Chapter 8
Stretched out on the cold floor of his cell, Jaron contemplated his captivity. The days blended together and he lost a little of his hope more and more. No longer sure how much time he spent here, a growing disquiet spread through his gut. The possibility existed that The Collector discovered the tracker in his clothes or disposed of them to the point the locator was out of range. It happened—team members never found or discovered too late.
A simple glance around the room at the cages revealed signs of their captivity from sickly pallor in skin tones to loss of weight and a dimming in their gazes. Making their stay here worse, Dr. Kirkem healed them enough to keep them in decent condition to repeat the cycle over and over. Almost as if he didn’t want them damaged beyond use.
Trying to keep track of the testing was useless. Jaron barely remembered some of his more strenuous visits to the lab. What he did remember with unwanted clarity was the constant threats to the others the doctor made no matter how often Jaron agreed to his experiments.
Part of his oath dictated he protect the innocent and weak. Jaron wanted those in this room to walk out of here alive. But if he had to choose, there was one who Jaron needed to make it out more than the others.
“Jaron.”
He rolled to his back, arms folded behind his head. Sasha was up. “Yes?”
“What’s your family like?”
He risked a glanced to the side and Sasha imitated his pose, their elbows brushing if either of them shifted. Her question caught him off guard. Time here allowed Jaron a chance to learn a bit about of his fellow cell mates. Ari, the blue male alien, missed his life partner and young child. He’d been sold to Dr. Kirkem to pay a debt. Minu never spoke any more and concern if she’d make it taunted him each time she returned from the torture sessions.
Thinking of Luna left a sour taste in his mouth. The Earthling bartered anything for favor and didn’t care. It hadn’t earned her anything more than extra portions of food and two private showers a day instead of one, but she kept pushing. As much as he wished to care for her based on the other females from Earth in his life, he couldn’t.
That left Sasha. They talked about a lot of stuff but none of it as personal as the night he’d described his preferences for kisses. He assumed she’d wanted to create space between them. And it worked to a certain extent. Until now.
“My family?”
She shifted about and her fingers landed on the crease of his elbow closest to her. Electric shocks pulsed from the tip of her fingers and zinged through his chest. Lately, Sasha craved contact. He’d discovered that recently. It shouldn’t surprise him considering her nature. Arak constantly touched those on the team and now with his Chosen, Sylvie, benefited from the affectionate strokes.
“Yes, if it won’t bother you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything.”
She was on edge. Maybe they all were. Regardless, Jaron talked. He spoke about his team mates whom he considered friends. He talked about his family. His maman and three younger sisters. His papan who liked to play pranks on all three of his girls. Jaron talked until he grew hoarse.
“Your family sounds nice,” she whispered when he ran out of things to say. At this point, she’d managed to curl up next to him. If not for the bars, she’d be on top of him, her warm weight a balm to his troubles. The Argoran kitten liked to snuggle, weakening Jaron’s resistance further.
“They are nice.”
Descendant from the original five families to settle on Enotia, his family held a lot of prestige on his home world but never let it go to their heads. Along with their bloodline and heritage came psychic gifts and neither of his parents made Jaron feel the loss of not showing a single ability. Not all families would have been as accepting of his lack considering their lineage for precog.
“What about your family?” He shifted the focus to her.
“I don’t have parents. Well, I did but they weren’t great.” She pointed at a thin scar he’d never noticed on the inner curve of her left thigh. “A gift from the man who sired me when I refused the friend he loaned me to for sex to repay a favor. I was seven.”
Anger coiled inside of him at the harsh treatment she’d suffered. His papan guarded his sisters like precious jewels.
Sasha pointed out another scar, deeper than the other, on her opposite hip. “I earned this beauty from my mother if you want to call her that. I didn’t move fast enough to get out of her way. I think I was sixteen, but it was enough. If I stayed longer I think they would have killed me, so I ran away as soon as I could and basically raised myself.”
No way he could ignore the pain underlying her admission. If Dr. Kirkem watched, he was going to see what they’d worked to hide. Jaron rolled to his side facing her and stretched his hands out to grab her under her arms. Their legs slid through the bars and she moved enough to rest her head on his upper arm. Comfort was all he could offer this woman.
If he gave her his sympathy she’d retreat. Kindness raised her defenses as nothing else could. Jaron squeezed her firm biceps. “I always knew one had to be pretty tough to be a Bounty Retriever.”
Sasha nipped at his arm and Jaron released a belly laugh pretending to pull away. Her claws latched on as she laughed, dispelling the somber moment and he froze. It was the first time he heard the rich notes fully and not muffled as she often did. Her laugh was light and feminine with none of the brashness he expected.
He couldn’t fall for her. He had years of dedicating his life to being a Jutak warrior before he thought about presentation, the Enotian commitment ceremony.
“Bounty Retrievers are just as tough as Jutaks.”
He grunted in doubt. “When we get out of here we’ll put that to the test. My Unit Leader recently had an outdoor training course designed. We’ll see how tough you are then.”
She nuzzled into him, a purr escaping. “You’re pretty certain we’re getting out, huh?”
He rested his chin on the top of her black curls. She smelled sweet, the harsh cleanser unable to dispel or rid her of her natural scent. “Absolutely. Torkel isn’t one to leave a man behind.”
“Nice to have people you can trust and count on.”
Late night talks had revealed that another Bounty Retriever had turned Sasha in to Dr. Kirkem. From the tone she used when discussing it, the betrayal burned. Jaron didn’t have the name, but he planned to help her find him. “You have me, Sasha.”
She stayed silent but when she spoke next his breath caught. “I want to believe you, Jaron.”
***
Sasha tensed awaiting his reaction. Baring a part of her soul went against all of her self-taught survival skills. Trusting others meant opening yourself to betrayal. She had enough of that to last a life time. Yet something about this Jutak warrior tugged at her. Slick as a blade of grass, he broke through her defenses.
“You can.”
As always Jaron surprised her. Instead of teasing or boasting, he continued to stroke her arm, fingers dancing lightly over her skin, his chin brushing the side of her head occasionally. Cuddling. If someone told her how wonderful it felt to cuddle, she might not have kept to herself for as long as she had. Every time Jaron caressed her, it fed her ingrained desire for touch. She’d memorized the scent of him, the husky pleasant aroma beneath the harsh cleanser.
Kneading his stomach and enjoying the sensation of resting against him, Sasha asked, “No jokes?”
“Trust isn’t a laughing matter. It’s a gift and one I assume you don’t give easily.”
Who was this man? “Are you real?”
More laughter. She liked that about him. His easy ability to laugh at himself or their situation while maintaining his belief in their rescue.
His one arm tightened about her shoulder. “I’m very real. If the drugs being pumped into us start you hallucinating, tell me.”
She couldn’t remember laughing this much. He traced his fingers over her smiling lips then cupped her jaw in his hand. Sasha caught them before he could move. Large hands. Jaron’s hands. She liked the look of them from the elongated fingers with the ropey veins along the surface to the rough scrape of his palms and the wide pad of where his thumb met his pointer.
“I like your hands.”
A quick smile. “My hands?”
Sasha stroked her finger over the spaces between each one. “They’re strong and powerful. Useful.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “They do come in handy sometimes.”
“Funny. Not.” Smacking his chest, Sasha forced herself to move away from the security of his embrace. These quiet moments they shared were dangerous. At any time, Dr. Kirkem or the guards would discover their closeness. Once that happened, it would be all too easy to play them against one another.
Before she could settle on the opposite end of the cage, Jaron murmured. “Thank you for your trust, Sasha.”