Page 7 of Gladiators of the Vagabond Boxset

Jasmin

I was trembling with rage. Okay, I was trembling from pain, too, but I was ignoring that. That rat bastard had sold me, sold me. Like I was a commodity. And now he was planning on getting himself a pilot and flying off with my ship. I was so beyond furious, I couldn’t even form words.

They had slapped a collar around my neck at the earliest opportunity, a pain collar.

I knew what it was, what it was meant to do, but I’d fought anyway, daring them to flip it on.

I was so angry that I didn’t even care. Okar flying off with my Bev?

After everything she and I had been through?

Selling me to be some rich bastard’s sex slave?

Because he’d never had the novelty of screwing a human?

Damn them all. I didn’t know enough curse words to adequately describe how I felt, but I’d certainly done my best earlier.

Once the collar was on, though, they’d turned it on for a good minute, laughing as they watched me flop around on the ground in pain like a fish out of water.

Weak as a newborn kitten, they’d dragged me down this dank corridor lined with cells and thrown me into a dark one all the way at the end.

This was the bottom level, deep in the ground, where I was guessing the least desirable slaves were thrown. This place was miserable.

I’d only been lying on my earth-packed floor, panting through the last vestiges of pain, for a few minutes when I heard new footsteps.

The meager lights in the corridor allowed me to see that a handful of males were led in, prodded along by two warty-skinned males.

I swear, those were some of the ugliest aliens I’d ever seen.

Krektar were just terrible to look at, terrible in character, too. They were often slavers or mercenaries.

One by one, the males were being locked up in cells just like my own—until the last one reached the cell next to mine.

This male was a Pretorian; I knew because he had four arms and distinct red skin with bright green freckles across his cheeks.

He didn’t look at me as he stepped into his own cell, a pain-collar snug around his thick neck.

Even in this light, I could see the rippling washboard abs and the thick biceps on all four of his arms. His tree-trunk thighs were on full display because all he wore was a tiny loincloth.

I shivered, forcing myself to close my eyes and look away from him.

I’d gone down this road one too many times.

Didn’t my last misjudgment in pretty men lead me here?

Stuck in this damn cell? Still, I could see that sharp jawline with the black stubble even with my eyes closed.

Just like I could vividly recall the short black hair, the gorgeous silver eyes, and the many scars that covered his torso.

Rolling to my side, I made myself get to my hands and knees.

I choked back a groan as I did so, feeling every one of my thirty-eight years as I scrambled to my feet.

The bunk against the back wall was pretty disgusting, but it beat the even more disgusting floor.

Sitting down on it, I pulled up my legs and huddled into myself for warmth.

This dank, subterranean cell block was cold and musty; my flight suit was not up to the task of retaining my body heat.

I needed to figure out how to get this pain collar off my neck and get myself out of this cell.

I’d heard the lewd jokes as I did my impression of a fish, I was supposed to end up in Drameil’s harem.

No, just NO. I was not going to be a sex slave to some rich asshole; I’d rather die.

I’d done a runner from Earth’s Alpha Quadrant when the UAR tried to sell me to some rich alien bloke—a common shady practice that crooked UAR officers used to line their own pockets.

I’d crossed the wrong superior, and bye-bye fancy piloting career.

So no, after I’d escaped from that, I was not going to end up in something similar over here in the Zeta Quadrant. I’d only been here a few months, and I was determined this wasn’t the last I’d be seeing of this place.

My thoughts were interrupted when a guard walked by and tossed a ration bar and a bottle of water into my cell, doing his final rounds of feeding us poor sods down here in the dark.

Once he was gone, though, the atmosphere changed quite a lot.

I could instantly sense that the males in their cells to my left were all more relaxed.

I could hear some chatter from a few of them, swapping training advice and sharing stories.

The male directly on my left—my neighbor, so to speak—rustled as he moved his huge body off his bunk.

Then he walked my way and sat down with his back against the side of my cell.

Now I could see the many marks on his deep, dark red skin.

He was colored much like a fine wine, his scars like silver stripes.

I could also see how slender his waist was and how wide his two sets of shoulders were, stacked above each other.

This male was just so fine. I was pathetic.

I’d sworn off men; I shouldn’t be lusting over the slave next door.

“Are you all right, female?” he asked me, his voice a soothing rumble.

It was pitched low, so I doubted the others in the cells could hear.

That made it intimate, that rumble evoking bedroom thoughts without my permission.

Shrugging, I forced myself to respond casually, as if I weren’t affected by him. “Absolutely dandy.”

He tilted his head to the side and back.

Now, I could see one of his silver eyes and the dots that covered his left cheek.

They weren’t so brightly green now, more a soft, muted orange, I noted with surprise.

I couldn’t recall if Pretorians had color-changing freckles or not, but apparently they did.

“Are you sure?” he asked, confusion glinting in that one silver eye.

“You do not appear dandy.” Ah, one of those guys whose language wasn’t fully integrated into the translators.

He’d taken me literally, which was a common symptom of that issue.

I’d learned to live with it; wasn’t his fault.

So I shrugged again, moving to the side of the bunk closest to where he was sitting, so we could continue talking in these low tones.

“My navigator sold me out, literally,” I said, happy to at least be able to vent my anger.

“Bastard doesn’t deserve the air he’s breathing.

Selling me! And then thinking he can fly off into the sunset with my precious Beverly!

” I clenched my fists against my legs. God, I was so angry.

And scared. I was pretty damn scared, too.

“I do not know who this Beverly is,” the male said, “but your navigator sounds like he deserves a slow death.” He said those last words with a definite growl, sounding like he relished the thought of meting out such justice on Okar for me himself.

Damn if that didn’t make me feel all warm inside.

He twisted his body a little further, as if he was slowly acclimating me to full contact. “I am Yashan. What is your name?”

Feeling like there was absolutely no reason not to tell this guy anything—I had no secrets anyway—I surprised myself by sticking out my hand through the bars that separated our two cells.

“I’m Jasmin. I’d say nice to meet you, Yashan, but under the circumstances, you understand why I don’t feel that way, right? ”

There was a sexy, crooked grin that transformed his handsome but somber face into something playful.

This guy was lethal in many senses of the word, no doubt.

I could feel something clench low in my abdomen just from that grin.

Then his silver eyes dropped to my offered palm, and there was a flash of uncertainty before he reached out with both hands and folded them gently around mine.

His palms were warm, slightly rough from callouses, and he squeezed gently.

I’d done that thing again where I forgot that human greetings were not the standard here.

He’d made me drop my guard, which was almost miraculous.

And… this guy had four arms, no wonder he had no clue what to do with a handshake.

His people probably did something far more elaborate than I could ever copy.

Couldn’t say I was complaining about this, he was warm, and I was definitely cold.

“You’re supposed to shake it,” I said. “It’s a human thing.

” His silver eyes dropped to our hands, something unreadable crossing his face before he offered me another friendly smile.

He shook my one hand up and down with both of his.

When he let go and carefully placed them back in his lap, I actually missed the point of warmth.

Leaning in a bit more toward the bars, I pointed at his pain collar.

It might be a sore subject, but I wanted to get out of here, so I needed the information.

“How long have you been here? Any way to get that thing off?” His face shuttered completely.

If it weren’t for the wine-red skin, I would have said he went pale.

Actually, the freckles that dotted his cheeks were now almost white, so he had gone pale.

“Twenty years,” he said, his voice husky and pain-filled. No… that was shame, he was ashamed of that fact.