Page 39 of Across the Crimson Sands

We played a practice hand, with Rokan correcting my mistakes and explaining the finer points of strategy. By the time we started our first real game, I was determined to beat him.

“Two Mondian Kings,” I declared, laying down my cards.

Rokan’s eyes narrowed. “Liar,” he growled.

I flipped the cards, revealing exactly what I’d claimed. “Ha! Drink up, big guy.”

He took a swig from a small flask, grimacing at the taste. “Lucky guess.”

As we played, the tension in the room shifted. The banter flowed more easily, punctuated by moments of intense concentration.

“You’re not half bad at this,” Rokan admitted as I won the third hand.

I grinned. “Maybe I should become a bounty hunter. I could give you a run for your money.”

His expression darkened. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Why not?” I challenged. “Afraid of a little competition?”

Rokan leaned forward, glaring. “Because the thought of you in danger makes me want to tear the galaxy apart.”

Oh. My mind blanked. Was he serious?

Couldn’t be.

Before I could respond, a harsh buzzing filled the room. Rokan’s percomm flashed urgently.

He glanced at the device, his face hardening into a mask. “It’s Gorin.”

Gorin’s face filled the screen, his mottled brown skin and leathery features twisting into a sneer. My stomach clenched, bile rising in my throat. Even through the plex, his presence made my skin crawl. I shrank back, pressing against Rokan’s solid form behind me.

Seconds stretched, but still, Gorin said nothing. His beady eyes roved over me, lingering on the fading bruises around my neck.

Could I really survive going back to him? The thought of his hands on me again made me want to claw my own skin off. It would be better to find a way to end it all before that happened.

“Well, well,” Gorin finally drawled. “Looks like it’s time to touch up your jewelry, my dear. You’ve gone far too long without my... care.”

I flinched at his words, as my fingers unconsciously traced the marks on my wrists.

Rokan stepped forward, cutting off my view of the screen. “Gorin,” he growled, “has Davor been in touch with you?”

But Gorin ignored him completely, craning his neck to keep his eyes on me. “Remember, Arilee,” he said, words dripping with false sweetness, “I own your papers. You belong to me.”

His force of his sick desires squeezed the air from my lungs, leaving nothing but the urge to scream, to run, to disappear.

Rokan moved again, blocking me entirely from Gorin’s view. “I’ll buy her papers,” he insisted, “We can keep this nice and legal.”

There was a tense silence. I held my breath, caught between hope and terror.

“Well, well,” Gorin finally said. “Isn’t this interesting? The big bad Vinduthi wants to play hero.”

“This isn’t a game,” Rokan snarled. “Name your price.”

Gorin chuckled, the sound alone enough to make me sick. Anything he was amused by wasn’t a good thing. “Oh, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. But these things are best discussed in person, don’t you think? Meet me at the original location on Quixa.”

“We meet on neutral ground,” Rokan snarled. “I won’t walk into a trap.”

Gorin’s laughter crackled through the comm, making my skin crawl. “Oh, my dear Vinduthi,” he sneered, “you seem to be under the mistaken impression that you have any say in this matter.”

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