“Down. On the ground, girl.” Ryke watched her drop obediently – entertained by that, if by nothing else. Sweat trickled from beneath her collar, her skin flushed from the orgasm.
The pleasure he’d gained watching her arch and come...
“One of you can have the leash. She likes running. The other gets the accuator control. Want it?”
“Sure.”
He tossed the control, leaned over her and opened her crotch zip to its fullest extent.
“Be my guests. Come in her if you want. They don’t get pregnant or our diseases.”
He cut back his scowl to a barely there grimace as the one called Tre pulled out his dick, walking up behind Gio and preparing to fuck her.
There’d been no signs of anyone trailing them until now. These two seemed privately employed guards. Someone rich who was not going through Lawgiver channels was looking for Gio, someone with power and influence. Tre and Druig’s heads were shaved both sides but on one side of each man’s scalp, a symbol was carved into the shallow hair. An O perhaps, with a red-dyed R inside. He knew of only one man, one house that might have that symbol – House Ormrad.
Judge damn Ormrad.
As King’s Own Lawgiver, he had dispensation to do almost anything to anyone providing it could be kept quiet, and Gyle always helped to ensure that. The judge was probably why Gyle was nervous. King in Waiting, or one of, and the early, oncoming Gathering meant the political pressure was rising. No one wanted to step on the toes of the next potential king.
Judge fucking Ormrad.
Parading Gio on a leash had been sure to attract attention, but no one would touch her while he clearly owned her, and they’d all be too busy drooling over her body to notice the mask. He’d dangled bait before their eyes while concealing what was important.
The power inherent in having Gio at his feet in public was far headier than having her there in private. It steamed off Ryke, as if his feet and cock sucked power from the floor. He radiated dominance and could live off the energy for a week.
If he’d made a mistake in setting this up, he’d accept the penalty and, if the clock was rewound? If the past was now? He’d do it again.
He couldn’t have known making a woman submit like this would be so alluring. Being an Underdecker had robbed him of courtship rituals. Young and brought from the Underdeck for military service, he’d lived battles, violence, and a tenuous solidarity with the other soldiers. Half of the men had been scared he’d infect them with something. Gyle had raised him high as a reward for his deeds, but in doing so, he’d also harmed him.
No one except the whores would accept an Underdecker as their man. He let his fingers trail where the blue sometimes showed in his scars and swung his attention to the guards.
Kill them and he’d be running with Gio, would have to find cover and a way back to his rooms that was outside surveillance. Don’t kill them and once they saw she was human – chaos.
Quietly, he brought the bag to his lap, snuggled his hand onto the grip of his Allod 51 – quiet mode, with twenty rounds of shoom-adapted bullets in the magazine. He aimed through the bag. Who first? Tre or Druig?
And when?
Druig held the accuator controls. Tre had lost his clinical dedication to duty. From his lustful expression, he was close to coming before he even touched her. He lowered himself to his knees behind her, grasped his cock and squeezed it. Nothing mattered to him anymore except the cunt he’d zeroed in on.
He would’ve shot them immediately but in the distance, beyond the end of the alley, two more Omrad guards strolled. His gun was silent but not invisible. The men would make noises as they died and fell. Movement drew the eye.
His client waited, head down. Tre parted her ass cheeks.
Gio wasn’t loving this. Neither was he.
If he waited they’d pass by. It’d be safer, though Tre would get to fuck her. Not a problem, surely, at all. Just a client with another man fucking her.
Druig clicked the control and Gio squealed and arched again, head thrown back in instant ecstasy. He’d swear he saw liquid squirt from her, spraying over the Tre’s cock.
Wait.
He should wait. Another twenty seconds and the others would be gone.
Tre swung back his hips, ready to thrust inside.
In that heart-punching moment, Ryke knew he’d never let another man in her.
The first bullet tore through Tre’s throat; the second punched a sizzling blue hole in his forehead. Before he could collapse, another two thumped into Druig’s chest and head. Both men crumpled. The accuator switched off and Gio plummeted into the dirt with a stifled grunt as the air left her chest. Her arms and legs twitched spasmodically for a few seconds.
In some women, that setting fogged the mind. The accuator was addictive too.
“Fuck...fffuck. More?” He heard her raspy whisper before he clamped his hand over her mask.
The other two guards turned at the small commotion, peering into the alley. Little noise had been made but the movement would’ve triggered them.
They ran in, drawing their guns and he shot them both, watched them topple and roll, skidding forward on their face and back.
Voices were raised out there, in the crowd. They’d been spotted.
