permanently black-and-blue ass."

Menace let that tiny glimpse into her childhood sink in and take hold. The similarities to Hallie's miserable childhood were so obvious. He finally understood why Vicious had taken such a drastically different route with Hallie—and why he was so overly protective of her.

Wordlessly Menace strode to the wall and started yanking down the canes and crops and striking implements. He stuffed them in one of the drawers in the corner cabinet. Glancing back at the wall, he spotted the floggers. Those would have to go too.

"What are you doing?"

He started to take down the floggers. "I'm putting away the things that scare you. There's no reason to keep them out if I'm not going to use them."

She stepped forward and hesitantly touched one of the soft tendrils of a flogger crafted for teasing and warming up a sub. "Why do you do it?"

The siren call of her body heat filled him with need. This was the closest they'd been without cursing or fighting. Calm and curious, she tempted him even more. He couldn't help but compare her to the friend who had escaped him. He'd considered that one the epitome of his desires. Standing this close to Naya, gazing down into her dark eyes and breathing in her scent, he realized his first instinct had been dead wrong. It wasn't the docile, sweet thing he needed. It was this young woman, this spitfire who drove him crazy.

"It's our way," he said finally.

She frowned at him. "What does that mean?"

"It means that our women are different than yours." He placed his armful of floggers on the nearby restraint table. He selected the one she'd touched, the easy warm-up flogger, and handed it to her. "This is a flogger. It's used for hitting fleshy parts."

"Fleshy parts?"

"Buttocks, thighs, breasts…"

"I see."

"There's some new research that shows that the biochemical makeup of our Harcos women is vastly different than yours. Your bodies react much differently to endorphins, adrenaline and oxytocin."

She glanced away from him. "I don't really understand what that means. I never—I didn't finish school, remember?"

His gut clenched at the shame filling her voice. Daring to touch her, he tipped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. "It's all right. You may not have book smarts, but you clearly have street smarts."

She didn't pull away from his touch. "You learn quickly how to survive. I can do math and I can read, obviously. I just don't have much of a science background."

"Would you like one?"

She looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Some of the wives have lobbied for a school program. It starts in a few weeks, I think. I'm sure Hallie can fill you in on the details."

"Hallie?"

"My friend's wife," he explained. "She was Grabbed six months ago. She's from Harper's Well. That's close to you, right?"

She made a face. "It's nearby—and a hellhole. I mean, even when my life was at its shi—crappiest," she hastily corrected, "I gave thanks that I wasn't born in Harper's Well."

His lips twitched with amusement at the way she'd skipped over the profanity. There was hope for her yet.

"So tell me about these endorphins," she instructed.

He let his fingers drop from her chin. "Women from our planet require pain to find pleasure. It's just the way their body chemistry works. It might be something as simple as a nipple pinch to send them over the edge into climax. It might even require something as hard as a thorough caning and predicament bondage. But your women?" He eyed her carefully. "Your bodies respond much more quickly and easily to pleasure."

"I guess." The prettiest shade of pink colored the very tips of her ears. She kept her gaze averted and gestured with the flogger. "So people—my people—really enjoy this?"

"So far," he confirmed. "The locker room talk is that most of your women enjoy multiple orgasms under the hands of their mates."

Her shocked gaze snapped to his face. "Multiple? Is that even—I mean—no way, right? That has to be bullshit tall tales between friends."

Menace decided it was now or never. He fingered one of the long, wide strands of the flogger and held her disbelieving gaze. "Let me show you good I can make you feel, Naya. Hop up on that table and give me an hour. We'll test out the locker room stories."