{Gait}

“Remember. His terms with Sagan permitted you one memory retrieval in a Divine Booth,” Pehton repeated for the fortieth time as she escorted her prisoner down Mercy Row.

In glass chains, Korac never stood taller. She came to his elbow. “Contaminant thug.” That’s what Razor called him. Dressed in a band tee and distressed leather pants, she appreciated the “thug” sentiment. Although a high-classed one, the Icarus was still a convicted war criminal.

The “Contaminant” part itched her. Razor served upscale addicts from all over the galaxy. He never seemed one to discriminate against race or origin. The Pain Curator wanted pain history and credits. The venom as he spat those words never left her.

And here that thug glided gracefully across the slushy pavement wearing motorcycle boots. Snow recently melted. The Icarean General, fond of titles, carried an elegance in squared shoulders and a raised chin. All around them, derelict space-scrapers pierced the atmosphere. Even they couldn’t match his elevated sense of self.

Pehton liked Korac. His looks. His attitude. His humor. Hell, even his taste in women. Sagan complimented him spectacularly in a peculiar but endearing match of innocence and corruption. Intellect and cunning. Kindness and ruthlessness. Pehton shipped them harder than the Vast Collective shipped Nox and Rayne.

So that made this brief field trip to Razor’s Emporium of Exotic Experiences even more hazardous. She agreed to keep the perfect couple separated in exchange for unlimited access to her memory. But as Sagan recruited her own friends to help Pehton recover her memories, the Lyrik couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at her. The Progeny went out of their way to include Inanis—the Warden’s personal crusade—along with their other objectives. And now they were suffering.

Karter. Para. Kyle.

Elden dammit! Time to switch tactics.

“Are you ready, Executive Warden?” That elegant cadence from his smooth tenor… How was she ever supposed to resist?

“Ready.”

Razor waited in the center of the Emporium proper. He was expecting her. Even with a crowd surrounding him, he watched with intensity darkening his brown eyes as they traversed the revolving door. The carbon fiber coveralls fit him well. Tall and athletic, she imagined he kept fit working out in some small corner of his establishment. Alone and out of sight. He held a small Enki-tech tablet in his hand for noting the prisoners’ orders. Without a word, a threat emanated from him.

Not that she saw much of him. Korac shifted himself between the two. Taller. Broader. Simply better, to put it frankly. Cinder produced nice, sturdy warriors. The Lyrik planned to schedule a return visit.

Clients dressed in casual clothes—discount night for the local junkies—gawked openly and gasped at the Icarus in chains. What a spectacle they made.

“Peh Peh.” Icy, Razor ladened his voice with reproach, “You brought a guest.”

Pehton stepped out from behind the shield Korac made of himself. She plastered a sweet smile on her face. “I did. And I have the orders. General Korac joined me to fulfill your agreement with the Seamswalker.” Gripping the Icarus’ considerable forearm at eye level, she led the pale prisoner toward the rows of booths. She kept his back angled away, preventing scrutiny of the nacre cuffs.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Razor walked ahead and stepped in her way. “I’m afraid my favorite guest isn’t here, at the moment.” He spared Korac a jovial glance. Except for the ice in his gaze. “You’ll have to return with both ladies as chaperons.”

Okay. Now to play hardball. Pehton clenched her fists until the knuckles popped to prepare for this delicate performance. Wide-eyed and sweet, she cried loudly, “Razor! The public knows you always honor your debts. General Korac here won’t cause trouble. I promise. I’ll keep him good and reined in.”

Overhearing, people gave the trio conspicuous glances and whispered to one another. Make a scene for the desired effect. Lashes batted. Chest heaved. Feminine petiteness emphasized. One glance at the Icarus for a rating.

Faint, but there, he winked. Oh, and with a little crook at the corner of his lips.

Well, Korac’s approval certainly lightened her step.

Razor used that cold tone again. “But you don’t always honor your arrangements according to the agreed upon terms, Peh Peh—

“Executive Warden.” Korac, Icarean General of Cinder and convicted war criminal, just corrected Razor, the Pain Curator of the Vast Collective.

The air in the room thickened as the two men locked gazes. Zealous clients gave them some room with furtive glances. Pehton halfway wanted to step back. The redheaded human male peered over the railing of the mezzanine with a look of curiosity and apprehension she expected on her own face. Was Razor self-conscience of the inch difference in height? So slight, but some men really chafed over that shit.

Brown eyes sparked against pale white ones.

After a few heartbeats, the Pain Curator smirked with flames glittering in his eyes. “One session.” He turned and waved for the redhead—Matt—to come down the stairs.

Pehton shot Korac a relieved glance. But he never took his eyes off Razor. He also gave off a scent. Like cold air on a winter’s night. It chilled her more than Razor’s stare.

Interesting.

Matt pushed through the crowd, and Razor ordered him, “Take them to the furthest booth. Peh Peh knows how this works.” He handed him a memory capsule. “Take good care of her and get the orders for the prisoners.”

Shit. Pehton wasn’t expecting an escort. She needed Razor occupied for some freedom around the Emporium. But Matt—

“Okay, so he said you know how to use this thing?”

Matt spoke to her, but she inconsiderately tuned him out. Too busy watching her world fall apart. After affording her a small salute, the Pain Curator walked toward the mezzanine’s wrought iron stairs. His expression said he’d contend with her later.

Subdued, Pehton set Korac up in the booth, hoping to engage the correct memory. She’d done this once on herself, but the science shouldn’t vary that much between their species. “Okay. So you put on the goggles after you submit your capsule there. Good luck.” With an affirmative nod from him, she headed for the door. But something gnawed at her. She turned back and asked, “Korac, what would you have done if he struck you?”

He peered at her curiously, as if surprised she didn’t know the answer. “He wouldn’t.”

“But how could you know that?” Pehton frowned, hard.

“Men like Razor don’t resort to physical violence. He’ll wait and corner me when he decides there’s something I have that he wants.” He popped the unsealed cuffs off and checked out the space for surveillance.

Her eyes grew wide as the realization struck her. “Sagan.”

Korac nodded solemnly. “But he underestimates her. She’s more than a match for him.” He grasped the goggles and examined them.

Chewing her bottom lip, Pehton soaked that in. It didn’t sit right. “I’m afraid you’re underestimating him.”

Another graceful shrug. “Then I’ll reduce his empire to rubble if anything happens to her.”

On that cheerful note, Pehton exited the booth to start some sleuthing. Only one problem.

“He warned me you might try to walk around unescorted. I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

Matt. The human complication. Nice guy so far, but really in the way right now. “Human, I am the Executive Warden of Gait.”

He shrugged, not graceful like Korac. But he argued with some sound reasoning, “Yea. And my boss is Razor. No offense, ma’am, but who would you be more concerned with pissing off?”

Daring to look, Pehton peered down the aisle of Divine Booths and up to the mezzanine. Razor stood up there, hands spread across the banister with him leaning forward on it. His brown eyes glowed through the din of the whiskey lighting. What fresh hell was he imagining for her? Would he hurt the others? Take his anger out on them?

She hoped Korac distilled something from this event. Otherwise, Pehton risked her good standing with her jailer for nothing.

One day. The Executive Warden vowed she’d scour this den of vice and pain until she found the rest. And then she’d give up her life to free them. If that’s what it took.