Valmoran Space, Anaris Station, The Black Swirl Bordello

  Tor, An Ex-Slave In Hiding

  Tor stood guard inside the suite door, ensuring Delilah’s safety as she entertained her newest client. Her entertaining room’s elegant colors, lavish bedding, and soft lighting provided a stark contrast to the subtle violence unfolding before him.

  Watching, but trying not to see. Listening, but trying not to hear.

  The musky odor of sweat and cologne mingled with her delicate scent of flowers and sweetness, a jarring contrast that set Tor’s nerves on edge.

  This was different from the rampant prostitution on Ioria Prime. The Black Swirl was a niche bordello on Anaris Station, the most prominent tourist hub in the galaxy. No one here was a slave, but it was still jarring, transitioning from pleasant conversation to watching Delilah like this.

  With some of her regulars, once Tor watched her interact with them, it was enough to stand near the door and listen instead of watching. On those days, he might even use his Hix implant to practice reading while he kept an ear out.

  The interface was still a struggle, and reading was challenging, but he was determined to learn.

  But something about this new client unnerved him, so he was on edge, watching the creep’s every move.

  Tor had good reason to trust his instincts. As a Vraxai—a God-touched Vraxai—he was gifted with intuition. His mind picked up on little things as long as he paid attention.

  Which he always did. Vigilance was his default state. A lifetime of brutal combat training and harsh punishments had honed his vigilance into an instinctual reflex.

  Memories of his past life ignited a tremor of repressed anger in his hands, but he shoved it down, refocusing on his current task—protecting Delilah.

  As he observed them, a knot tightened in his belly, a miserable reminder of his growing affection for her. Getting attached was a dangerous game, but maintaining emotional distance from Delilah was proving impossible.

  There were moments when he almost thought they might be friends … as much as two people could be, while keeping so many secrets.

  She was remarkably coy about her subspecies whenever anyone brought it up, which was often.

  With her striking red hair and skin so pale it was almost translucent—not to mention her strange name—she was mysterious and exotic. Delilah held a particular allure that she shamelessly exploited when wooing patrons into her bed.

  He didn’t dare ask what he most wanted answered—did she remember him from before?

  Long ago, Tor’s former master offered her as a “gift,” which Tor refused, as he had all others. Was it possible he was so unrecognizable in his new life?

  Part of him liked to dream that she secretly knew who he was, and it didn’t matter to her. But it was a fantasy. He struggled to live with the things he had done—how could anyone else see him as anything but a monster?

  Especially someone as gentle as Delilah.

  Tor tensed as the new client snaked his hand up from her hip and grabbed her hair, wrenching her head back and arching her spine at a painful-looking angle. It wasn’t an overt threat, and it wasn’t uncommon for the clients to play a little rough, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

  Violence always put him on edge, but it was becoming unbearable when inflicted on his petite client.

  Tor’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest, his feet involuntarily propelling him forward as the client wrapped his other hand around Delilah’s throat. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to retreat when she carelessly gave the hand signal that she was ok.

  He wished she would take this more seriously, but she seemed almost flippant about her own safety. Maybe because she assumed he would keep her safe, but it couldn’t all be on him—she needed to do her part.

  Tor’s eyes bored into the back of the man’s head, his gaze shifting to scrutinize every twitch of his shoulders and back. He was a coiled spring, ready to unleash his fury at the first sign of real danger. Didn’t she realize how easily that man could end her life with his hands on her throat?

  He repeatedly clenched and unclenched all four fists, reminding himself that Delilah didn’t want his help. She had not been pleased the last time he interrupted after she’d already given the ‘all clear’ signal.

  This part of the job was sheer agony. Somehow, standing back and watching the clients manhandle her was infinitely worse than any torment in the Blood Pits.

  Memories of Ioria Prime flooded him with a furious rush of shame. For the things he had done, for the people he left behind.

  He still didn’t know why he’d been chosen to be liberated, or who orchestrated it. But someone risked sending a smuggler down to that hellhole to free him, then set him up with a cover story here on Anaris Station.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  His new life wasn’t glamorous, but it meant he got paid to use his former skills without having to kill people. For the first time since he was a child, Tor was free—or as free as he could be.

  Freedom was an illusion when he was still hiding, waiting for his mysterious benefactor to call in that life debt.

  And when his past weighed so heavily on his soul.

  The next several minutes felt endless until, finally, Delilah reclined nude on the bed while the client dressed. Tor itched to drape her robe over her exposed skin, but it would be overstepping.

  Delilah, perfectly comfortable in her own skin, crawled forward and kneeled at the foot of the bed, showering the client with affection and sweet nothings. She had a way of making each patron feel like the most important person in existence, as if they meant more to her than anyone else in the galaxy.

  She was a master at her job.

  After what felt like an interminable wait, the man left. Tor fought the urge to slam his fists into the door, instead drawing a deep breath before turning to face Delilah as she lounged on the luxurious bed. The way her eyes moved showed she was engrossed in something on her Hix.

  Gods, he envied her ease with the Hix implant. His former master had never allowed him to have one. Access to the galactic web would have armed the slaves with forbidden knowledge, and the masters couldn’t risk that.

  But he and the others found alternative ways to share information—whispers in the heat of battle, pillow talk with pampered tourists. It had allowed them to piece together a plan. But those plans hadn’t been finished when Zephyr broke him out, and leaving was a choice he still agonized over.

