The speculation in On Aurelians was that Bonded triads possessed some means of telepathic communication – transmitting their voice into the minds of their battle-brothers like a radio.
Not good.
That’s another advantage they have over me – not just their ruthless nature, massive strength, and all these resources to rent penthouses and hire shuttles. It seems fate is against me – but I won’t give up. I learned that much from my father. If he’d have given up searching for his fortune, we might not be in this mess right now – but as he always likes to say to me: “It’s better to choke on greatness than nibble on mediocrity.”
My memory recalls the vivid vision of Brennan’s pants, straining to contain his raging erection.
I can only hope greatness is the only thing I’ll be choking on.
Suddenly, Brennan grabs my arm harder, and I flinch. My stomach lurches as the ship swoops downward, and then I feel the lurch as the air brakes kick in. The shuttle touches down with a jolt. Where? I have no idea.
The doors hiss open, and I breathe in through my nose. I’m greeted by a hot, metallic smell.
An industrial area? Think back to your studies.
I’ve read that iron and gas from the south industrial district causes a strong metallic smell. That sector was booming twenty years ago. Now, it’s fallen on hard times.
Hard times means abandoned buildings – and that suggests these Aurelians have taken me to some old factory or refinery there, far from the populated city center.
Out in the industrial area? The chance of rescue is non-existent. My father will never find me. I’ll need to rely on my own wits to escape.
I’m helped out of the shuttle and to the ground. I shiver, feeling the cool breeze around me.
“Lazar.” Brennan’s voice. The leader is speaking. “Take the ship back. You’re sure you can wipe the logs?”
“Of course. This one’s running T-30. It’s got vulnerabilities like you wouldn’t believe.”
Lazar. The third Aurelian. He’s the one with the buzz-cut – the warrior who seems to travel everywhere with that high-powered rifle slung across his back.
He’s good with computers. The confidence in Lazar’s voice suggests he’s an expert. He’d have to be, to wipe the positioning logs of a rented shuttle – even one as old as this one.
It shouldn’t technically be possible – but, then again, it shouldn’t have been technically possible to get past an entire army of Sentinels, either. Lazar must have found a vulnerability in my father’s robotic sentries, just like he’s found a vulnerability in the GPS logs of the rented shuttle.
It’s ironic – my father never trusted humans to guard us, other than Gerard. He always argued that the one element of risk you couldn’t eliminate was the human element – that of greed, or lust, of cowardice. Sentinels couldn’t be bribed, or seduced, or frightened…
…but they could be deactivated, apparently.
My father’s distrust has cost us dearly.
As I stand there, shivering, I feel Brennan’s presence next to me. It’s almost reassuring – his huge, warm bulk. It feels ridiculous to think that way – he’s my kidnapper, after all – but there’s just something about the huge, muscular Aurelian I found more intoxicating than my own fear.
I’m still blindfolded, but I can hear the Aurelians unloading things from the rented shuttle. Otho and Lazar must be unloading... what?
From the sound of the heavy thuds, it’s a big store of supply crates. That means they’re settling in for the long haul. These five-hundred-pound warriors must eat a ton of food – their bodies are almost entirely muscle.
I stand there and listen intently. I can hear the heavy footsteps of the Aurelians grabbing the supply crates and making a trip to wherever they’re setting up a base here.
Wherever ‘here’ is.
I don’t know if it’s a minute later, or ten – because my sense of time is skewed. Without a clock to look at, or the position of the sun in the smog-filled sky, I can’t keep track of the time except in my own head. I’m not even allowed to talk.
I’m utterly helpless – blindfolded, with my hands cuffed behind my back.
The engine of the ship rumbles, and I feel the buffet of the hot air on my face. Lazar must be taking the vessel back to the hotel.
“Walk.”
Brennan’s voice is an order, not to be refused. His hand lowers, running down the curve of my spine to rest right above my ass. Like that, he nudges me forward. I have no choice but to obey. If I don’t, I know how strong he is. He could just fling me over his back and carry me, like he did before.
Would he spank me for disobeying him before, or after?
“It’s too dangerous for her to walk,” says Otho. He’s apparently returned from running the supplies to wherever we’re supposed to be hiding out. “There are fucking metal rods and pointy shit all over the place on the way there.”
Otho’s the most vulgar of the three – a rare trait for the poised, noble, haughty Aurelian species.
But I’ll take it. His words offer my opportunity to get this Gods-damned blindfold off. I’ll risk asking them to remove it, so I can at least watch my footing as I walk to wherever they’re taking me.
Before I can ask, though, Brennan finds a different solution.
I yelp as I’m scooped up and thrown over Brennan’s huge shoulder.
It’s as if I’m weightless. I feel so tiny, slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. It’s humiliating.
Brennan’s hand rests distractingly close to my ass as he carries me. I hear his combat boots clunking against a hard floor beneath us.
I try to keep my rising panic down and think critically. A hard floor? That must be concrete. The rust and metal smells gets stronger, and I remember Otho’s warning about ‘metal rods and pointy shit.’
I realize my guess must be correct – we’re