He aimed precisely. Another shot in each man’s brain to be sure of death, then he reached down to Gio, dragged her upright.
The back of the alley was adjacent to the landship’s skin, the armored lower hull. It was a dead area, unlighted, littered with junk and bins, and would interconnect to the back of this whole market. It was the perfect way to get to where he needed to be – the Underdeck.
Nowhere else would let him hide so readily, because almost no one ever went to the Underdeck voluntarily. The nearest hatch was at the edge of the market’s dead area.
More shouts said someone was alerting others and likely heading this way.
“Quick.” He ripped the mouth cover away – she needed ample air to run – tugged on the leash, and barked, “Run if you want to live!”
The forgotten people lived in the Underdeck and they never left except for mandatory military service. After that you were returned to your place of origin with little or no public thanks. A certificate, a medal, a once-a-year ceremony, some fancy gourmet beverages sent down for veterans. You died there. Except for him. He, Ryke, had found the one way out.
Of course, they were the heroes of the swathe. They were also the untouchables. Now, he was going back.
They pattered along, dodging obstructions, scattering debris with their feet. When she yelped and began limping, he wished he’d given her sturdy shoes.
“Move!” He snapped the leash, sent it jerking like a snake.
She shot him a sideways glare but her pace increased.
Go. Go Go. He slid around the last curve, leaped a crate with Gio in synchrony and kicked away the sodden paper and rusted cans disguising the hatch. Metal rattled hollowly. If they were seen entering this, things would go badly.
The rust-brown engraving in the floor in the middle of a circle was all that would remind anyone who knew of these as to what they were – emergency hatches into a place for the condemned.
He went to his knees and pressed his palm to the center. Seconds passed. Nothing lit up, nothing gave away that he’d unlocked it, except for a solid click. Inside the hatch was a mechling brain that stayed dormant until someone awoke it.
“Hello, old friend,” he murmured as the hatch spun, whirring. When it ceased to spin, he grabbed the now-visible handle and hauled it upward, swinging it on the large hinge and revealing an opening. The rungs of a metal ladder led into darkness.
“Come.” Again he tugged her leash.
Wide of eye, mouth parted, she clicked her tongue then turned and wriggled into the hole until her feet found the ladder.
The sounds of pursuit were still distant. They’d make it.
He stopped her and unclicked the leash from her neck, tucked it into his coat, then followed her in.
“Close now,” he whispered.
The hatch closed silently, spun again a few inches above him, then locked with three final clicks. Soft light sprang on, showing Gio below him, paused white-knuckled, hands wrapped over the rung.
The ladder continued down another thirty yards or so. They’d built in a safety zone between the lower decks and the Underdeck. Just in case something bad happened, like the engine cores exploding.
Wise, he supposed, and yet another way to emphasize the differences between below and above. He didn’t want to have to stay here. He had concerns if he returned above also.
Every king had his own lawgiver and no one had ever told him what became of the old one. His best guess? Continue on if you were good enough, be killed if you were not, or if you’d angered the new king.
If Ormrad found out Ryke had killed four of his men and escaped with the woman they sought, he’d be angry. He might be the next king.
Problem.
“Go down,” he instructed. “All the way to the end.”
Once a year he came back, visited. He became Ryke the Underdecker. These weren’t sentimental or ornamental visits. He did it because he needed to. Descending to the Underdeck brought him to the old world, where things were cleaner, clearer of purpose. He came closer to being the man he could be proud of.
Last time his brother had been heading for the top of the heap – Overmekker of the UD. Death and frailness brought the leaders down faster than up above. The King often ruled for decades. Here you died fast, lived fast. He wondered if his brother was still alive. Soon, he’d know.
The biggest personal and current problem Ryke had with the Underdeck was a very big one. Slaves weren’t allowed. The duties were too crucial for the landship to allow slaves to handle the work. And so, theoretically, they’d want to kill Gio or send her back up. If he gave way at all, he would lose her to protocol. Therefore, he must be firm. Only his unacknowledged King’s Own Lawgiver authority could give him an edge over the law and the duty of the Underdeck. Proving who he was might be difficult, since even his brother didn’t know what he did above. He had one good idea, a little unorthodox but unorthodoxy was an essential part of his job.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the stiffness where the KOL sigil was implanted in his palm.
Down below you lived for the rules, you died for the rules. Even the rebel followers of the Aerthe Prophecy knew this. Only here could you rebel and still want to obey.
He smiled grimly. His mother would’ve been proud of the religion her death had triggered.