Page 42 of Tempting Jupiter
The pop of the hatch opening and the sound of feet striking the steps swung them both around to face the man called Ears as he appeared in the entryway. His eyes widened and his forward progress stalled. “It’s true, then. You’re Arena Dogs. But they said it was only one.”
“Come in Ears, we mean you no harm.” Seneca took a small step toward the man, reaching out a hand as if welcoming a friend. He softened his voice, relaxed his shoulders and tilted his head forward, letting his hair fall around his face. It completed his transformation from fierce Dog to something less threatening, almost feminine. It was a role he’d played in the pleasure house often, but he’d never let Jup see him this way. His stomach twisted.
When Ears took his hand and let Seneca pull him closer, Jupiter growled low in the back of his throat.
Ears flinched, but Seneca held fast. He edged closer and put an arm around Ears’ shoulder. “It’s okay, Ears. He’s house broken. I promise.” He chuckled and the boy accepted the unspoken invitation to join in. “Tell us what’s happened to our friend, Ears. We’re so glad you came to warn us.”
Ears nodded, his body relaxing in response to the thick warmth in Seneca’s voice. “It’s like I said. She made a deal with Celia. She’s going to have a surgery to remove her implant so she can sell it. She needs money. Roma’s looking for her and they put a hold on her accounts.”
Seneca flicked a glance to Jupiter over the boy’s shoulder. They both knew why Roma had done it. By helping them, Feeona had been pulled into their trouble. Seneca furrowed his eyebrows as he returned his attention to Ears. “They can do that?”
“They can do anything. Money talks, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.” Seneca smiled gently, teasing for more information.
“This whole place, the station, it’s all about money. People who have it get what they want. It’s the same everywhere. And Roma has enough money to make them gods here on the station.”
Money gained from the pain and deaths of Arena Dogs.
Seneca’s smile wavered. “They were god-like on Roma, too.”
Ears settled a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. It isn’t right what they did to you, and it isn’t right what they’re trying to do toher.”
There was no change in the young man’s skin temperature or respiration or heart rate. Being able to sense those things by touch was one of Seneca’s talents. Useful for a whore. Not so much for a fighter.
He released Ears and shed the role like an old skin. His shoulders stretching back into place and away from the young man’s touch. “He’s telling the truth.” He met Jupiter’s eyes, refusing to hide from any judgment he might find there. He saw only confusion, a reaction he could live with. He was almost glad there was no time to explain. Helping Jupiter get to Feeona was more important.
He turned back to Ears. “Can you tell us how to get to her without being seen?”
Ears shuffled back and his gaze darted between him and Jupiter.
“Answer,” Jupiter demanded.
Ears jerked out of his thoughts. “Tunnels. We’ll use the tunnels.” He headed for the hatch. “Come on. I’ll explain on the way.”
***
Fee fisted the cloth of her surgical gown in one hand and put out the other to stop the med-tech trying to put the anesthetic wrap around her arm. “No, thanks. I’m good with a local.”
Dressed in a blue med-suit, the technician frowned. “Standard protocol—”
“I said no. And I’ve been through this before.” Fee turned her head to the surgeon, working at the terminal on the end of the med-bed. “Doc?”
The man looked up and nodded. “It’s fine. Better actually, if you aren’t squeamish.”
“Not a bit.” Fee breathed easier at the answer.
“Just use the restraints.” The surgeon dropped his gaze back to the terminal.
Fee’s gut lurched. Her first instinct was to refuse the restraints with as much determination as the general anesthetics, but her original surgeon had done the same. So, why was anxiety gnawing at her nerves, giving her second and third thoughts about the wisdom of letting the surgeon cut into her head. His office seemed professional enough. A brightly painted medical symbol hung on the wall outside his offices. A sympathetic reception worker had been seated behind a counter explaining to an unhappy patient that their procedure had to be rescheduled. The patient hadn’t looked as if he were escaping a face-off with a hatchet man. The surgeon looked perfectly average. Average height. Average weight. Average brown eyes. Maybe it was his averageness that was setting her off.
“Okay,” said the medic. “I’ve turned off the sedative, but we still need the monitors.”
Feeona scowled as the man wrapped the padded sleeve around her arm. He didn’t seem to mind her attitude. He smiled blandly as he moved to the end of the table, and she struggled to remember why she’d been scowling.
“Now, just relax.” The tech patted her shin with a gloved hand.
Think of the cargo, she reminded herself as the first restraint locked into place around her ankle. Think of the cargo waiting on Petro-5.
