Valmoran Space, Anaris Station, The Black Swirl Bordello

  Tor, An Ex-Slave In Hiding

  Tor trailed after Delilah through the dim, burgundy interior of the hallway. The thrumming background music barely masked the inevitable sounds in a bordello. Tor would never get used to it. It was the soundtrack of slavery.

  Sex, sobbing, and screams ...

  The memories clawed at his mind, threatening to drag him back into the darkness.

  He reminded himself that the workers here were not slaves—they chose this profession and could leave here if they wanted to.

  Any discomfort he felt was his problem, not theirs. There was nothing wrong with sex work—those who enslaved and coerced others were the ones with something to be ashamed of.

  And yet, it set him on edge. He couldn’t help remembering the ‘comfort slaves’—a cruel euphemism—on Ioria Prime. They never had a choice. Their hopeless eyes conveyed it more clearly than words ever could.

  It ate at him, the people he hadn’t been able to save.

  Emotion boiled beneath his skin—guilt, fear, rage—so much helpless rage. But he didn’t let it show, never let it show. Tor was a master at hiding his emotions, observing them, naming them, and concealing his thoughts and reactions.

  A mantra drummed into him since childhood.

  Reveal nothing to the masters.

  His vision swam, pulse pounding in his ears. No one deserved to be enslaved. His nails cut into his palms as he balled his four hands into tight fists.

  No one.

  “Tor?” Delilah’s musical voice brimmed with concern. Damn. She had picked up on his sour mood. His control must be slipping.

  He relaxed his fists and cleared his throat. “Sorry. Lost in thought.” He glanced back down the hallway to confirm it was empty, then stepped in front of Delilah and opened the door.

  He scanned the room. One attendant, mixing drinks at the bar. Six off-duty employees lounging on couches by a vidscreen. Four women, two men, all known. This was the only entrance. Safe.

  He stepped to the side so Delilah could enter.

  Her expression said she thought he was being overprotective. He ignored it, as he did every time—it was his job to protect her.

  Tor didn’t mind the employee lounge. Once he checked in, he didn’t need to worry about being recognized or being on high alert for potential threats. He only had to monitor the door.

  “Lila! Get your tight little ass over here—we need you to settle something!” Delilah’s friend, The Loud Woman, waved her over.

  Delilah ran over to sit next to her friends on the couch. Loud Woman and Quiet Girl. Tor headed to the bar to grab her a drink, overseeing both her and the door out of the corner of his eye.

  “Heya, Tor—what can I get you?” Of the three people who worked the employee lounge at night, Tor liked this guy the least. The Pusher.

  “The usual—Talorai Moonset.” He settled himself next to the bar, forcing his posture into something approximating casual. Everyone around here liked to tease him for being ‘too tense.’ Especially The Pusher.

  “And for you?” The Pusher raised an eyebrow in what felt like a challenge.

  Tor ignored it. “Just water, thanks.”

  “Come on—you’re off duty, man. Live a little, I’ve got this great new—”

  “—Just water.”

  “Suit yourself.” The Pusher pulled out a tumbler and set it under the dispenser before turning around to work on Delilah’s drink. Thank the Gods. Water hissed out into the glass.

  It was crazy to think that the water pouring into his glass came from the station’s recycler system, which ran through all the walls. The logistics system shipped it around from ring to ring, section to section, using it to keep the station balanced.

  It was nice, finally having a Hix and being able to learn new things whenever he wanted. Anaris Station was delighted to look things up for him, which was helpful since he still wasn’t a fast reader. Also, Anaris loved to talk about herself.

  A massive AI ran the station. Or maybe Anaris was the AI? Was she the station or the AI? Tor wasn’t sure, but she ran the entire station, and anyone inside could ask her anything using their Hix. She said most people only ever asked for directions. Tor thought she might be lonely.

  He looked her up on the galactic web the other day—it said she wasn’t sentient, just very complex. But when he asked her if she was sentient, she’d responded, “Are you?”

  Kinda hard to argue with that.

  It was a relief to talk to Anaris. At night, when his mind flooded with horrific images, he’d started asking her to explain her systems. It seemed to make her happy, and her soothing voice in his head occupied his mind enough to allow him to fall asleep.

