Tor (Women of Earth Book 2) (6 page)

"So tell me about these maggots you saw." He kept his voice low, not quite a whisper, and hoped the girl couldn't hear.

The old man caught on fast. After a glance in the direction Wynne had gone, he lowered his voice to a rumbling growl.

"It was right after me and Junior here had our disagreement." He nodded to his kill. "His Mama was wounded and looking mean."

They always looked mean to Tor, but this wasn't the story he needed to hear. Once again, Mohawk seemed to understand.

"She was circling me like she was looking for an opening when I hear voices. She lets out a roar and takes off. I follow because I think maybe it's you and Wynne, and maybe you're with friends."

"I have no friends here."

"I figured that, too, since you don't seem too eager to run off and find 'em. Like I said, they started as eight." He shook his head in disbelief. "I'd have bet my merrymaker an animal that big and ugly couldn't move that fast. Good thing I didn't. I'd be a eunuch. She came at 'em faster than a cheap whore blasts you off on a two credit blow. Tore one up and killed another." There was a viciousness to the Perithian's grin like maybe he enjoyed the show. He spread his hands. "And then there were seven, though number seven didn't look too good with that piece of bone sticking out of his leg."

Yep, he enjoyed it.

"There's more. One of them killed Mama with a handloader."

The Galactic Confederation had outlawed the primitive weapons, but most traders ignored the law and carried at least one. Tor had three buried on his ship and only carried one on his hip in frontier towns where the peacekeepers weren't GC. In those places, peace was more important than law, and a dead man couldn't testify to an illegal weapon's use. The weapons were loud and the percussive powder left a distinctive odor. Both left a residual message that disruptive behavior would not be tolerated.

Tor nodded. "We heard the reports. Three shots. Bad aim?"

Mohawk shook his head. "Thick skull. You gotta get them in the eye."

Tor glanced at the tail. "You're that good?"

Mohawk grinned again, this time in response to Tor's nod and lopsided smile of respect.

"All the ladies say so," the Perithian said with a smarmy grin before he went on. "One of them was pissed about it."

He repeated the conversation he'd heard while he cut chunks of meat from the tail and threaded them onto a stick.

"'Horny said no fire power.'

"The shooter says,
'Then let Horny get his ass out here and get eaten. All he does is drink, fuck, and eat. Makes us do the dangerous shit.
'

"Skinny one laughs and says,
'I don't know about that. Fucking looked pretty damned dangerous the other night
.'

'That was the warm up. Wait until we get to the other one, whipwick.'

'Horny ain't gonna get to it for a while, the way that spotted bitch got him.'

'Fucking bitch spoiled the whole damn night. Next one won't though.'

'Won't be a next one if we don't find those beacons and whoever came with them. Horny says don't come back without them.'

"Doesn't sound like their women are volunteers," Tor said. He closed his eyes.

"You're not taking Wynne in there." He'd started a second stick, but was no longer carefully threading the meat.

"They won't hurt her," Tor assured him in a voice so cold, Wynne found it frightening. He paused before he continued, impatient, but no longer alarming. "And that meat's already dead. Quit stabbing it. Prop it up here." He toed a rock closer to the fire. "Where'd you leave your pod?"

"On the beach."

"Then they know one of us landed safely. Wynne's beacon is still active. They'll need a boat to locate it and since it's open and empty..." He shrugged. "Mine's disabled. Let's hope they think the worst."

"What are you thinking?"

"That we need to find a way to get you and the princess off this damn rock."

"And what will you do, pirate?"

"Whatever I have to."

"There are at least eight of them counting that Horny bugger."

Mohawk cut another piece of meat from the hunk at his feet before passing Tor's knife back. He popped the raw chunk in his mouth and chewed on it while watching the rest cook.

Tor winced. "It doesn't matter how many there are. They have what's mine. And his name isn't Horny. It's Honarie."

"You know him?"

"Yeah, I know him."

The bony ridges that served as Mohawk's eyebrows rose and connected into a single continuous ridge.

Tor shrugged. "I've done business with his brother, Orax. They stole something from me and now I'm going to get it back."

Chapter 7

Again, Tor's voice was so hard and cold it sent a shiver up Wynne's spine and it made her more confused than ever about who this man was. One minute he was funny and charming, a sexy tease. While he wasn't handsome in the way that First Commander Roark was, he was certainly attractive and his body... Wynne shook her head to set it on another path.

He knew this place and the people Mohawk was talking about and he knew from the moment they landed these people weren't his friends. Were they former fiends? Were these the pirates from the ship, the ones whose uniform he wore?

"This one's mine."

"Fuck you."

"You already did."

Had Tor been rescuing her or claiming her as his part of the prize? She'd thought his 'You already did', was literal, that the reptilian female was a former sexual partner. Bitter blood and all that. Had she let herself be swayed by a charming smile and bedroom eyes?

Fuck was such an odd word and could mean so many things. Odder still was that the Godan used their word in many of the same ways, though the men rarely used it in front of women. Mohawk's mouth wasn't equipped with such a filter except when it came to children. Most of what she knew about alien cursing came from him. So yes, pota or fuck could mean betrayal, too.

