7. Like a Good Boy

“How the fuck did this happen, Niko?”

Zann’s words came out in a pant. Both men were at the small, private gym attached to Destination: Reclamation for its clients to use. Though Loolae only served those in need of physical therapy, Zann was Niko’s brother and Loolae’s friend and got a pass when they went together. Niko lay across the weight bench, working on lifting while Zann stood near him, lifting his own smaller weights. Unlike Niko, Zann was wirier and lither. He preferred his work to be at the station, usually behind a desk.

Niko shook his head.

“I mean, you were so close to getting him. Three times now. How does this fucker manage to give the slip to a dozen Galapol agents and ten million goddamn bounty hunters? How does he manage to make it past you?”

Niko knew better than to respond, steadying himself before lifting the barbell again, the muscles in his arms trembling from the effort. When Zann was on a roll like this, it was best to let him rant it out. Interrupting or giving any kind of input usually just tended to make his mood worse.

“How does this keep happening?” Zann asked.

Niko lifted again, pushing up and fighting gravity. After how much he’d been struggling with Kestrel—a leaner man than himself—he figured getting back into a more rigorous weight training couldn’t hurt.

“You’re the best we have, Niko. What the fuck is going on?”

It took a moment for Niko to realize Zann wasn’t continuing. He glanced over to see his brother staring expectantly at him and realized it was his cue to answer. He rested the barbell back down onto its rack.

“At least Imperator Khaathra got to go home that day.”

Zann’s full lips drew into a tight, thin line as he relented. “There’s that. Good job there.”

Niko shook his head, shrugging off the cheap consolation. He slipped to a different subject, one he couldn’t stop thinking about. “Have you ever heard of Honeybliss?”

Zann paused in his lifting and scowled. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. “Yeah. It’s in his file under all the conspiracy bullshit. Why?”

“He mentioned it a few times as his motive. Do you think it’s real?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Zann said. He set his weights down, wiping the sweat from his brow. “It, and a dozen other invented conspiracy groups. He changes it up constantly. None of them exist. We’ve had our best researchers on it.”

Zann took a breath before continuing. “We’ve already established the guy is a lunatic. You were near him long enough to have a chat with him? Just shoot him in the head and shut him the fuck up. You have one job, Niko. What’s the issue here?”

Niko didn’t like where this was headed. His nerves pricked uneasily and he scooted on the bench to sit up. He scrambled for the first excuse he could think of. “His tech is the issue.”

Zann opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. He eyed Niko oddly and Niko felt himself grow more uneasy.

Shit. He probably knows about the EMPs through Galapol’s bill.

Silence fell between them briefly, before Zann sighed. When he spoke, his voice was softer. Tired. “I’m sorry, Niko. This piece of work has me in a bad place. It really is like Mom and Ryen all over again. I’ve never found another asshole who’s so good at not being caught since.”

“Yeah.” Niko nodded. Before he could take it back, he found himself blurting the words out. “Is that why you wouldn’t go see Dad?”

Zann froze, the uncomfortable looking one now. “I was busy that day.”

“Yeah. Sorry. This Kestrel thing’s getting to me too.”

Another awkward beat fell over them before Zann spoke again. “Yeah. It was a little bit, actually. This whole thing is all just— It feels like it used to all over again. And not in a good way. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come back, Niko.”

That hurt. “What? No.”

“You look like shit.”

Niko reached up and touched at his neck, an echo of dull pain reminding him of the bruise that was still there. It had been four days since he’d encountered Kestrel on Uula, but his body still ached from everything the assassin had thrown at him. The day after had left him completely bedridden.

“Just part of the job, Zann.”

“I know,” Zann snapped. “Which is why I should have left you alone about it. I know how you get. You never stop when you should. You even knew it would happen. Just— This guy is the galaxy’s number one pain in the ass. And mine. Nobody can bring him down. How does one guy wreck so much shit across the galaxy? I’d have felt better if this was an orchestrated group instead. And now everyone’s terrified off their asses and he’s all anyone talks about. I thought if nothing else, you’d be able to—”

“I will,” Niko cut him off. “I am. I’m going to stop him, Zann. I prevented him from killing for the first time. I made him slip up. I won’t let him kill anyone else. It’s over.”

I would have had him that time, Niko thought, if he hadn’t made me slip up too. A fresh pang of shame gripped him at the memory.