  He’d set their plan in motion too early. Some of the others escaped at the same time he did. At least he and Zephyr had managed to save the children.

  But it hadn’t been enough. Tor slammed those thoughts away. It was done, and now he had to live with it.

  He pressed his eyes shut tight, unsure if he was more irritated with himself or with the woman sprawled naked on the bed. When he spoke, his voice had a grumpier tone than he intended. “No more choking, Delilah.”

  She tore her gaze away from whatever she was doing on her Hix and looked at him, wide-eyed and innocent. “Hmm?”

  He tried to make his voice gentler as he repeated, “No more choking,” although it still came out rougher than he meant.

  She smiled at him and shrugged. “Oh, that? He wasn’t actually choking me, Tor. He was just holding my neck.”

  Delilah swept her hair back and tilted her head from side to side to demonstrate. “See? No marks or anything.”

  Tor shook his head vehemently. “No more neck-holding, then. He could have killed you.”

  And she would have been dead before he could cross the room. He had escaped his old life and was determined never to kill again. Aside from one glaring exception—that monster deserved every bit of retribution Tor planned to unleash. But Delilah needed to understand that some things were too dangerous to allow.

  She pouted and made a dismissive gesture. “Psh ... it’s harmless. Besides, it takes a while to suffocate someone, doesn’t it? I’m sure you would rescue me before it got serious,” she said as she slid off the bed and walked over to retrieve her delicate robe. She turned her back to him while she dressed.

  Tor wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t want to tell her he knew over a dozen techniques the client could have used to kill her in an instant—Tor didn’t want her to fear him. But he also didn’t want to budge on this.

  She turned around, carelessly giving him her back. Her unwavering trust in him was mystifying.

  “Delilah ...”

  “Tor, do you know what it is that I sell here?” she asked, voice contemplative, as she fastened her belt.

  Sex was the obvious answer, but he knew it wasn’t what she meant. “You give people what they want.”

  She turned her head and beamed at him over her shoulder. “You’re so clever, Tor.”

  A warm flush crept into his cheeks at the compliment. No one called him smart, not ever. He wasn’t dumb, just uneducated, and not by choice.

  Delilah continued, “You’re right—I give them what they want, and then ...”

  She turned around, raised her eyebrows, and spoke as if imparting the divine secret of the universe. “... then, I give them what they need, the one thing they need so desperately they won’t even allow themselves to want it.”

  Delilah looked him dead in the eyes and winked. “And then they need me.”

  “But if choking you is what they need, you don’t need them,” Tor protested.

  She waved him off. “Oh, that?—the rough sex is never the part that they need. That’s just what they think they want.”

  “Delilah, please.” He huffed a breath, trying to think of words that might change her mind. “It’s … dangerous.”

  She tilted her head and gave him an indulgent smile. “Oh, fine—you win. Sometimes I forget you’re a gentle giant.”

  His heart clenched, more troublesome affection bubbling up.

  No one had ever called him a ‘gentle giant’ before. He longed to embrace the title, but his past made it seem like an impossible dream.

  “I’ll update my profile to exclude choking—will that satisfy you, Tor?”

  Tor cleared the lump in his throat, then grumbled his approval. “Thanks.”

  Delilah sat down at her vanity, brushing out her long red hair before securing it with some sort of metal comb. All Tor saw was how well it would function as a weapon.

  Gods, he wished he could view the world without his mind always preparing for battle. Why couldn’t he just see a beautiful woman twisting her hair up, exposing her nape … without seeing every vulnerability on her body, every makeshift weapon in the room?

  “Tor, if you keep making me add to my limits, I won’t need a bodyguard anymore.” With a quick glance over her shoulder, she grinned. “And then, who would keep me safe?”

  She had a point. Tor wasn’t sure why she agreed to fulfill such dark requests from her clients. Sure, some clients were almost doting, but the ones who wanted to tie her up or hit her enraged him.

  He wanted to hit back.

  But the idea of her working without a bodyguard was even more disturbing than the thought of her with sleazy clients. The Black Swirl had a certain ambiance of manufactured danger that must appeal to its clientele.

  People who had never known actual danger.

  Delilah sauntered over to the door, slipped her dainty feet into tiny slippers, and reached up to pat him on the cheek. Almost as if Tor was a pet, even as he towered over her.

  He struggled not to lean into her touch, which was soothing and familiar. It was miraculous to have another person approach him without fear. He couldn’t remember anyone touching him so casually since his mother.

  “You take good care of me, Tor,” she said, her warm smile lighting up her eyes.

  He would have stood taller, but didn’t dare move. In that moment, he was the most important person in the universe.

  It was no wonder Delilah’s clients always returned. She was using her charm on him, giving him what he needed, just as she did with the patrons. He knew it. And yet, her easy affection felt so euphoric he didn’t care whether it was genuine.

  Tor remained motionless, savoring every second, wishing the moment would stretch forever. But all too soon, it ended.

  “I don’t have any other appointments today—let’s go downstairs to see who’s hanging out,” she suggested, taking hold of his wrist and tugging him towards the door. He liked it when she treated him like a friend. It was an unfamiliar and not unpleasant feeling.

  But he knew better than to grow too attached. From a tender young age, Tor had learned that everything and everyone he cared about would be used against him as leverage.

  Possessions didn’t matter to him—they’d always been the first things taken when he refused to comply with the masters. So he learned to need little. But people …

  … people had always been his weakness.

  Tor refused to put anyone at risk again. Especially not Delilah.