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I lick my fingers clean of the last of leaf-grease, filled with distaste for this male. “This all you got?”
“Are you looking for something specific?” the ooli asks. “I have one in red that I can acquire, but she is very expensive. Somewhat skittish but well-behaved.” He moves toward one of the cringing females and strokes her hair. “This one is a dull brown coat, but I assure you she is quite obedient. Very healthy.”
“Got anything in yellow?” I ask casually.
“Nothing, but give me a few days and I am sure I can find something,” he says in an unctuous voice. “Do you wish to put down a deposit to hold your place? Humans sell very quickly when we get them. They are quite rare.”
“So rare you have three of ’em, eh?”
He glares at me. “Very rare,” he states again. “As their price shows. If you are not interested, please leave so I can spend my time with paying customers.”
I eye the three sad-eyed humans for a moment longer, warring with my plan to buy a Dora replacement. Is any one human worth so much effort? I shake my head, deciding that no, they are not, and walk away from the vendor’s tent. As I do, though, I keep seeing Dora’s tears. Her sad eyes and shy overtures. The way she said she wanted to please me.
To be my friend.
I get about two tunnels away from the slave trader before I grit my teeth and pause. Kef. Kef twice.
I’m going to end up turning myself over like a blooming idiot aren’t I? If word of this gets out, my reputation as a fearless bounty hunter will be ruined. Still, I’m out of options that won’t make Dora think I’ve betrayed her, and it’s been three days already. I hate the thought of someone hurting my fluffit or making her doubt me.
Damn it. Fine. I’ll turn myself in…just as soon as I buy three weepy humans and dump them on Zakoar’s doorstep.
Twenty-One
DORA
“This feels like a trap,” I tell Jamef as I follow him through the back service halls to the “secret” meeting room where we’re going to rendezvous with Bethiah.
“It is a trap,” he tells me. “But it’s one that we’re setting.” He sounds confident as he removes a panel from the wall with a touch and then sets it aside. Gesturing that I should enter, he waits in the hall, his red eye gleaming.
Jamef is very kind, but he’s not listening to me. I move to the entrance and then hesitate. “No, I mean…you know Bethiah. Her brain is always thinking two steps ahead of everyone else. If she’s agreeing to this, I feel like she knows what we’re up to and is going to turn the tables on us.”
“She might,” Jamef agrees, putting a hand to my back to nudge me into the room. “But the risk is on me, not you. I promise you’ll be safe either way. I wouldn’t put you in danger.” His thumb moves briefly on my back, as if he’s trying to reassure me—or stopping himself from doing so.
“I know. But I don’t want her hurting you, either.” I pause to gaze up at him. For all his fearsome appearance, Jamef has been such a kind host. It’s strange to think that I’ve enjoyed my time with him the last few days, but I truly have. If I didn’t have Bethiah and I lived my days out with Jamef as his friend and roommate…it wouldn’t be miserable. It might actually be pleasant.
Jamef’s hard face creases in the hint of a smile. “Bethiah won’t hurt me, either. This is all part of the game.”
Right. Because kidnapping and captivity are their way of flirting. With a hint of reluctance, I step into the room.
It’s a meeting chamber set in the back of one of the more upscale hotels. Jamef paid a lot of credits to a male that looked as if he knew him, and led us through the back way. It all feels a little…obvious? But I could be reading too much into things. Maybe Jamef wants Bethiah to turn the tables on him and that’s why we’re being so blatant in our scheme.
I’m a little envious of their strange dance. Okay, a lot envious. When was the last time someone cared about me enough to go to so much effort? Oh, that’s right, never, because I’m a clone. I’m not even the real Dora. With a sigh, I cast one last worried look at Jamef and then sit in the lone seat at the table.
“Hands up please, sweetheart.”
Blinking in surprise at the endearment, I do as he asks. He loops a bit of plas-rope around my wrists, deliberately leaving it loose enough for me to break free should I need to. He does the same for my legs and then pushes my chair in under the table. He squats next to me, his prosthetics creaking as he does, and his tail lightly slaps against the floor.
