Page 6 of Taken By the Convicts
She placed the device-turned-lock pick on the bed next to him. Another mistake, leaving a sharp instrument next to a killer. Dr. Archer wouldn’t survive long on Veenith. Reece had no idea how she ended up here, but it wasn’t for killing. The woman didn’t have the suspicious nature or drive of a killer. Like him.
She lowered the cuff to dangle off the side of the bed. “There, now I can get your shirt off and treat you properly.
When Reece jerked the shirt over his head and let it hang over the shoulder of the arm still chained to the bed, the woman inhaled sharply. Soft skin glided across his pecs, then stopped at the scars at his throat. Her hands moved again, following the uneven flesh to his throat. Slowly, deep brown eyes lifted to meet his. Understanding filled her eyes. She was a doctor, after all.
Crimshaw wasn’t the only manager known to slice the vocal cords of men he didn’t want talking. The med-techs had sewn him up, but no one could repair his vocal cords. Or so the doctors on Kordon said, but they all answered to Crimshaw. The injury had left Reece unable to produce more than a few grunts and groans.
She snatched her hand away. “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional of me.”
Reece loved the feel of her warm skin against him. . . and the courage it took for her to touch him. If he could talk right now, he’d tell her to touch him anywhere she wanted.
Slowly, so he wouldn’t startle her, Reece placed her palm flat on his chest. Her thumb slid over his pec, but the rest of her didn’t move.
“You didn’t mind?” she asked, serious.
He’d thought her naïve before when she objected to Thorne’s policy of chaining prisoners to beds, but now he understood her better. It wasn’t naïveté as much as compassion. His doctor hadn’t lost her humanity yet.
Goddess, he hoped she never lost that innocence, that compassion of hers. He hadn’t felt so alive, so human in months, years maybe.
“My name is Melina. Or Dr. Archer, if you prefer.” She bit her lip. So cute, so sexy, his Melina. Even her name was sexy. He raked his eyes over the plain black top and pants that covered up too much of her.
“E-ee,” he said, losing the consonants he needed for his name.
Her face lit. “You can speak! It’s so nice to meet you, E!”
This was why he needed to keep his mouth shut. He shook his head furiously. The way her smile faded, leaving behind an anxious look on her sweet face, he knew he’d messed up again.
“Not E then,” she concluded as she turned his wrist over. “Damn, I don’t have an ID reader.”
The scanners the guards used to identify the bodies that showed up when the snow and ice thawed each spring. It’s how they kept count of how many prisoners—live prisoners—were on Veenith. They never accounted for all the prisoners. There were too many places to hide bodies on a planet with no fences, except those around the secured areas like the port, the guards’ housing, and Manager Thorne’s offices.
Reece reached for her wrist, gently taking the fragile bones between his fingers as he turned her wrist. She had the series of dots and lines tattooed into her skin like every prisoner assigned to Veenith. His thumb smoothed over the yellow glow emanating from the serilium in her tattoo until she eased her hand away from his.
“I hate that tattoo. My people don’t believe in tatts. It’s a sign that the person is unworthy, tainted.”
She stared at the walls at that point, lost in her memories perhaps. He understood what she was saying. Their people abhorred the idea of a tattoo, and they shunned those who had any. If he ever escaped, he could never return home. They’d see his prison tatt. They wouldn’t necessarily care that he’d been imprisoned on Veenith or escaped, but that tatt would be his undoing. No one let themselves be tattooed under any circumstance. It was a sign of weak character, loose morals, or worse, a sign that the gods and goddesses had disowned them, marked them as unworthy souls.
The Company didn’t care what cultural taboos it violated by forcing that tatt on every prisoner on Veenith. It’s how The Company controlled access to buildings, tracked the amounts of serilium each miner extracted. It was also The Company’s way of ensuring workers who didn’t work in the mines showed up for their jobs. Like Reece. If he failed to show for a hunting detail and get scanned in, he’d earn a strike. After two strikes, he’d be denied food and medical treatment, even entry into housing.
Besides motivating prisoners to work, that damn tatt tagged them as Level 5 prisoners on the off chance anyone ever escaped. The tatts contained zurlite, making them impossible to remove as the zurlite etched the id into their ulna, making skin removal and other attempts at defiling the skin to remove the tatts useless. The zurlite would resurface from the bone, re-imprint the tatt on the skin or whatever served as skin.
He hated that The Company had marred her beautiful flesh. It was another reminder of who controlled them, who owned them. He didn’t like the idea of anyone owning Melina. Except him. She’d be his one day.
She handed the datapad back to him again. “Can you write your name for me?”
He took the datapad and set it down.
“How will I know what to call you?” she said, taking a step closer.
She smelled so good. He wanted to chastise her for trusting him, but he wouldn’t, even if he could. He liked how she moved in close to him, without the slightest hesitation. Reece ran his finger down her cheek. So soft.
“I don’t know you,” she said, her voice filled with wonder, not fear.
He wasn’t sure what it was about her that seemed so right, so perfect, or why she trusted him, but she did. Another step placed her between his open legs. One hand landed on his bare shoulder and continued moving across his chest. Her hands no longer traveled his scars, but the unmarred flesh of his chest. This wasn’t a doctor examining him now, but a woman who seemed intrigued by him.
He resisted the urge to pull her closer. This had to be her decision, and he had no problem letting her explore him, though he remained baffled about what she saw in him. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t read either, though she didn’t know that yet. She didn’t even know his fucking name, but shetrustedhim.
Reece closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of soft warm skin dancing over his flesh.