Zann ran a hand over his face, looking exasperated and decades past his actual age of twenty-seven. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. If I’ve ever had anyone to believe in in this life, it’s you. You’ve always come through, Niko.”

Niko punched Zann in his skinny arm, giving his brother the best smile he could muster. “Trust me, okay?”

The media had become intensely interested in Niko once drone footage from his initial confrontation on the platforms had spread and Imperator Khaathra had survived the event unscathed. (If that had even been Kestrel’s intended mark—he could only assume it was her.) Niko was being billed as a hero, the sole man who’d been able to stop Kestrel and turn the tides for the first time since his deadly spree began. He wanted to laugh when he heard that; he hardly felt like a hero. He felt like a fucking moron.

It was sheer luck there hadn’t also been drone footage of him with his tongue in the galaxy’s most wanted killer’s mouth.

Things were changing now. Something both inside him and out was shifting, like a tide being pulled back out to sea. Niko felt he was on a precipice, looking down. He’d had a poor history of throwing himself off ledges and ending up worse off for it. Uula had been his first victory over Kestrel, though. Even though the man had still gotten away, Niko had kept him from making his intended kill. He alone had Kestrel’s attention now, maybe in the same way Kestrel had his. He was tripping him up, making his life difficult.

Niko was getting in his way.

Back at his apartment now, Niko groaned, stretched out across his couch, pillow propped behind his head. Sleep was evading him, his mind too full of a single blond bastard. He didn’t want to think about Kestrel. He was tired of Kestrel.

All he could think of was Kestrel.

There were so many things not adding up. Kestrel had reacted with contempt when Bubblegum had hurt civilian bystanders. He could have killed any of them and made his life easier. But he hadn’t. In fact, thinking on it now, Kestrel had no record of killing a single individual who wasn’t an intended target. There were no messy, accidental kills. No moves of desperate cruelty. Everyone who had ever gotten in his way was dispatched, but left with their life. Even the Galapol agent Kestrel had stolen the uniform from and voice of.

Niko’s stomach twisted. None of that behavior lined up with a man who had a violent history of losing his touch on reality and trying to murder his sister or beat his own parents in fits of rage. It was precise and deliberate, like everything else he had observed about Kestrel. It was intentionally, shockingly humane.

Niko didn’t know what to make of that.

Humane was the last word he would ever pair with Kestrel. Yet here he was. It couldn’t be denied—Kestrel had a sense of empathy. He chose his targets carefully.

Traffickers,he had said. Slavers. Rapists. Murderers.

Honeybliss.

The word was so strange. It sounded pleasant, like an indulgent candy or tea. He remembered seeing it somewhere before, though, in the case files like Zann had mentioned. Buried among several other conspiracy groups Kestrel had gone down the rabbit hole of was one called Honeybliss. The other conspiracies mentioned brought up countless theories and discussions online. A search for Honeybliss hadn’t brought a single thing up, other than a few homemade recipes for honeyed snacks, though. But Kestrel had warned of that, hadn’t he?

Niko turned over onto his side. If Honeybliss was just another conspiracy like the others, why wasn’t there anything about it online? He was no stranger to the dark web, either. There’d been no mention even there.

So, what the hell was this supposed… group? Network? Cabal?

Kestrel had said he’d been silenced when he’d tried to speak about it. But he also hadn’t shut up over the years about the other several obnoxious conspiracies, all with a visible presence among internet forums. It had cost him his engineering career. Had he been unlucky enough to stumble onto something rare and latch on? Something that had truth to it and had made him an unfortunate target?

None of it made sense and Niko was too tired to keep fucking with it right now. He let himself drift back into the haze of sleep when T1-N4 chimed from above the coffee table.

“You have one new text message from Unknown Number!”

Niko grunted. The press had been trying to contact him for an interview since he’d “heroically” saved the gala. He’d ignored every attempt. But none of the media outlets actually had his direct phone number. Rather, they’d tried to reach him through contacting Galapol, who held his contract. Zann had intercepted and politely told them, “He’s not interested. Fuck off, thanks,” during his initial post-gala briefing at the station with Niko.

“Read it.”

“You can’t stop thinking about it, can you?” T1-N4 recited mirthfully. Niko froze.

“What?”

