Page 4 of A Merciless Bargain

Sure enough, after taking the three steps to the bed, he roughly pushed me to sit before reaching for the higher restraint. Looming over me, he grasped a shiny black circle from the wall and clasped it around my right wrist. It melded itself against my skin. Although lightweight and not uncomfortable, it was still a heavy-duty metal controlled by alien technology. There was no way I was getting out of it without his electronic keycard.

He kneeled down to grab my legs by the ankles and swing me onto the bed.

“Hey,” I objected to the manhandling, my breath quickening at the thought of being held against my will.

The Foulan ignored my objection. He used one hand to hold my legs to the blanket. With the other, he grasped the second chain at the foot of the bed and clasped the metal loop around my right ankle. Like the one on my wrist, it melded itself snug over my leggings.

He stood immobile, staring at me shackled to the bed. I was thankful he’d restrained me in a seated position. I felt a teeny, tiny, less out of control that way. His black eyes were unreadable. To my surprise, he dropped to the bed to sit beside me, the warmth of his hip against mine.

I shuddered.

His left hand lifted. I bit my lower lip, not missing when his eyes followed.

He reached out to place the palm of his hand against the righthand pocket of my vest. Even sideways, his large hand engulfed the area. I felt his warmth clear through my ribcage. He massaged through the fabric, and a flash of desire sparked. I stared at his clean-shaven face. He kept his gaze locked on his hand against my ribcage.

Was he avoiding my gaze?

He slid his hand lower to the top pocket of my leggings, his finger wrapping to the edge of my hipbone. His fingers moved over and around the fabric covering the pocket, reaching dangerously close to my crotch, which became heated despite not even being touched. Without meaning to, I angled my hips up and into his hand.

At my movement, his eyes rose to meet mine. He frowned and withdrew his hand to repeat the exploration on the other side.

When he dropped his gaze again, I glanced at the bulge in his pants. Was he upset at himself for being turned on? Was I wrong and he didn’t know that I was brought here to be an Obedient, purchased with a promise to obey carnal requests?

The Foulan placed his right hand against the left pocket of my vest. This time he splayed his fingers, the tips brushing against the underside of my breast as he massaged through the pocket.

“Shouldn’t you have searched my clothing when I removed it before?” I quipped when I realized he was searching my pockets. My voice sounded breathy to my own ears. Was I turned on by his groping again, too?

The Foulan ignored my question and skimmed his hand over my midsection to the leggings pocket below. His fingers pressed along the center of the pocket and over the seams. When he paused with his fingers pointed toward my pussy, I spread my legs, reconsidering my earlier plan of seducing him to free me.

His grip tightened and I waited. With what seemed like deliberate slowness, he peeled his hand off of my body, first his fingers and then lifting his palm. He stood, angling away from me.

“Rest,” he gruffly instructed over his shoulder, “while I confirm I have the right Runner before transporting you to Magvu.”

At the mention of the Syndicate home planet, my heart jumped into my throat and the growing desire extinguished.

Chapter Three

The tall,broad Foulan strode away from me to the small table against the opposite wall. He pulled an oblong silver object from a satchel I hadn’t noticed before. The dark blue bag sat on one of the square chairs at the table. I recognized the device. It was their equivalent of a mobile phone.

A series of high- and low-pitched barks sounded. Yep, the Foulans sounded like a wolf pack when they spoke their language. I’d been with my purchaser for four Earth months—or six Foulan months, due to the lunar cycles of their moons—before he’d died. That had allowed me time to learn some of the language. Enough to understand this Foulan’s side of the conversation. Which I supposed was why he tried lowering his voice. I attempted to piece together what I could hear.

One of the first things he’d said was “Dane Regis.” That was likely to be either the person he was calling or his own name. I could test my theory later. I focused on the end of the conversation I could hear.

“…Parker Robinson…” That one was easy, since that was my name.

“…confirm the Runner status…” Ugh.

“…murder…” Fuck.

“…provider of…”something I couldn’t decipher.

“…breathing…” Well, that was good. I was going to assume that meant whoever wanted me, wanted me alive?—

“…Vadhea…” Fuck me. That confirmed the Syndicate wanted me.

“bring…something indecipherable… tomorrow.”

Oh, great. The most reasonable explanation was that the Foulan would bring me, the Runner, to meet with Vadhea tomorrow. Whether I would walk out of that meeting alive?