  “Here you go.” The Pusher slid a tumbler of water and a frosty glass of purply-blue liquid to Tor. “You know, you really should learn to have a little fun—”

  “—Thank you.” Tor gave the man a nod, picked up the drinks, and then headed over to give Delilah hers, keeping the door in his line of sight.

  He hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation in the room, but as he approached the couches, he couldn’t help hearing one of the male voices cutting through everyone else’s. The Handsome Man.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “—no way, not risking it. Not seeing any female clients until after mating season is O-VER.”

  “But it hasn’t even started yet,” Delilah said.

  Tor handed over her drink, and she gave him a gracious smile.

  Handsome Man kept talking, arms flailing about as he spoke. He had obviously had plenty to drink tonight.

  “No kids for me—no, thank you—don’t have any parents to pass ’em off to, and not everybody has those cushy Republic benefits to fall back on.” The man cast an accusatory look at Delilah.

  Tor wondered how Delilah would handle this situation. According to her story, she was a Republic citizen who moved to Anaris Station for the excitement of the tourist destination. But he was pretty sure she’d never been to the Republic. He never had, and he was also supposed to be from there.

  “I haven’t spoken to my parents in years.” She replied flatly.

  Bit of a conversation-killer, but effective.

  Handsome Man shrugged it off. “I’m only keeping the clients I’m willing to get shackled to for life.”

  The Loud Woman scoffed. “As if you’re even at risk.”

  Everyone gaped at her.

  “What? We’re all thinking it. How many of us have mated parents?” She raised her eyebrows, looking at each of them. “Any fancy God-touched types in your family tree?”

  Tor watched as each person’s body language broadcast their discomfort.

  “You don’t know anything about me,” the Handsome Man said.

  “Look, all I’m saying is we’re worrying about nothing. Changing how we do business over something that just will not happen is stupid. It’s not like we chose to live on Anaris Station because of our impeccable bloodlines.”

  The Loud Woman’s statement hit Tor like a bucket of ice water.

  The others may not be God-touched, but he most certainly was. Braxtor the Terrible had been famous for it, so Tor made sure everyone thought he was just a nobody. But the truth lurked there, never far from his thoughts.

  He had a high risk of being mated.

  He could not allow it to happen.

  Tor remembered his master’s plan after his mother had ...

  He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories.

  ... how they planned to mate him, then hold his mate as hostage.

  He would need to stop touching people now that mating season was about to start.

  Delilah sat on the couch laughing with the Quiet Girl. Tor suppressed a shudder at the thought of putting her in danger.

  Tor could not—would not—allow anyone to become tied to him. It would mean a fate worse than death. No more gentle touches from Delilah. He was putting a stop to it, no matter how much it might upset her.

  No matter how much he would miss it.

  The Handsome Man turned on the vidscreen and started flipping through his favorite creators.

  “Oh—see if Fashion Diva has something on the newest mating season collections!” The Loud Woman called out.

  Vidscreens held little interest for Tor. Most of what people watched was loud, flashy, and pointless, so he didn’t bother to enhance the flat wall screen with his Hix.

  Most people did—made the images 3D, but he never did—he didn’t want his senses clogged up by things that weren’t even there. Besides, he still wasn’t used to it. Most people grew up with Hix implants and used them for everything.

  The masters never gave them to slaves, didn’t want them learning.

  Tor forced his jaw to relax. That part of his life was over. He was free now.

  “Wait—go back!” The Loud Woman said. “What was that Braxtor one?”

  He tensed, heart racing.

  Tor couldn’t watch this, didn’t want to see it—but he also couldn’t draw attention to himself. No one here had recognized him yet, and they probably wouldn’t. He didn’t act like the psychotic murderer pictured in the vids.

  Living those horrors had been bad enough ... why did everyone keep watching them? It felt like everywhere he turned, people gloried in the carnage of Braxtor the Terrible, the monster with the bounty on his head.

  Bile rose, burning his esophagus.

  “See if you can find the one where he rips that guy’s guts out with his bare hands! I love the feral look he gets when he smears the blood on his face at the end.”

  His throat felt thick, like something was stuck in it. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry as dust. Where had he set his water?

