The Iriduan’s Mate by Susan Trombley
Twenty
Molly smiled at the message on her wrist com, her mood instantly brightening when she saw who it was from.
I miss you already. I hope to see you again soon.
She looked up from the words flicking over the surface of her skin to study her face in the mirror.
The dyes that marked her as one of Zaska’s “flowers” had been freshened and her violet skin looked vivid with the green markings coiling over it. Her makeup only enhanced the exotic appearance she made as Jenice helped her bind up her hair and decorate it with ornaments.
“Let me guess,” Jenice said around the pins clamped between her lips, “another message from lover boy?”
Molly grinned. “That’s such a strange way to refer to him. There’s nothing ‘boyish’ about Shulgi.”
Jenice stabbed some more pins into Molly’s mass of hair before responding. “He certainly seems enamored with you,” she mused, and Molly heard the warning in her tone.
Molly sighed heavily, pushing a stray curl off her cheek. “I think he actually does care about me.”
“That’s a dangerous situation, Mol.” Jenice captured that curl and pinned it ruthlessly to the rest of Molly’s updo.
“He would never hurt me.”
Her friend met her eyes in the mirror. “You know that’s not what I mean.” She put in the last pin and patted Molly’s hair gently to flatten any stray bumps. “Men who care can get in the way.”
“Unless they join us, Jen.”
Jenice raised her brows with a skeptical pursing of her lips. “You think he’ll become one of us? Just like that? A boy scout like him?”
Molly slowly shook her head at Jenice. “I think he would do well in this business. He’s not naïve, and he’s also not afraid to get his hands dirty when he needs to. You underestimate him—and his experience.”
She hadn’t told anyone about the discussion she’d had with Shulgi about his bloody past. It wasn’t her secret to share. Not even with her closest friends.
Jenice huffed, crossing her arms as she studied Molly’s outfit with a critical eye. “I don’t doubt he could put a hurt on some of Zaska’s enemies. I just wonder if we can trust him to keep our secret—and not try to take over. He is an Iriduan after all. They’re not known for playing well with others.”
“That’s a bigoted thing to say,” Molly snapped, shooting to her feet to turn on Jenice. “I know you’re better than that, Jen!”
Jenice sighed and ran both hands through her hair. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have gotten ugly about this. I just… I’m afraid to trust anyone we don’t already know we can count on, Mol. We’ve come so far, and our operation is expanding faster every day-cycle. We can’t afford to take unnecessary risks at this stage.” She regarded Molly with eyes darkened by empathy. “Especially the risk of letting someone new in on the secret.”
Molly understood Jenice’s concerns perfectly, though she still felt ire at her friend for the prejudiced statement about Shulgi’s species. The Iriduan empire remained an immensely powerful player in the galaxy as one of the founding species of the Cosmic Syndicate, though their star had been waning rapidly in the Syndicate lately. Powerful entities gained a lot of enemies—and a lot of bad press.
The same thing was happening on a much smaller scale with Sha Zaska. The more powerful their gang grew, the more enemies they obtained that watched from the shadows, coveting the newfound wealth of an under-tier thug and resenting that such a creature could rise through the ranks of the column so quickly.
“I haven’t told him anything that would make him suspect Zaska’s true nature,” Molly reassured.
“But you want to.” Jenice sighed heavily, then gestured to Molly’s dress. “That looks cheap and a little worn. We need to send a message to this mark. How about the brocade?”
“Of course, I want to tell him!” Molly stalked to the closet to punch in the request for the brocade gown on the panel that operated it. “I want to tell him everything. He cares about me. He makes me feel special—and loved.”
“But does he actually love you? Enough to let you do what needs to be done?” Jenice watched her with a shadowed gaze. “What if this mark wants you in his bed tonight?” She jerked her chin at the brocade gown as the automatic hanger extended it from the closet. “What will your Shulgi think about other males getting between your legs on a regular basis?”
Molly swallowed through a lump in her throat, suddenly feeling reluctance to do her duty as Zaska’s flower. A reluctance she hadn’t felt since her first months at Uthagol’s brothel, where she was brutally initiated into the business. She’d learned the hard way to cherish the gentleness of most of the clients, because it was heaven in comparison to Uthagol’s people. She’d gotten over her squeamishness and disgust very quickly back then. The alternative was to die slowly and horribly.
