Page 9 of Seduced By the Alien Mercenary

Chapter 6

Irena

I thought I’d been scared when I’d snuck onto the bridge that morning to eavesdrop. The fear I felt now was ten times stronger, because if they caught me now there would be no excuses. I was literally carrying damning contraband: a stolen tissue regenerator I wasn’t supposed to have. Not my fault they’d forgotten they had a box of them stashed in one corner, but they didn’t care about such details. All they’d care about was that I’d brought it to their prisoner and used it to heal him.

Tucked tightly between crates, in a space I knew neither Xathena nor Dimon could ever fit, I knew I was invisible. I’d had to learn quickly that out here, invisible didn’t mean unfindable. Most of these aliens had senses much sharper than mine: scent, hearing, even sight. It had given me nightmares at first, so bad I’d barely slept a wink until, finally, I’d found that hiding spot I knew none of them could ever reach.

With terror rushing through my veins, I hid, the tray and scanner clutched to my chest. Horror filled me when I realized I’d left the packaging under the cot. If they saw that… they’d know it could only have been me. My thoughts would have continued to spiral deeper into terror, but the sound of Flack’s voice drew me out of it. I had no way to explain why—only that he sounded so calm, so confident, it carried away some of my fear.

What he said… how he sounded… It was so different from how he talked to me. I hadn’t realized just how warm and friendly his tone was, how incredibly gentle, when he talked to me. To Dimon and Xathena, he held nothing back: irreverent, rude, brash. How could one man act like he held all the cards, so cool under fire? It was impressive, which made me think he wasn’t used to feeling small and helpless, powerless.

Then the conversation veered to something that made my breath falter. Fear was instantly forgotten as my senses sharpened on the voices behind the stacks of crates. They were trying to convince Flack to do something, and Dimon talked of slaves. I hadn’t heard it wrong; he’d made it sound like Flack strenuously objected to such a thing.

Then Flack said something I knew he meant for my ears, too: “Run off? No. Rescue a slave? Oh yes, that I intend to do.” He was talking about me. I was the slave he casually said he wanted to rescue, and Dimon didn’t even connect the dots. I wouldn’t have believed it—would’ve considered it another ploy—except that Dimon had said Flack liked to free slaves. It was his word that convinced me.

He probably told you the truth, just not the whole truth. Wasn’t that what Flack had said to me yesterday? Did that mean those horrible, gruesome stories Dimon had told me lacked all context? Probably. Would I still be so horrified if I knew he’d torn a slave owner apart with his bare teeth? Ah, maybe, but the image of a man capable of doing that was still pretty horrible. Just… maybe… ah, fuck, it was kind of comforting to know this guy wanted to rescue me and that he was capable of such a feat. It meant that he really could do what he promised: keep me safe.

They talked of stealing a diamond after that, and some kind of issue with a person named Jalima the pirates owed money to. I listened, hoping Flack would say more things that would convince me he could be trusted. Hope pounded fierce and bright in my chest, freezing me in place. I was anxious to see the pirates leave so I could do something, be part of my own redemption. That started with him, and I knew what to do now.

My legs were cramped, one foot fast asleep, when what felt like hours later I finally crawled out of my hiding spot. I’d waited after they’d left, just to be sure, but they had not returned. It was late again, approaching midnight, and the ship would be falling silent: a Keflo game in the mess hall, others retreating to their bunks, and a skeleton crew on the bridge. With food once again filling me, I was not so sleepy as I usually was at this hour, too wired after what I’d discovered.

I was pretty sure Flack knew I was still there, but he had not called for me. Waiting, I was certain, very patiently for me to make up my mind on my own. He sat in exactly the same position as before, chained to the wall with both hands. His chest was bare, a bandage on his side, one that was no longer bloodstained. My eyes roved over him, taking in his powerful muscles, his ridged abs, and the way his massive thighs were splayed casually. He owned that space, even while he was a prisoner. I could draw only one conclusion, looking at him: if I trusted him, he was definitely man enough to rescue me. That left only one question: did I trust him enough to do it? And there was only one answer to that: what did I have to lose?

I approached his cell slowly, shaking out my sleeping foot as I moved. It tingled fiercely, and I was pretty sure that was the cause of the corner of his mouth tilting up in amusement. Did he get sleeping feet? Wouldn’t his hands be fast asleep, circulation a mess, after holding them up in that awkward position for so long? Perhaps not; perhaps his circulation was more efficient than mine.

“Still here, little one?” he asked when I halted by the door. I hesitated over the pad to unlock it. I could not undo his chains, and tonight there was little I could change. Everything hinged on that injection tomorrow; I was certain of it. I nodded slowly and bit my lip. My cheek felt so much better after I’d used that regenerator that my hand struggled to let it go. I’d slid it back into my pocket when I got out of my hiding place, but left the tray with the other things behind. I’d wanted to keep my hands free, but I’d hampered myself anyway.

“Did you mean it?” I asked. Forcing myself to let go of the regenerator, I clutched the bars with both hands and leaned in. It was warm tonight, which meant they were running the engines hard. Sweat coated the back of my neck and spine, making my dress cling to my body.

