Salvo: A Sci-Fi Romance (The Jekh Saga Book 3) Page 4

  The McGarrys might have had a deserved reputation for being impetuous crusaders, but the Cipriani kids took impulsivity to a whole new level. Owen was reasonably sure that “Cipriani” was the Italian word that meant “Constantly Doing Stupid Shit.”

  “Oh my God. What are you doing, Luke?”

  “Come on, man, you know how shit goes,” Luke said in a jocular tone that did nothing to put Owen at ease. “I got a little intel I didn’t like the looks of, and you weren’t around for me to chat with, so I found myself a experimental ride, and you know. Maybe I sneaked it out, a little. The space agency won’t notice for a while. They’re too busy lubing their heads so they could fit them up their asses.”

  Owen dragged his hand down his face, just like Luke did all the time.

  Impulsive. Yeah.

  “How long have you been in space?” Owen asked tiredly.

  First that little fool, now this? What next?

  Luke clucked his tongue. “Uh…dunno, actually. Lost track. Hey, Marco. What’s that calendar say?”

  “Eighteenth.”

  “Okay, so, ten days. We’ve been in space ten days.”

  Owen dropped his hand from his face and furrowed his brow. “Earth is almost seven months from Jekh.”

  “Nah, takes seven months in those slow commuter shuttles we hijacked from the Jekhans, but this sure as shit isn’t that. I believe the schematics for this sucker were stolen from a race called the Tornites. They don’t lock down their tech, I guess. You should be proud of me for figuring out how to work this puppy as fast as I did. The controls on this bad boy are insane.” He whistled low in that way he always did whenever he’d been instigating and his little sister had made some particularly scalding crack at Marco. “Anyway, like I said, I found some stuff out, and I put in for a leave of absence before shit could blow up in Washington.”

  “Found out some shit about what?”

  “About Jekh, dude. Remember when you were having me pull all that data on what the larger traders were exploring off the planet? And on the Marquise Corporation?”

  Maqruise’s chemical cloud had “accidentally” turned Montana into a frozen wasteland. No one lived there anymore, except for people like Owen. The company had dirty hands with the messy Jekh colonization, too. They’d been able to get away with figurative murder because they’d had lobbyists in their pockets. People would do anything to make a damn dollar.

  “Yeah,” Owen said. “But that was a year ago.”

  “I never stopped looking, especially not with all the news items you guys have been feeding back toward Earth about the missing Jekhan women and whatnot. Oh God, and Brenna’s fuckin’ tweets, man! Have you read her mentions? The ladies on Earth are going insane asking about the dudes there. I guess they’re all volunteering to be abducted or whatever. Priceless stuff.”

  Owen could imagine Luke doubled over in laughter. Brenna—one of the Terran refugees on the farm—had created an account with the decades-old social media platform and regularly deployed searing bon mots about the immoral activities being perpetrated by the settlers. She believed that if mainstream media wasn’t going to set the record straight about how human colonization had devastated Jekh, she’d be the eyes and ears for the people on Earth who gave a damn. Her handle had a following of over a million engaged fans.

  “Folks in D.C. are scrambling to cover shit up,” Luke said. “Even the most deluded of dinosaurs are starting to get the gist that some of the lobbyists and so-called research firms lied about what the Jekhans wanted with us. They’re running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and Marquise’s stock value is in the gutter. Delicious, right?”

  “I’ll let you know. I’m guessing that while they were busy tossing dirt onto garbage fires, you pulled data.”

  “Yep. I’ve got a list of coordinates and some encrypted documents that don’t make a heap of sense to me, but might mean something to you. Precious was only able to parse about one percent of the docs, which was just enough for her to see what looked like names and holding locations.”

  “You think that’s where the Jekhan women are?”

  “You tell me. I wanted you guys to take a look before those assholes who have them decide to pull up stakes and move them, so we stole this ship to come help.”

  “Jesus Christ. You know what kind of trouble you might be getting yourself into?” Words like “treason” came to mind.