Now, she felt that same initial repulsion for the idea of letting someone touch her body, unless that someone was Shulgi.
“Like you pointed out,” she said instead of voicing her true thoughts, “he’s an Iriduan. Their females keep harems of males. They’re accustomed to sharing a woman in their culture.”
Her friend straightened, an avid expression on her face. “So that’s a true story then? I wasn’t sure if that was just one of the many garbage theories floating around about them. It certainly sounded too good to be true.” She shrugged one shoulder. “At least, from the woman’s perspective.”
Molly stripped off her dress carefully, trying not to dislodge any of her hair from its elaborate updo. She really wanted to rip the green gown into shreds, and then burn them, along with all the other garments in her closet that reminded her of the role she had to play. Instead of doing that, she tossed the gown onto the bed as soon as it was free of her arms, then unhooked the clasps on the heavy brocade emerald-green gown, which fortunately didn’t have to go over her head.
Jenice snatched up the discarded gown, regarding it with distaste. “I think it’s time to retire this one. We’ll have to order some new clothing for you.”
“What if….” Molly’s breath failed her as she stood there with the brocade gown in her hands, ready to slip it on over her shoulders.
Jenice glanced up at her and noted Molly’s expression. Her brows lifted, her lips parting to speak.
Molly rushed to finish her thought, not wanting Jenice to say anything that shut her down. “What if I retire? Then I won’t be Zaska’s mouthpiece anymore and I won’t have to… I won’t need to perform for the ‘special’ clients.”
Jenice cocked her head, regarding Molly thoughtfully. “Is that what you really want? Or is it only because you hope to keep Shulgi around?” She sighed, her shoulders sagging as she bunched up the discarded gown. “Honey, I’m all for you retiring. You know how I feel about that! But if Shulgi can’t respect you unless you give up your profession, he’s not going to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
Molly lowered her gaze, staring at the smooth tile beneath her bare toes. “He’s never said anything like that—that he doesn’t respect me.”
But she knew how many males felt about her and the other mouthpieces. They might not say it aloud, mostly because they didn’t want to offend Sha Zaska, but they would be thinking it, and their thoughts would be obvious in their tone and body language.
“Mol, you’re the best mouthpiece we have. You play the part perfectly. Briana is getting good at this, and the others are coming along well in their training, but right now, you are the one most of Zaska’s clients prefer.”
Molly had almost forgotten about that, so focused on her dread of having to follow through with tonight’s mark, whom she’d been subtly seducing for weeks. He was a high-ranking official of the city bosses’ administration and gaining his favor would cement Zaska’s power in the lower tiers and expand their shipping operation as fees were “waived.” This meeting was important, and Molly’s savvy when it came to reading people and responding to their social cues in the proper way had allowed her to secure it.
Her skill didn’t end at the bedroom door. She possessed a form of power that few of the males who interacted with her realized or appreciated, even as they fell under her spell. Not genetically gifted with great beauty, she’d enhanced what she had not only with makeup and dyes, but also with her grace and elegance, her soft voice and even softer gaze. She wielded her femininity like a weapon, or worked it like a well-crafted tool, to get what she wanted for their organization.
Though she hated to admit it aloud because it dashed her burgeoning dream of committing to a single male—one who actually cared about her, she was the best they had. She was one of the driving forces of Zaska’s success.
Jenice seemed to note her expression and guess her thoughts. She took pity on Molly. “Why don’t you think about things for a bit. Just get through dinner this evening with your usual charm and grace and use Zaska as an excuse to avoid anything too intimate with this mark.”
“And our plan to gain blackmail footage?” They’d discussed the possibility of recording an encounter between her and the official if he didn’t want to play along with their plans in any other way.
Jenice shrugged. “We’ll consider an alternative if we have to.” She approached Molly and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mol. I shouldn’t be so dismissive of how you feel about Shulgi—and this whole situation. You’ve done more than enough for us. You shouldn’t have to do that.”
Molly pulled the brocade over her shoulders and began clasping the frog closures down the front. “I will think of a way to put him off without fully discouraging him.” She’d managed such a thing before, and she would manage it again.
Whether to share her bed or not had to be her choice now. Otherwise, she was still just a slave serving someone else.
