Chapter 1: Mission Briefing Between Thrusts
The shuttle’s emergency lights bathed everything in a pulsing, arterial red. It was supposed to signal imminent hull breach or reactor meltdown, but right now, it just illuminated the desperate arch of Ena’s back as she rode Jax. Or was it Ona? Backwater names blurred together after a while, just like the cheap synth-whiskey she favored.
Didn’t matter. Her name was a gasp lost in the thrum of the Dauntless’s aging engines and the slick, rhythmic slap of skin on skin.
Jax braced one scarred forearm against the cold deck plating, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks on her dusky skin. She was small, almost fragile-looking with her long brown hair plastered to her neck and shoulders with sweat, but surprisingly strong. And loud. Her cries echoed sharply off the cramped shuttle’s bulkheads. Her augmented hands, intricate webs of silvery circuitry beneath the skin, traced burning-hot lines across the map of old wounds and fresher burns on his chest. Each touch left faint, fading trails of orange light.
Her fourth climax was building. She tightened her muscles around him and pulled a low groan from deep in his chest. A rare moment where the noise in his head – the phantom screams of Kestris III, the crunch of breaking bone – was almost drowned out.
"Hammer! Status report! I’ve got a priority flash from… Sweet bleeding stars!"
The harsh, clipped voice of Norma Astara cut through the haze like a vibroblade. A flickering blue hologram materialized beside the cramped bunk, resolving into the image of his boss. Norma’s perpetually stern face, framed by chestnut hair, contorted in a look of surprise. Her expression morphed into exasperated amusement.
Norma’s gaze flicked down for an instant. When it snapped back up, her lips curled. "Fucking he’ll, Hammer, I can see her tits through the projection! Put a damn towel on the hole am, or turn the damn thing off!"
Jax didn’t stop. His thrusts remained steady, deep, driving Ena (Ona?) higher. He just turned his head, his blue eyes, cold even now, locking onto the hologram. Sweat stung his vision. "Make it quick, Norma," he growled, the words rough gravel. His free hand shot up, clamping firmly but not cruelly over Ena’s mouth, stifling her rising cry. Her eyes widened above his palm, a mix of shock and interrupted ecstasy. The glowing trails from her fingers flared brighter on his damp skin.
Norma’s holographic form vibrated with barely contained rage. "Don't you 'make it quick' me, you walking hormone! I’ve got a job for you. A big job. Perfect for a guy like you.”
“A guy like me?” Jax asked. He could feel Ena/Ona’s breath against his palm. She whimpered as she wriggled on his shaft.
Even through the glitchy hologram, Jax could see Norma roll her eyes. "Yeah. A guy who thinks with his cock half the time but somehow gets the job done the other half. Pays triple your usual retainer. Upfront."
Jax didn’t slow his rhythm. Ena/Ona’s eyes were squeezed shut now, her augmented hands clawing at his pectorals, leaving fleeting, hot-orange traceries on his old scars. The shuttle groaned around them. "Triple. For what? Guarding another synth-narc shipment? Pass. Last one nearly took my eye." A bead of sweat rolled from his temple, tracing a path down his jaw.
"Worse," Norma snapped, her gaze pointedly fixed on a spot just above Jax’s head, avoiding the graphic scene below her projection’s waistline. "Much, much worse. It's babysitting duty. High-end."
A harsh laugh escaped Jax. "Babysitting? You called me off-world for babysitting?" He shifted his hips, drawing a muffled cry from Ena/Ona that vibrated against his palm.
"Not just any brat," Norma ground out, her voice tight. "Zara Valerius. Heard of her?"
The name registered vaguely. Scandals. Parties. Designer spacesuits. "The heiress? Daddy owns Valerius Stellar?"
"The one and only. Seems the little socialite butterfly has decided galactic philanthropy is her new hobby. She's traipsing about the ass-end of nowhere, documenting 'indigenous hardships' or some such bleeding-heart nonsense. Predictably, someone took offense. Sent her a rather creative death threat involving vacuum exposure and exotic parasites."
Jax grunted, his focus split between the trembling woman straddling him, the pulsing red lights, and Norma’s words. "So Daddy wants muscle. Why me? He can afford a battalion."
"Because," Norma sighed, long-suffering, "Zara Valerius apparently has a taste for the... unconventional. And a track record of ditching professional security details. Daddy thinks someone who looks like they crawled out of a plasma fire, smells faintly of cheap whiskey and cheaper sex, and doesn’t give a single fuck about her trust fund might actually stick. And listen, Hammer, the payout? It’s obscene. Enough to retire that rust-bucket you call a ship."
Ena/Ona slammed down, her body arching rigidly, a high-pitched keen escaping despite Jax’s hand. Her fingerglow flared, searing bright patterns onto his skin. He felt his own release coiling, inevitable. "Traipsing about the galaxy," he repeated, his voice thick. "Playing tourist in war zones."
"Essentially," Norma confirmed. "Your job is to keep her breathing and reasonably intact while she takes her selfies with the oppressed masses. Starts tomorrow. Her private yacht docks at Berth Sigma-Nine, Luxor Prime Spacedock, 0900 station time. Don’t be late. Don’t be hungover. And for the love of all that’s barely holy, don’t fuck the client."
Ena/Ona lurched off of him, her body trembling and her voice whimpering. She rolled onto the floor and twitched as waves of pleasure coursed through her. The implants in her hands glowed orange, then red.
Norma’s hologram glanced over at Jax’s now-exposed member. A flicker of memory crossed her face. After a pause, she continued, “Think you can handle all that?”
“Berth Sigma-Nine, Luxor Prime Spacedock, 0900 station time,” Jax repeated. “I’ve got plenty of time to get there.”
Ena/Ona’s hand reached up and grabbed his cock.
Ena’s mouth was hot and insistent, her tongue working with practiced urgency against his rigid flesh, the wet pressure pulling a ragged groan from deep in Jax’s chest.
Norma’s hologram flickered violently, her jaw clenched tight as she stared resolutely at the shuttle’s stained ceiling, muttering, "Un-fucking-believable, Holloway. Absolutely feral."
Jax held Norma’s furious gaze, his breath catching as Ena’s rhythm intensified, her augmented hand gripping his thigh, its circuitry a dull orange glow against his skin. "Don’t worry, boss, I’m on the job," he managed, the words tight and strained, his knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the bunk. As release shuddered through him, hot and sudden, he felt nothing but the familiar, hollow chill settling back into his bones, the fleeting warmth already a memory dissolving in the shuttle’s oppressive red light.
Norma gave him a puzzled look before ending the call.
The hologram dissolved into static, leaving only the pulsing red emergency lights and the ragged sound of their breathing. Ena/Ona swallowed, wiping her mouth with the back of her glowing hand, the circuitry dimming to a faint amber.
Jax pushed himself up onto his elbows, the cold metal biting into his skin, the familiar hollow chill already settling back into his bones despite the lingering heat between his legs. "C'mon," he grunted, his voice rough, already scanning the cramped shuttle for discarded clothes. "Get dressed. I'll drop you back at The Rusty Bolt before I jump." He swung his legs off the bunk, the deck plating icy under his bare feet, the Dauntless's engines thrumming a low, constant reminder of the vast, indifferent dark waiting beyond the hull.