"Who are those women? Am I one of them, too?" she asked as she stepped from her listening post.

"Fuck," both men muttered at the same time.

Wynne stood with her arms folded across her chest, staring them down. "That isn't an answer," she said and then tapped her foot impatiently. "I'm waiting."

Mohawk grunted and flung the raw meat into a bush a good twenty feet away.

"How much did you hear?" Tor asked.

"Why? Would it make a difference? Of course it would," she sighed. "I heard all of it and I want to know what's going on."

"Leave it alone, Wynne."

"Whose side are you on, Mohawk?"

"Yours. It's enough that he's going to let you go." He turned the stick threaded with meat. The coals sizzled with the dripping juices.

"And what about the others?" she asked.

"Not my assignment. My job is to get you safely to Mishra."

"Not without those women." She turned to Tor. "That's what this is about, isn't it? That's why you were on the Romer. You were with those..." She waved her hand. "Those pirates or whatever they are. They cut you out of the deal, didn't they? You were after the Brides Brigade and when you couldn't get them, you took me. That's who those women are, Mohawk. Those women he's talking about are the Brides."

"No, they aren't your Brides Brigade." Tor made a wry face at the term. "This was a high risk, high profit haul and Honarie and Orax know the value of a credit. The Brides are worth too much. They wouldn't have pulled this off if they didn't have a buyer on the other end and you can't sell damaged merchandise." His voice was flat, practical, and wrong.

He sounded as if he was talking about cattle, or sheep, or bolts of cloth.

"These are people, not goods." She wouldn't let him reduce those women to the status of cattle or cloth.

"Not to Honarie and Orax," Tor argued back. "Nor is it relevant. Your Brides Brigade isn't here."

"Then who are those women?"

"I think they're part of my crew."

"Your crew?" She was thinking of the female pirate on the ship. "The crew on the Romer?"

"That wasn't my crew."

"Then why were you dressed like them?"

"Because it was a bad idea that got worse." Tor stood and faced her. "Listen to Mohawk, Princess. Stay out of it. I got you here, I'll get you out. The rest of it is none of your concern."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You're alive aren't you? Or don't escape pods, sea monsters, and man-eaters count?" His eyes dropped and he gave her a sexy grin. "Not to mention I behaved myself when I didn't have to," Tor added with a wink.

"Don't think you can flirt your way out of this," she huffed, hands on hips. "I'm well aware that you rescued me and kept me safe, but I have to ask why. There were thirty or forty people trying to get through those doors. Why choose me?"

"As I recall, you were being dragged off at the time. I rescued you."

"No, you claimed me. This one's mine, you said. You thought I was one of the Brides Brigade, didn't you?"

It was a conclusion, not a question, and she was surprised and confused by the pang of hurt that accompanied it. Wynne, the dreamer. She'd allowed herself to believe Tor's rescue of her was somehow special, when it was only a matter of commerce.

"No, I never thought you were one of them. It was obvious that you weren't."

Of course it was and how ironic that the answer she wanted was the one that hurt the most. Those women in the Brides Brigade were beautiful. They were bright and clever and outgoing, and while their clothes weren't much better than Wynne's, they'd chosen pieces that flattered their figures.

"He was watching you before the raid," Mohawk unclenched his teeth enough to mutter. "He didn't board with the raiders. He was already there when we boarded."

Tor looked as surprised as Wynne.

"Why didn't you say something?" she asked.

The old soldier hung his head to hide the color rising in his cheeks. "He was wearing a spacer's uniform with three bars. I thought he was part of the crew and giving you the eye. What was I supposed to say?"

"How about, hey Wynne, that guy over there is giving you the eye."

"Right, and then we could have had tea and painted our nails. When we were done, we could have gossiped about him while I braided your hair." Embarrassment gone, and manhood affronted, he glared at her. "What do you think I am?"

Wynne wasn't sure how to answer that since Mohawk had tea and cookies regularly with eight-year-old Bitsy. He not only allowed her to paint his nails, he let her put bows on his horns, too.

"You still should have told me," she said.

"Why? What would you have done about it? Blushed and run, and then done your best to pretend he wasn't there."

"I would not," she said indignantly.

"You would, too. That's what you always do." He sounded angry.

"I do not!"

"Hmph," he grunted and waved her off with a sharp flick of his hand. "Tell that to Petrarch. He's been following you around with his tongue lapping the ground for months."

"Petrarch is a friend."

"Petrarch doesn't want to be your friend any more than that Zubian over in Supply wants to fill your grocery order. All he wants to do is fill your pot with his own brand of honey."

"Mohawk, that's enough." A glance at Tor who was looking skyward and sucking in his cheeks, told her it was more than enough.

But Mohawk wasn't finished. "I saw him follow you out of the gambling hall. I stayed behind so he could make his move. I was so busy thinking maybe this time you'd take a little fun for yourself that I forgot why I was there. I failed to keep you safe."

Wynne's growing annoyance leaked out with a whoosh. He wasn't angry with her, he was angry with himself, angry and ashamed.