  Tor forced his vision to focus and noticed Delilah. She was watching him, a curiosity burning on her face. He wanted to leave.

  He needed to calm down.

  Suddenly, Delilah downed her entire drink all at once, then shook the empty glass in the air.

  “Tor, darling—be a dear and fetch me a refill?” She smiled as he hurried over to take it. Was that pity in her eyes?

  Right now, he didn’t care—he was grateful for any excuse to put distance between himself and that accusatory vid screen.

  Tor monitored Delilah from the bar while waiting for The Pusher to fix another round of drinks. And tried to block out the vidscreen. He wished he knew how to use his Hix better—there had to be a way to obscure it from view. But he didn’t know how.

  He focused on his breaths, on his heartbeat. Tensed and relaxed each muscle in his body. Reminded himself he was safe. But the past clung to him like a shadow, devastating and horrific.

  The memories of everything they forced him to do flashed through his mind, refusing to be forgotten.

  “—calling him The Liberator, yeah?”

  Tor turned to face The Pusher and realized the man had been speaking to him. How had he missed that? He needed to pay better attention to his surroundings.

  “Sorry, what was that?”

  “I said it’s crazy that everyone’s started calling him The Liberator now.”

  “Who?”

  The Pusher rolled his eyes. “Geez, man—do you live under a rock? Braxtor. Apparently, he’s like this big hero and shit.”

  Tor stared at the man for too long, unable to make sense of what he was hearing. “I, uh ... no, I hadn’t heard that.” He did his best to sound disinterested. “Isn’t he that murderer?”

  The label tasted like ash in his mouth.

  “You really are out of touch—it’s all over the newsvids.” He shook his head, as if it weren’t worth the trouble to explain it to Tor. “Whatever, man—here’s your drinks.”

  Just then, one of the male doormen, Fake Tough Guy—who obviously had no actual fighting experience but pretended he was a badass—stepped into the room.

  “Hey, Delilah, you have a visitor in the main lounge.”

  She pouted at Fake Tough Guy, eyes wide, pink lips glistening in the vidscreen’s light. “But it’s my night off.”

  “I know, I know, but this one says he’s a friend of yours. White hair, brown skin, a bit of a dandy, “ His voice rose at the end, and he raised his eyebrows in question.

  Tor would have frozen in place if he hadn’t already been standing still.

  The room tilted, and he forced his breathing to remain steady. Adrenaline flooded his system, and his mind mapped out the building. Only one exit. He would need to fight his way out.

  No. They couldn’t have found him. Not now.

  Delilah ran over, and then he felt her tugging playfully on his lower arms. “It’s Zeph—it has to be! Oh, I haven’t seen him in ages!”

  Tor blinked, trying to bring his attention back to Delilah’s words, to the enormous grin on her face. Calm. Fear was a useless emotion here.

  He took a deep breath, focusing on her smile, the press of his feet against the ground, and the scent of perfume in the air. It was a little too warm in the room. Glasses clinked as The Pusher gathered them up.

  Tor’s attention snapped into focus. Clarity.

  He forced a casual smile for Delilah though his senses remained on high alert. “You think so? I wonder what he wants?”

  “Let’s go find out!” She wove her fingers between his, leading him towards the door. He looked down at their interlaced hands, remembering his vow to stop touching people.

  Tomorrow. Tor would put an end to it tomorrow.

  Maybe Zeph was here for a visit. That would actually be … fun. He was probably over-reacting.

  Zeph had been the one to unlock his cell door on Ioria Prime and had helped him lead the children back to the ship. Had ensured every child was relocated to an orphanage in the Republic. He was a decent man, from all Tor had seen. Good with the kids, too.

  And not afraid to cause a little mayhem.

  Tor felt a grin creep over his face. They had caused a hell of a lot of mayhem that night on Ioria Prime. It wasn’t enough—not near enough—but it had been a start.

  Trailing after Delilah, he used his free hands to pat himself down, confirming that all of his concealed blades were where they should be. Hopefully, this was just a social visit, but he would never wander into an unknown situation without being prepared for a fight.

  When they reached the door to the main lounge, Tor maneuvered Delilah so she was tucked safely behind him.

  He drew in a steadying breath.

  Steeling himself, he opened the door.