“We’re almost there.” Cody squints at the horizon, in the direction we saw the ship go down. The crash was hard and loud. It shook the ground.

Cody wants to scavenge. I just want to see the aftermath.

I know that ship. I’ve been on that ship. I plan to celebrate its destruction.

“Do you see that? All those little lights?” He points, and when I follow his finger, I see them. At first, I think they’re stars in the distance, lighting up the night sky. But after a couple of seconds, I realize they’re moving.

Shuttles.

“We better hurry.” Cody starts to run toward the wreckage, but I lurch forward and grab his arm. On his own, the idiot would probably march right up to the ship and get shot.

I gesture toward the woods to our east. The cover will make for a safer approach, and we’ll be able to assess the risk from the edge of the tree line.

“Ah. Smart.” Cody heads for the trees and I follow.

Our…association is near its end. His chatter was amusing at first, but now he’s starting to annoy me. And he’s as dim as a busted lightbulb.

We hike through the woods for several minutes, until a strange sound stops me cold. It’s faint, but…distinctive. I grab Cody’s arm to stop him again, then I cup one hand behind my ear. Even he’s smart enough to figure that one out.

“You hear something?”

I nod. Then I listen. It’s a…panting. Fast-paced, like a wounded animal. Or a scared child. Or—

No. It can’t be.

I hold one finger to my lips, then I silently press toward the noise, mentally cursing Cody with every twig that snaps beneath his boot. Then I see a flash of pale skin between some branches. It’s a woman. Alone. She’s not getting fucked. She’s masturbating, leaning up against a tree. Shamelessly. Boldly. Her head is thrown back against the bark. Her hand works furiously in the front of her pants. Her mouth hangs slightly open, each breath puffing out from it in a little cloud, speaking for the effort she’s putting into the act.

She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole fucking life. And she’s also so absorbed in her task that she hasn’t heard our approach.

“Ah...” She sighs as she reaches her release, and my cock twitches in my pants.

“Holy—” Cody breathes, and I elbow him before he can finish the thought. But that knocks him off balance, and he snaps through yet another twig.

The woman looks up. Slowly, her gaze focuses on us as she pulls her hand from her pants. I expect to see terror in her eyes—every woman I’ve ever seen in this place has looked terrified—but she seems…embarrassed.

No, humiliated.

Cody’s talking to her. Saying things I can’t focus on, because I’m busy staring at her. She looks so much like Norah.

Wait. No, she doesn’t. Her hair is longer. Her mouth isn’t as wide. Her nose has this cute upturn to it that Norah’s didn’t have. She doesn’t look anything like Norah, but there’s something in this woman’s eyes, shining in the moonlight, that reminds me of her.

She stands, and now Cody’s stepping on her blanket.

He’s asking me something, but I didn’t hear the question. Because I wasn’t listening. But he’s holding a bottle of— Is that vodka? There’s a ring of plastic at his feet, where he must have dropped it when he unsealed the bottle.

Where the hell did she get vodka? And where did she get those clothes? Station Alpha doesn’t issue…are those athletic pants? I squint into the dark, and too late, I realize she probably thinks I’m staring at her crotch.

Cody’s talking again. He’s using my name again, but I can’t focus on what he’s saying, because I can’t stop staring at the woman. Then he steps in front of me, blocking my view of her face, and I snap out of whatever fog I just spent the past few minutes in.

Cody has the woman trapped against the tree, and her eyes are closed. He’s pawing at her top and she’s crying. Quietly. Those aren’t tears of pain or anger, but of resignation.

He won’t stop, and she knows it. And she won’t fight.

Of course she won’t fight. He’s twice her size. He could kill her with the twitch of one hand.

Now she looks like Norah.

I don’t remember picking up the vodka. I don’t remember swinging the bottle. But suddenly I’m holding it, and it’s dripping blood. Cody is on the ground with a dent in his skull. No, not just a dent. A crack. It’s bleeding heavily.