  In the background, Marco loudly sighed. “I’m fuckin’ hungry. How far are we?”

  “I dunno. Yo, Owen? Tell me where we should land this thing. You’re not near Buinet anymore, right?”

  “Nowhere near any major cities.” Little Gitano was several days away from Buinet via the typical low-speed flyers most Jekhans had access to, and that was assuming wind conditions were ideal. They usually weren’t.

  “Send me some coordinates,” Luke said. “The Precious One will figure out how to set us down. I hope. Like I said, this thing is experimental. I’m happy we didn’t blow up trying to leave the atmosphere.”

  Impulsive squared.

  “You sending them?” Luke asked.

  “No. I’d just gotten into the damn tub. I’m not exactly near a computer right now.”

  “Tub? Well, lah-di-dah, you gone fancy, McGarry? The last time I saw you in person, you were the kind of guy who preferred whore’s baths—face and bits only.”

  “You would know, right? You witnessed plenty. Also? Fuck you, dude.” Owen gave his body a harried scrub with the bar of soap and rubbed at his face. “My shower’s broken. Give me a few minutes to get out of this water and I’ll send you specific landing instructions. Are you so close that you need to enter the atmosphere now?”

  “No, but soon.”

  “Understood.” If Luke were moving as fast as he claimed, he and his siblings would reach the farm before dawn.

  Owen ducked his head beneath the water, gave his hair a cursory scrub, and then emerged to climb out. “I’m signing off, but keep your signal open. I’ll transmit some numbers in a bit, and also will let the folks here know to expect guests.”

  “Aye, aye.” Luke’s line went quiet.

  “Fuck.” Already moving toward the door, Owen rubbed his face with a scratchy towel, pausing only to snatch his clothing off the floor.

  Movement in his periphery gave him pause. He understood that there was only one bathing room in the house and that people on the farm poked their heads in all the time to see if it was occupied. He’d been pretty loud, though, so they should have known without entering. Therefore, anyone who’d come in would have had to come in for a specific purpose.

  He lowered the towel from his face and looked pointedly toward the corner nearest the door.

  Ais sat in the shadows perched on a low stool, her gaze toward nothing in particular.

  Quickly, he wrapped the towel around his waist, uncertain of why he’d even bother with modesty. She couldn’t see shit. “What are you doing in here?” he snapped.

  She flinched, and her gaze tracked almost to him. She probably could see him better by not looking at him straight on.

  When she didn’t answer, he padded closer, his wet soles making comical squishing sounds against the tiles, which only made him madder. He tightened the knot of his towel and bent down to her level.

  She’d combed her hair, or Courtney had combed it for her. The dark locks were out of the way of her delicate face, which only helped highlight the scrapes and scars on her skin—evidence of the silly little fool’s afternoon adventure.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked, madder still.

  She blinked, and then took a breath. “Loud.”

  “Me? Yeah. The room echoes. Everyone knows that.”

  “Sleep.”

  “What about sleep?”

  She pointed toward the hall, or maybe to the room she slept in that was the closest one to bathing room.

  “I’m keeping you up?” He scoffed. “I’ve barely been in here ten minutes.”

 
She pressed her arms against her belly and swayed a bit, front to back, again and again. Her eyelids were heavy, and skin sallow. “Drowsy,” she whispered. “Drug.”

  “The…drug.”

  Fuck, that’s right.

  She’d had some of the same painkiller Owen had considered scavenging a sip of.

  Everyone on the farm teased Ais for being such a light sleeper. She was like a cat that way, and would startle at the slightest noise unless her ears were plugged. Sometimes, the plugs didn’t help, either. After spending her entire life on a hermetically sealed space station, she may have been conditioned to wake from certain disturbances around her.

  He dragged a hand through his short, wet hair and shifted his weight. “Well, you can go on to bed now. I’m out.”

  She nodded, but made no motion to get up.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged and headed toward the door. He cast a glance over his shoulder at her to see what the hell she was doing, and stopped short.

