“Agammo,” she trilled, sounding addled and breathy and stupid all at once. “It’s me.”
Tor folded his arms across his chest.
“Where are you?” The ass’s face vibrated on the holo. “Your father said you went missing, and apparently Spiro is at some base, and his brother is on trial. It’s been ghastly. It’s all over the news.” He glared at her petulantly. “I think I’m coming down with a bug.”
Tor snorted.
She shot him a dark glare over her shoulder.
Assamo stuck out his lower lip. “I’ve had such awful megrims of late. The stress of your disappearance has wreaked havoc on my social life. Reporters are everywhere. They’re calling you ‘the captive bride.’ I’ve done so many interviews, I’ve scarcely slept in days.”
“Oh, Agammo, how perfectly awful for you. I am sorry.”
What did she just apologize for?
Assamo nodded as if he’d consider forgiving her, his little mouth pinching up, tight as an asshole. “Do you have any idea who your captor is?”
Klymeni glanced at Tor uneasily.
He shrugged back, curious to know who this little pisspot thought he was.
“Ex-military,” he continued in a conspiratorial tone, leaning forward and resting his chin on his palm. “He used to run raids on the fringe colonies. Now he takes down the worst murderers and thieves in the universe, runs them to Insuractius. Think about that, Klym. To catch them, he has to be worse than all of them.”
Tor shrugged. That was certainly the reputation that had won so many contracts over the years.
Klymeni glanced his way. “He is rather appalling. It’s true.”
He shrugged, and he’d have sworn a ghost of a smile flickered over her features.
“But he didn’t abduct me. He helped me escape Spiro so I could come back to you.”
Assamo licked his lips. “When are you coming back?”
“That’s just it. I need help. Torum can’t go to Argentus. He’d be arrested.”
“And so he should be.”
Tor pictured a whole clone-army of this little shit coming for him, sausage curls bouncing, and he laughed.
“I thought maybe you could come get me.”
“You want me to leave Argentus?” Assamo’s nose wrinkled.
“I thought you’d come for me.” She looked so eager and hopeful, it pulled at some part of Tor that he’d left back on Vesta ten years ago, some place softer, some place that hadn’t seen blood and misery and guts and learned to expect it. He gritted his teeth.
“Our engagement has been formally terminated by the Bonding Tribunal. You’re officially engaged to Spiro Willo now. They’ve engaged me to your friend Malina. If you need cred, I could send some.”
Her shoulders went rigid, and she touched her fingers to the strand of Argenti pearls around her neck as she always did when she was upset, and Tor had to resist the urge to smack Assamo’s hovering holographic head.
Klymeni brushed at a strand of hair. “Do you want to wed Malina?”
Assamo’s eyes darted at the bindings on her wrists. “Gods, Klym. Is that rope? Has he harmed you?”
She dropped her hands fast. “What? Of course not.”
“I saw it. Klymeni, what is the meaning of that? Good gods, think of your reputation. Has he touched you?”
Her chin came up. “I didn’t ask him to restrain me. Do you want to Bond with Malina?”
Assamo made the weirdest face, open-mouthed, tilted down at the corners, eyebrows raised up to his hairline. It was a face that said he’d never even considered having an opinion in the matter. “It’s not up to me. Our fathers are fighting in the Senate. My father is trying to forge peace with the Allian—”
“So that’s it, then. You’d j—”
Tor had no idea what she was about to say, and he didn’t want to find out. “Enough.” He pushed the button, and Assamo’s holographic head imploded.
Silence surrounded them.
Klymeni sucked in her lower lip.
Tor wasn’t sure what just happened. But he was pretty sure Assamo had been about to shit all over every dream a motherless girl with a loveless father had ever had in her entire life.
She sat there for a long time, staring blankly at the air where the holo had been, her hands clenched in her lap, her lip tucked in. Finally, moving like a robot, she rose from her seat and headed for the passageway.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
She didn’t turn back. “I’d like a few moments to myself, please.”
“Not yet,” he said, feeling an unusual stab of guilt. “We’re lifting off. You need to strap in.”
Her shoulders squared, and she moved slowly back to the seat.
He checked her harness, cinching the straps that went over her shoulders to the one that belted her waist.
The last closure connected over her chest to a strap between her thighs. The dress made it awkward, and she did nothing to help, just sat there, limp and unmoving, and she was sitting on the bottom half of the harness.
He had to ruck her dress up around her thighs, exposing smooth skin, and slide his hand beneath her ass and between her thighs to get to the one she sat on.
For a few scorching seconds, his forearm pressed against the heat of her lower belly. Her eyes flicked to him then, dark gray and sad.
He should probably say something nice and reassuring, but nice and reassuring wasn’t his thing. Never had been.
Instead, he buckled her up, careful not to touch her more than necessary, and took his own seat.
Lift-off was smooth, kicking up a cloud of white dust around the thrusters. Quick and painless, and in seventy-two seconds, they passed into the planet’s stratosphere.
He glanced over at Klymeni.
She’d barely moved.
Her bare legs, honey tan and endless, disappeared into the folded-over tops of his socks, which were stained yellow and brown along the heels and the tops of her toes. Weird, considering how fastidious she usually was. He glanced up at her face and got