His brain will swell now, and he’ll die.

I try to feel something about that, because I know I should. But there’s…nothing. Despite having spent the past few weeks with him, I don’t give a shit about Cody.

The woman whimpers, and my focus finds her again. She’s cowering back from me, hunched on the ground at the base of the tree, her breasts still exposed. “Please.” She sniffles, wiping moisture from her cheeks. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just put the bottle down. You can have the vodka. But you don’t have to kill me.”

Kill her? I just killed the guy who tried to rape her. Why would I do that if I—

Oh. I’m still holding the bottle. I’m practically towering over her with it. She thinks I killed Cody so I could take her for myself.

Fuck.

I swing my pack around and fold the flap back, then shove the bottle inside. Payment for services rendered.

Besides, she said I could have it.

Cody’s bag is still on the ground. I kneel to rifle through it, and the woman scoots away from me on her ass, dry leaves rustling beneath her with every movement. She tugs her bra back into place, watching while I take his antibiotics. His water purification tablets. His water-proof matches and three of his six remaining envelopes of food.

I drop the other three on the ground in front of her. She’s going to starve to death here, either way. But that’ll get her through a few days, if she rations.

She stares at the food while I keep digging in the bag. Then she starts to reach for one of the packets, but she stops shy of making contact. “For me? Really?”

I nod. Then I go back to digging.

The woman snatches the packet as if she thinks I’ll change my mind, then she shoves it into her weird leather satchel. The two other envelopes disappear into her bag in short order.

Cody has an almost untouched tube of toothpaste and half a stick of deodorant. I take them both. Then I nudge his bag toward her with my boot.

“For me?” she says again. And again I nod.

“Thank you. Do you know if he has any—”

I turn away from her and head off in the woods, in the direction of the crash. Which she clearly just came from. Where else would she get those clothes? That bag?

“Wait!” she screeches.

I keep going. She’s not Norah.

She’s not my problem.

“Wait! Please! You can’t just leave me here. Please!”

I keep walking, and behind me, I hear her scrambling to gather her things. A minute later, her footsteps crunch through the underbrush after me.

It’s a free planet—kind of. She can go wherever she wants.

“If you’re headed for the crash, let me save you some time and effort—you’ll never get close. Shuttles were already on the scene before I made it into the woods.”

I keep going. I know about the shuttles, but I have to see the blimp, even if only from a distance.

“Seriously. They’ll gun you down if you get close. I’m not going near the wreckage.” She stops walking, and for a minute I think I’ve finally shaken her off. Then she runs after me again. “Why did you do that? I mean, why did you kill that guy, if you don’t…um…want me?”

I stop and look at her. I can’t help it. God, she’s gorgeous. And relentless, now that she doesn’t think I’m going to bash her head in with a bottle of vodka. She doesn’t look like Norah. Yet she reminds me of her.

I want to tell her that I killed Cody because it was the right thing to do. But I’m not sure either part of that is true—that it was right to kill him, or that that’s why I killed him.

I want to tell her that I’m just not that kind of asshole. The raping kind. That is true. But it’s not why I killed Cody.

The truth is that I don’t remember swinging the bottle. I don’t remember what I was thinking. I only remember her face. Her tears. Then his blood.

She’s still staring at me. Waiting for my answer.

I turn and start walking again.

Her frustrated exhalation chases me. Then her footsteps follow. She chatters for another few minutes, prattling on about nothing, and eventually I realize that she’s nervous. And she should be. This is a horrible place for a woman alone. And she’s definitely alone, because she’s certainly not with me.

I don’t need a woman, and I’m not the man she needs. But she does need a man. Any woman here would.

If I knew of a decent one to hand her off to, I would.

That thought surprises me so strongly that I stumble. Then I think it again, and it still feels true. If I knew of someone who wouldn’t hurt her, I’d take her to him.

It’s funny how much you never know about yourself, until the subject comes up.

“You okay?” she asks, and I realize I’ve stopped walking.