  She was patting the wall behind her, cringing as she stood, and her gaze wasn’t tracking like anyone else’s would have. The red of her irises flitted side to side erratically as if they couldn’t find a shape to focus on, and she was so close to the ledge of the tub.

  Fuck.

  He wadded his clothes beneath one arm, held them against the knot in his towel, and backtracked to the corner. “Come on. Can’t you see?”

  She shook her head. “Drug.”

  “What about it?”

  “Makes…blur. Worse now.”

  “Maybe you should just stay in bed, then, until you’ve healed.”

  She flinched in his grip as if the suggestion were entirely too rude to be spoken aloud.

  “You shouldn’t be gallivanting around, anyway.” He guided her toward the door, keeping her close to the wall. “You don’t know this place, and you can’t see worth a shit. If you care about your life at all, you’d just stay inside.”

  “Always inside, with Tyneali.”

  “Yeah, well, tough. We all have our albatrosses to bear. Find yourself a hobby that’s less hazardous to your health. Actually, make that to everyone’s health. You can’t do things that’ll make people abandon their work to rescue you.”

  She yanked her arm away from his and sped up. She put her hands out in front of her and walked until she found the wall, then she followed it to the door, then out.

  He trailed her, watching her move hurriedly toward her bedroom, never once taking her hands from the wall.

  Once in the room, she tried to close the door in his face, but he put his body against the jamb and waited.

  “Go on,” he said. “Get in the bed. I’ll turn off the light.”

  She put her hands to his chest and tried to dislodge him from his spot. “Go.”

  “I’m just trying to help you out.”

  “Don’t need. Can’t see. Light why?”

  He shrugged. “Okay. You don’t need the light.” He waved his hand over the sensor and the task lighting in the room went dark. “Pat your way to the bed, then, and get in it. If you get out of bed again before morning, maybe I’ll come back in here and tie you down.”

  Her breath was a sharp huff against his chest.

  He hadn’t really meant the words, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was joking, either. He was so damned frustrated with her for her carelessness.

  And she probably wouldn’t even struggle.

  She’d just cant her head in that way she did and try to see his blondness out of the corners of her eyes while he pinned her wrists to the headboard. She’d wait for him to return, to free her, and he would, eventually. Maybe not when she expected to, though, because she needed to learn a lesson. Recklessness got little fools killed.

  She spun on her heel, and the hem of her long nightgown brushed against his shins.

  His eyes had adjusted to the low light, and he watched her pad to the twin-sized bed against the left wall. She hiked her skirt up to her knees, and then climbed up. In a moment, she’d settled her gown around her and hitched the covers up to her chin. Her head lolled to one side, but she didn’t close her eyes, probably because he was still standing there.

  If he’d been in a better mood, he would have shut the door and left. Luke was waiting on landing information, and patience wasn’t one of his virtues. But Owen was in the mood where he couldn’t leave things left unsaid. A rare mood, indeed.

  He stepped into the room, crossed the floor to the bed, and leaned over her.

  She was so small a lump under all those covers, so easy to mistake for a child, but she wasn’t a child. She was at least twenty, but compared to him—or even to Erin, who was twenty-eight—she was a baby.

  Her fingers tightened over the top edge of the covers, and her gaze was straight ahead. Her red lips pursed in a pretty little heart, and she could have been shaping scathing invective. He wanted to hear her speak them—wanted to hear what kind of dirty sounds such a frail little creature could make when she got angry enough.

  Fuck.

  He swallowed hard.

  If she’d been able to see, she would have noticed the bulge his cock made and know who’d caused the state. He hated himself for being affected by a woman who was little more than a professional victim, but he’d gone too long without touch, and she smelled so…soft.

  He swallowed again and tucked his fingers against his palms, needing to feel the sting of his nails.

  Soft wasn’t what he needed. He needed his anger. Anger kept his head clear so he could remember, even when the remembering hurt so bad.

  “What were you thinking?” he spat in a whisper. “What were you doing on that mountain?”