"Oh. My. God. Is that what this is about? This isn't your fault, Mohawk. You couldn't have foreseen this and there's no knowing if we would have made it off that deck in time. You're here protecting me now. That's all that counts."

"Then let me get you out of here and back where you belong."

"I will," she said gently and watched his shoulders relax. "As soon as someone explains to me what's going on. And stop clenching your jaws. It's bad for your teeth."

He didn't unclench his teeth, but spoke through them instead. "All I know is the First Commander is going to put my ass in the trash if I don't get you back fast and in one piece." He gave Tor a chin lift. "She must be talking to you because I don't know a fart from a fan dancer about your shit. So start talking before I regret not killing you in the first place."

Tor spread his hands. "I don't know what you want me to say. Yes, I was on board the Romer II. Yes, I was giving the lady the once over. Why wouldn't I?" He blew out his breath when he saw the disbelieving looks he was getting for his efforts.

"Fine. I'm a simple businessman, a trader. I move cargo from one place to another. I specialize in getting that cargo to places where other traders won't go. My only rule is that I know what I'm carrying. I'll carry anything anywhere, but I have to know the risk involved. If the risk is too high, the deal is off."

"Do you carry people?" Wynne asked cautiously. She wanted him to say no, never. People aren't merchandise.

"The Sky Hawk isn't a passenger vessel, but yes, I occasionally take on passengers if they're headed in the same direction as my cargo. And yes," he paused to give her a significant look, "Once in a while, I'll carry a Bride. It's cheaper to ship them with a load of goods than to hire a private passenger carrier." He shrugged. "Mostly they're a pain in the ass with all the weeping and whining. Not worth the fee to ship them, but it's good for trade. Bring a man his Bride and you've got his business for life."

"Did you ever think that maybe there'd be a lot less weeping and wailing if those poor women weren't shipped against their will?" Wynne asked, outraged on behalf of those unknown Brides.

"Who said anything about it being against their will? They signed up with the bride broker. They made the agreement. They board my ship of their own free will. It's not my fault they all get weak knees when the deal is done. By the time they get where they're going, it's all over, but in the meantime, I'm the one who has to listen to them wail and my crew whine about the wailing."

"Then what about the Brides on the Romer II?" she asked. "They didn't go willingly."

"That wasn't my doing," he said as if he was tired of hearing it. "Orax came to me with a deal to ship a dozen brides. I told him there was no way I'd ship that many. Like I said, the Sky Hawk's not a passenger vessel and shipping Brides is a pain in the ass."

Wynne cocked her head to the side. Chin tucked into her neck, she frowned. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. Her look said it all. Tor threw up his hands.

"All right, I admit it. When he upped his price per head, he caught my interest." Her frown deepened. "Hey, do you know how much it costs to keep a cargo ship in the air? I've got a crew to feed, and I pay them a damn sight more than they're worth. I have docking fees, fuel, maintenance..." he listed, but saw she wasn't buying it. "I backed off when he wouldn't tell me when and where they were to be picked up or delivered."

Wynne nodded, mollified. At least the man had some sort of moral code. "You knew it was illegal," she concluded.

She wasn't sure why she should feel so relieved at this evidence of conscience, but the tenseness between her shoulder blades finally gave way. To hide her relief, she rummaged through the small pile of supplies to find the pouch of protein cakes.

And then he had to go and spoil it by looking at her like she was a kid who didn't understand the facts of life.

"Illegal's never been a problem, Princess, but I won't put my ship or crew out there on any plan that isn't mine." He waited until her frown was back again and fully formed. "And I draw the line at sentient trafficking."

"So you were on the Romer to stop them," she said to lead him in the direction she wanted him to go. For some reason she didn't understand, she needed him to be one of the good guys. He disappointed her again.

"Sorry, Princess, but I'm no hero. I don't give a damn about those Brides. I was on the Romer to get my ship back, maybe find my crew, and get a little payback while I was at it."

Wynne knew he didn't give a damn about the meat, either, but he poked, prodded, and turned the charring sticks, letting the juices flow from top to bottom before putting them back over the fire. A world class chef supervising the cooking of some exotic delicacy couldn't have shown more care and concentration. It was a delaying tactic and she knew it.

She patiently waited it out, never taking her eyes from the squatting figure. It wasn't hard. Stooped low as he was his pants tightened across a pair of very healthy looking thighs. She could almost see the bulging outline of the muscles beneath. No softness there, nor in his backside either. Not too big and not too small, the butt resting on his heals was perfectly tight and perfectly rounded. She wished her sister was here to see it so they could share a good giggle later over a cup of tea.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Mohawk watching her with a sly and lopsided grin. She blushed.

"Good to see you ain't dead," he said in English.

"Aren't," she corrected automatically.

"What?" Tor turned from the fire.

"Ain't is an improper contraction used for am not or are not," she explained. "Mohawk picked it up from the kids."

Tor's brow furrowed. "You've mentioned them before. What kind of goats are these?"

Mohawk snorted and stuck out his tongue, another bad habit learned from the kids.

"Guilty," Wynne laughed. "Kids is an improper word for children. We call it slang."