“I always mean everything I say,” he drawled. “What in particular are you talking about, sweetheart?” His eyes glinted at me with mirth, and something warm unfurled in my chest. The gentleness was back, his voice tempered to be softer, kinder. He was the same man who talked circles around Dimon and me, but his motivations felt entirely different, and I was beginning to trust they might actually be pure—exactly what he said they were.

“You all but came out and said to Dimon that you wanted to rescue me,” I pointed out. Part of me wondered if that wasn’t dangerous, though the captain hadn’t picked up on it. A bigger part of me simply couldn’t believe I’d have that kind of luck. Everything since waking from stasis had been terrible, horrible; aliens were nothing like what the TV shows I’d loved made them out to be. Not a mix of good and bad, but just plain bad, all of them.

“Dimon knows I’d want to save you, whether I told him that or not, Irena.” Flack shifted on the cot, and though his movements were limited by the chains, it still felt like he was suddenly a lot closer. “I drew the line at slaves five years ago. Rescued the whole hold full of them and nearly blew up the Vidu. That’s why Dimon intends to kill me once I hand him the Verana diamond.” He was chatty tonight, and not talking quite so flirtatiously as before, as if he knew I needed him to be serious to be convinced.

“And you think you can get both of us out of here? Alive?” Unharmed, I wanted to add, but I didn’t even dare to hope for that. Flack’s eyes flared, glowing blue with a fierceness he hadn’t yet aimed my way. It was not the same kind of glow as the one I’d seen when I’d turned him on by accident while cleaning his wound. This was passionate but not inflamed.

“Yes, I can, and I will, Irena,” he swore. I slipped into his cell after that, approaching carefully so I could clean up the packaging from the tissue regenerator and dispose of it. I carefully skirted around him, and he let me, just watching, waiting. He was supposed to look at me like the others did, as if I was ugly, malformed, and contagious. His gaze almost made me feel pretty instead.

My hand touched the scars on my cheeks, wounds that had struggled to close for months. Still there, but not painful now, and not quite so foul.

He was waiting for me when I lifted my gaze to him, his expression still fierce but softened with something that felt caring. “Little one, come here. If you want us to get out, I’m going to need you to give me a shot from an injector I have in my pocket.” He jiggled his leg, and my eyes were drawn to the sleek lines of his body covered in black armor. The way the dark material formed over him like cling film, but offered padding and firmness where it needed it—over his knees, his shins, the sides of his thighs. I saw no obvious pocket, but I moved without thinking toward him anyway.

“Feel around, you’ll find the tab,” he assured me. “They are stimulants that will increase my healing rate. I’ll be better far sooner than they’ll expect.” That sounded great, but did he really expect me to just feel his thigh and find this mysterious pocket? It made heat rise to my cheeks, my stomach twisting. Touch him casually while he was still tied up? It felt naughty, illicit, and I had to scold myself for thinking that way. This was life or death, a simple action that would help us escape. This wasn’t about attraction, and he probably wasn’t even attracted to me. What happened earlier had just been a physical response, a reflex.

I knelt on the floor by his feet, biting my lip as I reached for his leg. I aimed for the most obvious spots first, ones where I’d expect a pocket to be, or seams that might indicate an opening. Nothing, and Flack didn’t help either, just watched me with glowing eyes and a smile curling his sexy mouth like he was enjoying the show. He probably enjoyed the way I was patting his leg, too.

I was getting a little desperate to find this mystery pocket, and bolder as I rushed to get it over with. That big thigh, all tense muscle and implied strength, was a little too tempting to touch. “Ah,” Flack jerked beneath my hand. “A little too far to the left, little one.” My head shot up, eyes widening as embarrassment washed over me. Had I just… touched his cock by accident? Pocket! I just needed to find one stupid pocket!

“Try lower, by my knee,” he said into my shocked face, laughter curling through the air between us. I didn’t think he was laughing at me, but he was definitely amused. My hand tingled, my fingers recalling the shapes I’d touched all too well. Against my will, I was trying to piece together his form—what his cock had felt like beneath my touch—but I was too frazzled for it to make any sense.

Lower, on the outside of his leg, by his knee, there was indeed a pocket. I finally found it when I leaned in closer and studied his pants before touching. Yes, a seam, different from the others, and something tucked into the protective padding that shielded his knees. I drew the injector out with a triumphant smile and a whole lot of relief.

“Good job, clever girl,” Flack said. Back when I was in college and in charge of my dorm floor, that would have pissed me off something fierce. It would have felt patronizing back then, but now? It felt like he was celebrating a win, genuinely pleased I’d found it. When I rose and saw his expression, I was pretty sure he’d enjoyed that entire encounter. It was very, very hard not to look at his crotch and check if he’d gotten hard. Heat stained my cheeks even more fiercely.

I looked at the injector instead, taking off the safety cap and then finding the right button. It wasn’t the same kind of injector as the ones from the Vidu; this was sleeker, smaller, and more modern-looking. “Just aim and press the button. Doesn’t matter where, but close to the wound is good.” I was grateful he said it without me having to ask. I was pretty sure I couldn’t wrap my tongue around actual words right now.

Pressing the injector to his side, I did as he said, sort of hopeful as I raised my eyes to see any changes. There were none, but he looked pleased, and that smirk made my stomach twist. “So…” I whispered, “now what?” I was a bit at a loss, and that damn hope was making me eager to do things now. To get out of here this instant, if only I had the key to his shackles.