“I will repeat the message—”

“No. No. Just—” Niko rubbed his eyes, his vision still blurry from half-sleep. He struggled to sit up as a chill spread through him. T1-N4 hung silently, awaiting his response, the gentle whirring of her engine the only sound in the room.

Who?

Had someone seen? Had there been footage after all, that Niko had missed? Was someone from the press about to try and blackmail him over this? His stomach twisted into a tight knot as a chill of unease trilled through him.

Another message chimed through. T1-N4 read it, her tone all wrong, too pleasant. “I didn’t think something like that would actually work. I thought you were supposed to be good at your job.”

Whoever this was had Niko’s full attention now.

Is it—

Could it be—

No.

“44-8783-332,” T1-N4 merrily recited. Niko’s blood turned to ice upon hearing his bounty hunting license number. “Niko Tomas Estrella.”

“Tina,” he said slowly. “Switch to private mode.”

“Switching to private mode. Your messages will not be read aloud until you indicate otherwise.”

Niko opened the text hologram, staring at the words. Whoever was on the other end of these messages was playing a dangerous game. And either it was someone who wanted to blackmail him, or it was—

Another message arrived and Niko knew at once who it was.

This time it was an image, a self-taken photograph of Elliott Kestrel.

All his breath left him. The picture was angled from above, looking down. The man was lying in bed, golden cowlicked hair fanning around him like a halo. Sea green eyes stared right back at Niko, gaze dull, bland even.

He was wearing nothing at all, his lithe body bare, patches of skin blushing with faded bruises from their last altercation. His hand was wrapped around his hard cock in mid-stroke.

Niko couldn’t breathe. Heat flushed through his face and neck. It was an outrageous picture. It was insulting. It was—

He couldn’t peel his eyes away. The idea of writing any sort of reply had vanished from the moment the image had filled his vision. Niko couldn’t remember what words even were.

He swallowed as thought and sensation slowly came back online. A thousand questions hung half-formed in his mind, primarily What the fuck? And an inadmissible, possessed Did you take this right now? Are you doing this right now?

The thought made his face burn hotter.

Niko recognized this, now, for what it really was—provocation.

A taunt.

On Uula, Niko had tried to goad Kestrel into making mistakes. Now the assassin was returning the favor.

Another message pinged through. I wonder, would you swallow it all for me like a good boy?

And then another. I think you would.

It took a heroic effort of will to gesture the picture away, where it finally disappeared from view. Niko could think again, though only barely. His pulse was racing—he could feel it in his neck, in his chest, wild and anarchic. He hadn’t been an adolescent sneaking his first illicit peeks at raunchy photos in a long, long time. But this had made him feel like one again.

Enough, Niko sent back. Whatever game you’re playing, I’m not having any part in it.

The reply was almost instant. You had a part in it when you kissed me back.

Kestrel knew exactly how to get under his skin and inflict psychic damage. Niko was all out of sorts now, stumbling over himself, mind racing. Every word was a carefully aimed and executed sniper’s shot.

Niko took a moment to center himself, to try and banish the tenacious mental image of the galaxy’s most wanted killer lounging boredly in bed, pleasuring himself as he looked at the camera. As he looked at Niko. That picture had been taken with specific intent, meant for the eyes of no one else.

The more he tried to banish it, the stronger it burned through his mind. Niko opened his eyes, his gaze desperately wandering through the kitchen doorway, to the refrigerator calendar for a moment. It was bland enough with its ship and mechanical photos. His eyes drew towards the single crossed-out date, now weeks past.

No, I’m not doing this with you.Niko’s fingers flew across the interface, trying to keep up with his rapid-fire thoughts. This doesn’t mean anything. You’re a murderer and an asshole and it’s a matter of time before you’re brought to justice like you deserve.

For good measure, he added, Go fuck yourself up the ass, you pretentious dick.

Kestrel was a fast typer. Or maybe he was dictating the messages if his hands were occupied. Why should I, when it’s what you wish you were doing? You’re probably thinking about it right now.

Niko groaned. He stared out again at the calendar, trying to memorize every detail, every streamlined angle of silver and white ship against a starry backdrop. Trying to replace the image that burned alive and feverish through his mind still. The small shadow that indicated Kestrel’s elegant wrist bones. The dispassionate expression. The length of his ready cock.

Kestrel wasn’t finished yet. The guy was obviously having a field day. I think you like being tied up. You certainly made it all too easy for me.