I grunt at her, then I push on. And again, she follows.

Minutes later, we come to the edge of the woods, and I stop, still shielded by the foliage. The wreckage is lit up like a fucking birthday party, shuttles circling it, shining down search lights. There’s already a laser wire perimeter. We’re not getting anywhere near that ship. But this is close enough for me to see that it's destroyed. That at least some of the wealthy, sadistic bastards who pay to ride on it might be dead.

I turn to the woman, and I notice that she’s carrying both her satchel and Cody’s bag. I take the bag from her and for a second she resists. So I pull harder, and she finally lets go. She thinks I’m taking it from her, but I’m relieving her of the weight. So she won’t slow me down.

Not that I want her to come with me, but she’s obviously going to.

“So, now what?” she asks. And for a second, all I can do is stare at her. I have no idea what to do with her. She’s like a puppy that won’t quit following me, and the only way to get rid of a puppy is to kick it.

I’m not going to kick her. Nor would I kick a damn dog.

“Do you…um… Do you know of a place to stay?” She shifts her weight onto her other foot and suddenly looks…uncomfortable. She seems to think that if she sleeps with me, I’ll let her hang around. And feed her. That’s usually how it goes around here. But I’m not going to use her. “I mean, do you have a…home?”

Home.

I haven’t had a home in years. Not since—

But she’s not really asking about a home. She’s talking about shelter.

I have a place. But it’s small, and it’s my place. And we can’t get there tonight anyway, so I turn and head back into the woods. The woman follows me, but she’s quiet now.

It takes me nearly half an hour to find a proper clearing. Someplace open enough to safely build a fire. When I finally find one, I drop both bags on the ground and start gathering wood.

The woman watches me, but she looks distracted. Like she hasn’t even noticed what I’m doing. I grunt at her, and she looks up. I wave a branch between us, then point it at the pile I’ve gathered.

“Oh. Sorry. Yeah, so, just any branch? I’ve never built a fire. I assume this is for a fire?”

I nod and go back to work, but I can hear her behind me, gathering wood just outside the clearing. She comes back with an armful, and I use one of the larger ones to clear dead leaves away from a spot on the ground. Then I start building a campfire.

It only takes a few minutes, thanks to Cody’s waterproof matches, and a few minutes after that, the small blaze is crackling nicely. Yet the woman is standing too far away to feel the warmth. She must be cold, but she’s not shivering. And her face looks flushed, but she’s not close enough for that to be from the fire. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, glistening in the flickering glow. She looks…miserable.

I have no idea what’s wrong with her, and though she’s commented on every fucking twig she stepped on while we were walking, she’s oddly silent about whatever’s bothering her now.

Maybe she’s still scared of me. But that’s on her. I haven’t lifted a single finger against her.

I sweep another spot of ground bare, then I take a seat in front of the fire. The woman sets her satchel down a few feet away from me. A groan slips through her lips as she settles onto the ground, and her eyes widen, as if the sound embarrasses her. Is she hurt? She sits with her knees tucked up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, but her knuckles are white with tension.

Something is wrong with her. She’s still sweating. And her posture is stiff. She’s…sick. Or something.

“You don’t talk, do you?” she finally says, and I wonder how long ago she figured that out. “Why not? Or is that rude to ask? I’m sorry. I should have thought about that before I said it.”

After a moment, I slide my hand over my scalp and lift a section of hair to show her the scar.

“Oh my god.” She scoots closer for a better look. “How did that not kill you? Did it happen in the ring? The man with the cleft chin said you were a fighter.”

I shake my head. Then I nod. I have no idea whether she knows which questions I’m answering. Nor am I sure why I bothered.

“So, it’s brain damage, then?”

I bristle over the phrase, accurate though it is.

“Sorry. I’m saying this all wrong. I mean, there’s clearly nothing wrong with your mind. With your…intellect,” she says, and I can only grunt in the affirmative. “And I don’t think it’s your voice, because I’ve heard you make sounds. You actually grunt quite a bit. So the problem must be in the…signals? From your brain?”

