Ann Aguirre - Havoc

She straddled his lap and he pulled his head back, but her face came closer and closer until she was kissing him. The woman tasted of fresh herbs, and her lips were soft, but he wanted nothing more than to shove her off him and beat the shit out of her insane lover. He also sort of felt sorry for her because she was so obviously broken. They were like a pair of antique windup dolls locked in a permanent dance, where they circled and circled and could never leave the track. It was all he could do not to chew her lips off.

Jael had never felt quite like this. He didn’t want her on top of him, didn’t want this kiss. Mad as it sounded, he wanted to scrub every inch of himself. And it would be worse if it went further. With enough handling, she could probably make him respond, and then—his heart leapt at the horror of that thought. There were so many ways this could go wrong. Fear and revulsion warred in him, and Jael prayed for his body not to react. This was mad because desire wasn’t dictated by physiological response. Other things could trigger it; or if a person had strong self-control, they could smother what was there.

Eventually, Vix sat back, looking surprised. Maybe the other men had been so desperate for a woman’s touch that they all showed her what she wanted to see and gave her the excuse to use them, then turn them over to her lover to be murdered.

Beyond crazy.

“He’s telling the truth.”

“You’re the first,” Zed said.

Then the man actually unstrapped him, like he’d passed a bizarre initiation ritual, where the stakes were life and death. “I’m sorry we misjudged you.”

Jael could’ve killed them so easily, snapped their necks as soon as he was free. He rubbed the circulation back into his wrists as he stood up. A long moment passed while he gazed at them, mentally wrestling. In the long run, it might be better if he did. But without them to tend the hydroponics garden, food supply would diminish. So I let them go on killing their fellow Queenslanders when the mood strikes? That didn’t seem right either. In fact, the scenario appeared to have no correct solution, and he wasn’t good with philosophical matters.

“Your head wound has already healed,” Zed said.

The other man’s eyes were dark and calculating, as if he realized that they shared a secret, what used to be called mutually assured destruction. If Jael revealed what had happened, then Zed and Vix would be punished, but likely not before he revealed Jael’s fast healing. There would be problems from the others, who hated aliens and would hate a Bred thing just as much. With a half smile, he touched the spot that had hurt when he woke up but wasn’t bothering him anymore. His hair was sticky with blood.

He pushed out a breath, troubled by the impasse but unable to resolve it. “I see no reason why we can’t part as friends.”

Big fragging lie. But what else can I say? Now I get to go find Dred and pretend nothing’s wrong. If she finds out, they’ll die. That was the brightest spot of this mess; he had no doubt she’d execute these two for this. And then Queensland would suffer.

But maybe I can find a way to tell her about their . . . hobby.

“No permanent harm done,” Vix agreed. “I hope the Dread Queen appreciates your loyalty. You seem like a good man.”

“We hope to see you soon.” Zed smiled as he stepped back, waving farewell.

Jael strode past them and out the door, waiting for the surprise attack that never came. But why would it? Zed thinks he has a hold on me. And the worst part?

He does.

“So where’s the old man?” Martine asked.

Dred lifted a shoulder. “No idea. I left him drinking with Katur and crew.”

“Then you probably won’t see him again tonight.”

Calypso refilled their glasses and dropped down at the table with a weary sigh. “I don’t understand why you two limit yourself to a single man. We’re like goddesses here, and I can pick and choose, a different slave in my bed every night.”

“If they hadn’t sterilized us before we came in, I’d worry about you,” Martine said.

“Why d’ya think the strapping one threw herself in front of the Bug?” Calypso asked.

Dred had been wondering that. “They were close friends, I suppose. Is there anyone you’d die for in here?” she asked Martine.

The smaller woman laughed. “Not hardly.”

Dred had been monitoring the situation in the common room, but with the aliens in seclusion, things seemed to be relatively calm. The watchmen on patrol weren’t idiots, either, at least by Queensland standards. So she pushed to her feet.

“I’ve had enough of the public eye. Come on.”

Calypso raised a brow. “Party at your place?”

“Depends on how much we drink.” Martine grabbed Calypso’s hand and dragged her toward Dred’s quarters.

She realized then how long it had been since she’d spent any time in the company of women. Back on Tehrann, there hadn’t been many girls her own age, and her dreams had been too big for a small colony, where most wanted to grow up, go to work, and help populate the company town. Dred had dreamed of nothing but getting away. And after that, the freighter crews were comprised mostly of scruffy men. Beyond that point, she hunted alone, where everything boiled down to stalking and slaughter. There were no friends or even allies, only people she used to make the kill.

They left the common room and went to Dred’s quarters. It would be interesting to see how long the party lasted before Jael interrupted and what he said when he found three women waiting for him. You could tell a lot about a man by how he reacted to such surprises.

She ushered Martine and Calypso in. “Make yourselves at home.”

“It’s smaller than I expected,” Calypso said.

“The lock works on the door, at least.”

Martine flung herself on the bed without waiting for an invitation. Dred let it go because if she wanted actual friends—and she wasn’t positive she did—she couldn’t be all Dread Queen in private moments, too. So she crawled past Martine and sprawled against the wall, leaning her head back with a weary sigh. Calypso settled on a chair nearby, stretching out her long legs.

“I feel like we should be playing a game,” Martine said, grinning.

Dred raised up enough to ask, “A drinking game?”

“Might not be wise, but it could be fun,” Calypso said.

Martine raised her glass. “I’m down.”

“I’m too tired for anything complex. Keep the rules simple.”

“We used to play this game when I was a little girl,” Calypso said, sounding thoughtful. “You tell two lies and a truth about yourself. If we guess the truth, you take a drink. If we don’t, then the others do a shot.”

On the surface, it was a silly childhood game, ridiculous among hardened criminals, but on another level, it was also a gateway to things that normally stayed hidden. It wasn’t like any of them could acknowledge being lonely or being sick of having so many assholes around them night and day. That was the same as admitting weakness, something that would get a woman killed if word got around, and neither Calypso nor Martine were soft.

“Why the hell not?” Dred said.

“I’ll start.” Martine crossed her legs as Dred focused on her face. “I was born to wealth. My favorite color is pink. And I killed my first man when I was fourteen.”

She’s a good liar.

“I say the third thing is true,” Calypso said.

“Is that your official guess?”

Dred just nodded, figuring the other woman knew Martine better.

Martine laughed. “Wrong! There’s nothing wrong with pink. It makes me feel pretty.” Her tone rang with a self-deprecating note. “Not that I’ve seen the shade for a while. You lose, bitches. Bottoms up.”