Niko was done with this conversation. It served no purpose but to get inside him, taunt him into making his work even harder. Kestrel wanted him pissed off, riled up. This was literal dick waving.

He was probably laughing at Niko now, at how badly he’d fucked up, at how a renowned bounty hunter had managed to let him get the slip over something so pathetic. Bound with his own handcuffs, stuck uselessly to a utility pipe after coming so close yet again.

Niko certainly felt pathetic.

And now he felt pissed, too.

He pushed away something else that was rearing its head—a fervid, hardening hunger. He didn’t need that right now, didn’t want to give it its acknowledgement. There was nothing to acknowledge.

What there was to acknowledge instead: the fatally dangerous fact that Kestrel had gotten Niko’s phone and bounty license numbers, his name. The fact that he was studying Niko the way Niko had been studying Kestrel through his own files. The fact that Niko was engaged in a text exchange with the most elusive assassin in the galaxy.

And that very assassin had used the opportunity to send a fucking dick pic.

“Tina, try tracing the number.”

“I’m sorry, Niko! This number is unable to be traced.”

Of course. What had he even expected? Certainly not any part of this exchange.

Another message chimed and Niko managed to ignore it for at least thirty seconds before caving.

Let me know if you want to change sides. We would work well together. Consider this my invitation.

“What?” he blurted out. He paused, mind still reeling, before sending a reply. I told you. We’re not anything alike.

You said you wanted to understand why I’m doing any of this. Do you still?

Niko stared at the message. The sudden shift from mockery, nudes, and cheeky messages to a more serious exchange was maddening. It felt dangerous. Had Kestrel finally had his fun and tired of the game?

Or was he only just beginning?

He hesitated, searching for the right response. He had a potential window to Kestrel now—a real window. And a transitory one. Niko decided to go for the heart of it all. What is Honeybliss?There’s nothing about them. Anywhere.

This time, there was a long pause before Kestrel responded. It was a mistake to tell you. If you’ve been trying to look them up, I suggest you cease immediately. Every search query you make leaves a virtual footprint leading right back to you.

Another pause. And I would hate for you to fall to assassins.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Niko mumbled.

The audacity of this bitch, he thought.

He willed himself to stay patient and texted again. Then why don’t you tell me about them?

Would you even believe me?Kestrel replied.

Try me.

The conversation ground to a sudden halt. The expeditious jeering from before was over. Niko sat as minutes ticked by, one after another. He massaged his hands, trying to free them of the ache that had set in since he’d returned to active hunting.

Minutes turned into a half hour, and then an hour. Niko had tried to reach, and it’d made Kestrel flee. He closed the phone hologram, too wound tight with anxious energy from the acute shock the whole interaction had brought. If he felt anything else, he pushed it away, deep into a part of him that he refused to turn his gaze upon.

Just as Niko began the awkward dance of pulling himself from the couch to his wheelchair, a single message chimed. He froze before opening it.

Meet me, it said. Niko’s pulse spiked again, a chaotic rhythm conducted by the other man’s whim and word. Several more messages followed in quick succession.

193 Tulnath Blvd, North Quarter, Sunorrna. Vialis system. It’s a binary star.

Tomorrow night. I’ll wait.

If you don’t want to pull out.

Niko grunted, not missing the wordplay. This was a bad idea—maybe even the god emperor of horrible ideas. He could think of at least ten reasons why agreeing to meet with Kestrel in a private location with no witnesses probably wasn’t good for his health. Then again, Niko rarely did what was good for himself.

He sent the message before he could think on it long enough for caution to override curiosity, every alarm within him already blaring. Something about Kestrel kept him from being able to back down, though—even when the hand extended was coated in poison. I’m not backing down. I’ll be there.

We have a date, then, Kestrel sent back. I’d appreciate if you didn’t bring your Galapol friends.

Yeah, I bet you would, Niko thought.

He sat in silence at the edge of the couch, stunned. The whole weird interaction had thrown him off balance and he couldn’t regain his bearings. But every interaction with Kestrel did that, it seemed. And now he was being asked to meet with the very figure who an entire galaxy revolved around in outrage and fear alike. One who perched alone at its center, high above it all, like a malevolent king whose name was on everyone’s tongue: Elliott Kestrel.

And he was going to do it alone.