I nod. I can’t explain to her about traumatic brain injury, or about how it happened before I got to Rhodon. After I was a soldier and before I was a gladiator. I can't tell her that this injury ultimately brought me here, nor can I tell her about the motor function I lost. I can’t explain that my mouth no longer remembers how to form words, though I can think them all day long. And I can’t explain how very cruel a curse that is, when my teeth still know how to chew and my throat still knows how to swallow.

The doctor said I was lucky that the damage was so localized. That hardly ever happens.

The doctor wouldn’t know good luck if it bashed him in the skull.

“I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine.” The woman exhales slowly, and the sound draws my gaze. There are tears in her eyes again. “There’s something wrong with me too. Wait, that came out wrong. I mean, I have a problem. It’s only temporary, but it’s…excruciating.”

I keep watching her. Waiting for more.

“I…They gave me something. On the blimp. A drug. It was a…stimulant. The side-effects are… Well, they’re not really side effects. They’re more like main effects. And they’re going to last for several more hours. I know, because they did this to me last night too.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not expressing myself very clearly. I’m not in the best shape right now, and this is pretty much the most humiliating thing I’ve ever had to explain. But…remember when you found me? What I was doing?”

I will never forget that moment. But I only nod.

“That wasn’t for shits and grins. It’s because of that drug. It’s very strong, and I can’t... I mean...” She clears her throat and starts over. Her eyes are full of tears again, glimmering in the firelight. “I’m trying really hard not to embarrass myself right now. But I’m going to have to touch myself again, and I… Well, I guess I just don’t want you to think I’m trying to tempt you, or something. I get that you don’t want me. I swear that’s not what this is about.”

Oh my god. They gave her Nympho. That shit got passed around at parties when I was a kid. A low dose will keep you in the mood for a couple of hours, but she was clearly given way too much.

She’s a prostitute.

No, she’s a prisoner. “Prostitute” implies consent. This poor woman is a fuck-toy rented out by the hour. On the blimp, evidently.

“So maybe you could just…turn around? And plug your ears? Wait, never mind. This is your campsite. I’ll just…I’ll go find another tree to lean against. But it would be really great if you were still here when I got back. I promise I’ll shut up and give you some peace.”

The woman stands and dusts dirt from the back of her pants. Then she reaches for her satchel, but I’m faster. I snag the little blanket she’s draped over it and give it a quick shake to knock off any dirt or leaves clinging to it. She watches, confused, while I spread the blanket on the ground. Then I lie down on it, on my back. And I wave her forward, hoping she understands this is an offer. Not an order.

There's no circle around the prisoner number on her hand. She's clean, and so am I.

She frowns at me, uncomprehending. So I unbutton my pants. Then I fold my hands behind my head, trying to signal that I won’t touch her. That she can take what she needs, on her own terms.

That I won’t hurt her.

And finally, she understands. “You…? Are you sure you don’t mind?”

She’s gorgeous. And she literally needs to be fucked. Hell no, I don’t mind. But as she moves hesitantly toward me, I have to admit that that’s not what this is.

I took that drug once, when I was a kid. Voluntarily. I was hard for two solid hours. Long after my date had gone home. And jacking off was a temporary reprieve. For someone to do that to her, just keep her willing…

That shit will keep her body ready, but it won’t make her want what she needs. Or the people waiting to take it. Nympho will make her physically enjoy her own rape. Over and over. While she’s screaming on the inside.

That’s the worst kind of mindfuck. It’s psycho-sexual torture.

And whoever “they” are, they did it to her last night too. If I were her, I’d be out for blood.

“I think it’ll be fast. But you really don’t have to…” She’s still holding her bag. “I mean, I’ll be fine on my own.”

I wave her forward again. Then I tuck my hand behind my head again.

“Okay then. Thank you. Are you…clean?” she asks, and I nod, but she’s already digging in her bag. “I think I saw some…” she pulls out a condom packet with a triumphant look. “Would you mind? I’m clean too, but just in case?”