  Her blink was nearly audible, and her grip on the covers even tighter. “I…can.”

  “No, you can’t. You should know your limits. Digest them. Understand them. That’s what people who live with disabilities have to do.”

  “Because…inconvenience.”

  “Yeah.” He scoffed and tracked his hand across his beard. “You inconvenience people.”

  Michael had once made a similar accusation about himself, and Owen had told him that, no, he wasn’t an inconvenience and that Owen didn’t mind helping. He really hadn’t minded, but when he got busy, he couldn’t be counted on. He knew that about himself. He damn sure wasn’t about to make Ais his charge, or anyone else’s. He was just letting her know that.

  “My life,” she said tartly.

  “Yeah? That’s all you have to say to defend yourself?” He was getting a crick in his back from leaning over her, so he knelt, putting his gaze in line with her unseeing one.

  Her hand moved slowly toward his face, and caught his bottom lip. She drew her hand back as if his flesh had burned her and, curious, he sat still, cataloging her reaction.

  After a few seconds, she put her hand back, skimmed light fingers up his bearded chin and his lips. She paused there, with her own lips parted and her brows knit, and he had one mind to kiss her palm just to hear her yelp, but he didn’t. She pulled in a long inhalation and shifted her hand upward, past his nose, landing her palm atop his eye. Her hand next found his forehead. She pushed it. “Go.”

  “Are you trying to piss me off? I think your true colors are starting to show, Ais. Everyone thinks you’re so sweet, but you’re just as cold and conniving as anyone.”

  “You cold.”

  “I never said I wasn’t. I don’t pretend to be what I’m not.”

  “No pretend. Am Ais!”

  He rolled his eyes. “The lady doth protest too much.”

  She probably didn’t catch the reference, but she seemed mad enough, anyway, likely at his curt tone. Her face was scrunched toward the ceiling and chest heaving. Had she been Court or Erin, he might have worried that she would have been about to blow, but Ais didn’t blow. She just ran away and cried, and apparently that was what Owen was trying to make her do—he was trying to make the little fool cry.

  He scoffed yet again.

  Why am I even in
here?

  He pushed himself upright.

  Seriously. Why?

  He put his hands to the bed’s edge, and forced himself to pull in several long, deep breaths before speaking again. There was no reason he couldn’t be reasonable, even if Ais wasn’t. He and Michael had always been of similar minds about most things, but Michael had always been better at delivering the opinions without bruising people’s feelings. Owen had never developed the knack for the same because he tended to just let Michael do the talking.

  Michael wasn’t there, though. Just Ais.

  He held a deep breath in his chest until his lungs burned, and then closed his eyes so he could concentrate on tasting his words before he spoke them.

  “Stay here,” he said, and his tone was reasonably neutral. “Someone will get you in the morning and take you where you need to go.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  He wondered if she’d fallen asleep with him looming over her, so he opened his eyes.

  Hers were closed, and she was gripping the end of the shirt he must have dropped on the bed.

  Fuck.

  He wasn’t going to be able to pry that out of her fingers without waking her. As surly as he was, he didn’t try to be purposefully cruel.

  He gathered up what was left of his clothes and left, closing the door softly behind him. If there’d been a lock, he would have engaged it, if only to save her from herself. She didn’t need any help getting into trouble. She did just fine on her own.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ais woke feeling overheated and with her nostrils flooded with a thick, unfamiliar scent that didn’t belong to her covers.

  She sat up, squinting into the dim room and, through the soft hiss of the central air-conditioning, heard shouting. She couldn’t tell who was making all that wretched noise, only that the shouts weren’t especially frantic.

  No danger, then?

  The yelling was probably what had waked her. For all she knew, the noise could have been normal. With Owen looming at the bedside, she’d forgotten to plug her ears. If she had plugged her ears before endeavoring to sleep, her dreams would have probably been less chaotic. Those mean words he’d said had wounded her and, for a moment, she’d wished she had the English vocabulary to say hurtful things back.