It was an obvious trap. It was too easy. That Kestrel would ask him to meet alone made no sense. He could tell Niko whatever he’d needed to over the phone. No. This was likely a way to get Niko isolated and taken out. Or maybe it was all just part of another game where Kestrel would laugh at him for being so stupid as to actually show.

He glanced through the open bedroom door at T1-N4, the patient little bot drifting back and forth around his living room, one arm extended with a soft cloth as she dusted his furniture.

“Tina, call—” His voice dropped off. Call Zann, he’d been about to say. His first instinct was to tell his brother about Kestrel contacting him, about his request to meet, but something stopped him short. Was it really for the best to let Zann in on this? It would only lead to more questions. And undoubtedly, Zann would want to analyze the text exchange word for word. Some of what Kestrel had sent him sounded damning—even ignoring the ludicrous, baiting photograph.

Let me know if you want to change sides.

Consider this my invitation.

You said you wanted to understand.

Zann would definitely have questions about that. Niko was already about to prostrate himself before every known god and thank them for the lack of footage recorded of their alleyway fight and—

And kiss.

You kissed me back, Kestrel had written.

This conversation wasn’t something Zann needed to know about. Yet.

Niko had been at his corner desk for three hours, a scattering of holograms detailing the planet Sunorrna and its North Quarter district hanging in the space usually occupied by Kestrel’s case files. He couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t think.

He had been staring uselessly at the text, photos, and videos of the planet while his mind wandered again and again to an image he only wanted to forget about. Niko knew he should delete the damned thing, but couldn’t bring himself to, leaving Kestrel’s text history closed. But in the hours since, his body had begun to wake up from a long internal slumber of its own, hungry and insistent. It wanted what had been given to him in small glimpses—touch, taste, connection. Niko hadn’t had a lover in years—hadn’t let himself, locked away in his own grief and self-consciousness. Kestrel was keeping him from being able to think, tapping into one of the deepest and most vulnerable wounds he held within himself—loneliness.

It wasn’t going away, and he was tired of the distraction. Niko closed the research and opened a new browser. He sifted through videos until he found one of a handsome blond getting railed on all fours—then realized what he was doing and quickly swapped to a video of two men who very much contrasted Elliott Kestrel, all dark hair and tattoos.

He unzipped his pants and took himself in hand, hard and wanting, and began stroking as he watched one suck the other off.

He wouldn’t think of Kestrel. He wouldn’t think of the photograph, nor the way the man had tasted. The scent of him. The pitch of his voice and the way it might sound when he moaned.

Niko wasn’t even paying attention to the video now, his focus surrendering instead to what was in his mind’s eye and everything he wanted to avoid. It was pointless. He wanted a very specific thing, was driven by a single desire. He didn’t want to let himself go there, but he did.

Niko swiped the video away and with a moment of hesitation and heady, aching thrill that throbbed with each beat of his heart, he opened their text history and scrolled up until he found the photograph.

Kestrel was fucking gorgeous. Niko hated how much he was.

A new thrill jolted through him, alive, electric, craving human touch. He wanted it so badly. Niko began working himself again, eyes only for the picture that gazed back at him so brazenly. He imagined Kestrel’s hand instead of his own, then imagined himself giving this sort of attention to the other man. What would he feel like to take in hand? Glorious, probably. Niko wondered if he was as controlled as he was in their encounters, or if he would give way to soft sounds as he fell apart.

His mind was feverish, all over the place now, his fantasies switching again and again. He was back on Uula, with Kestrel against the alley wall. He didn’t have the suit, didn’t need it. He turned the other man around and pulled his clothes off until he was bare and perfect before Niko, then fucked him hard, legs pried apart, still standing.

It changed again as he got closer, to something uninvited—unwanted, even—but arriving on a thrill that gave him goosebumps. Niko lay on his back, Kestrel above him now, wearing the same haughty apathy from his photograph. He fucked Niko, beautiful cock buried full and wholly felt in him.

Good boy, Kestrel murmured against his ear as Niko took it all.

Niko hated it—hated the idea of being beneath him like that. And he loved it. He came with a low moan, an unusual sound for his self-pleasure. But he’d liked it that much.

Afterwards he sat, every cell glowing, body spent. He felt weird and disgusted with himself and quickly swiped the photograph away. His head hadn’t been in the right place for a long time now. Since Niko had started this bounty, he wasn’t himself.

He reopened the Sunorrna holograms and returned to the research that might help him actually survive this.