I hold my hand out, and she drops the packet onto my palm. Without touching me.

While she steps out of her pants—I don’t let myself look—I push mine down to my thighs and roll the condom on. I’m already rock hard.

“Okay, then, I’m just going to…” She frowns and tilts her head, backlit by the crackling fire. “Are you sure about this? I feel bad for even asking.” But she’s not asking. I’m offering. So I fold my hands beneath my head again and wait.

This is up to her.

Finally, she lowers herself onto my thighs. Her weight is a delicate torment. Her skin is scalding. They gave her way too much. Bastards. She must be miserable.

Slowly, she slides forward, lifting herself onto her knees, and I hold my breath in anticipation. Trying to remind myself that this isn’t for me. And it isn’t because she looks like Norah.

She doesn’t look like Norah.

“Okay, here goes.” She gives me a nervous smile as she grips my cock way too gently, and I groan. I can’t help it. I haven’t been touched by a hand that wasn’t my own in months and being pawed by women on the blimp doesn't count. The woman lowers herself onto me, enveloping me in that tight, scalding heat, and my groan becomes a desperate sound rumbling from the back of my throat.

I have to clench my intertwined fingers beneath my head to keep from reaching for her. I need to touch her.

She begins to move, sliding up and down on my cock, grinding herself against me, and the moan that slides free from her lips could easily have come from my own. “Oh my god. Thank you for this. You must be a saint.”

I laugh. That’s me. Saint Barrett. Always willing to take one for the team.

Except that I’m not. I don’t have a team. I don’t need a team. And this suddenly feels less like I’m doing her a favor than like I’m doing myself one. But I can’t ask her to stop, just because I’m enjoying myself.

“I’m Mallory, by the way.” She stops moving, her gaze caught on mine. “I thought that might make this less awkward. If you knew my name. But that isn’t working, because I’m still basically using you, and I know how that—”

I buck up into her, and she groans as she falls forward, catching herself against my chest. Then she starts moving again, and her body is already clenching around me, her hands clutching at my shirt. Her eyes are closed, like she’s lost in another world, and that’s fine with me, because now I can just watch her.

Mallory. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. And she smells amazing. I don’t understand how she survived the crash, or how she got out of the wreckage, and I can’t concentrate on all the things I don’t know about her because she’s like a dirty pogo stick, bouncing around on my cock as if she’d break it off and take it with her, if she could. And I’d agree to that—I’d agree to any fucking thing—if she keeps that up for one…more…

“Oh, god!” she screams as she comes, her tight little pussy squeezing me like a blood pressure cuff with an ax to grind, and I explode inside her. I come so hard the whole damn world goes dark for a second. All of existence narrows into nothing but the feeling of her clenching around me as I shoot into that fucking condom, surrounded by the soft, tight heat of her body.

When I finally come back to myself, I’m surprised to realize I’m gripping her poor hips hard enough to bruise.

She hasn’t noticed that either. She’s still grinding away on my cock, and I think that means the greedy little devil is going for seconds. Which is fine, because I’m still hard, so I relax and watch her.

She is stunning, lost in her own need. Taking what some sick bastard forced on her and claiming it for herself.

“Ah!” she cries, as she gets close again, and I toss my hips up beneath her, giving her more friction. “Oh, fuck!” she shouts as she grinds into me, hands clutching my shoulders, her long hair brushing my face. Her cheeks are pink with her effort, her skin glowing in the firelight as she comes. Again.

She opens her eyes and looks down at me as she goes still. I want to tell her how beautiful she is. How strong she must be, after what she’s clearly been through. But I literally don’t have the words.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…keep going. I couldn’t help it.” Her face is beet red now. She’s embarrassed.

No, she’s scared. Of me. Of my reaction.

I can’t tell her not to be. So I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear. Then I lift her off my cock and set her on the blanket.

This woman could easily be the death of me.