Chapter 19
“There,” Reece whispered. “In the box.”
Fairchild looked. From her vantage backstage, she was able to peer out between curtain and proscenium, picking up a slim view of the theater beyond.
The place was done up in an ancient Terran style with dim lighting, arabesque designs, and red velour seats.
There were, Fairchild guessed, about five hundred seats on the floor, most of them already filled with murmuring bodies, plus another two or three hundred in the steadily filling mezzanine above.
Closer in, along the sides of the stage, were small private balconies reserved for the wealthiest attendees.
It was in one of these boxes that the target now sat.
Slayn.
The man was dressed to match the setting, in a black tie and tux, his dark hair swept back and pomaded above his immaculately tanned face. The bastard even had a little pair of old-fashioned opera glasses so he could get a better view of the show.
Fairchild’s blood ran simultaneously hot and cold at the sight of him.
It was the first time she’d seen him since the restaurant, and now as then, she felt an impulse to rush him.
If she sprinted, she could make it across the stage in less than a second, and she would have no problem making the twenty-foot leap to the balcony.
She didn’t need weapons; she was one. Her bare fingers would be more than enough to rip out the bastard’s throat.
But Slayn was not alone. Fairchild could see the dark shapes of his bodyguards lurking in the shadows behind him, and the woman—the big blonde—was sitting right beside him in a blue evening gown that looked slightly incongruous on her muscular frame.
None of them were Mercs, of course. They wouldn’t be quick enough to stop Fairchild from killing their boss.
But they would most certainly gun her down as soon as she’d done the deed.
She didn’t particularly care about that. What she did care about, however, were her teammates—Reece and Dutton and even Nash’s stupid ass. She wasn’t going to put them in danger by going rogue. No. She was going to do this by the book.
Like Dane used to say, a thing worth doing was worth doing right.
And revenge was definitely worth it.
Fairchild stepped away from the curtain and shifted her attention to the scene backstage.
All around her, other teams were bustling in preparation for the competition, clad in skimpy costumes that accentuated more than they concealed.
Leather straps and buckles. Sequins and feathers.
Body paint. Piercings. Some of the outfits looked like they must have cost a small fortune.
“I’m feeling a bit underdressed,” Fairchild whispered.
Within the luggage she had brought with her from the ship, Fairchild had packed several sets of lingerie.
For the competition tonight, she had gone for a balance of luxury and comfort.
A sheer, black number comprising a lace-up bustier, thong panties, and spidersilk stockings held in place by garters.
A pair of black stiletto shoes completed the look.
Okay, maybe comfort wasn’t the right word for it, but at least it afforded her some amount of mobility, which was more than she could say for some of the outfits in her new wardrobe.
“You look amazing,” Reece told her.
He swept his fingers up the curve of her spine, raising goosebumps all over her bared skin. She turned to look at him, and smiled.
“So do you,” she said.
He and the other two members of their team were dressed in matching outfits—skin-tight vinyl booty shorts with a zipper running up the front for easy access when the time came.
A bit cheesy, perhaps, but Fairchild couldn’t deny how well the three of them wore it.
They had the muscles for it. And the bulges.
She brushed her fingertips down the front of Reece’s body, over the taut ripples of his abdomen and down to the top of his shorts.
She was tempted to grab his zipper and pull—real tempted—but she knew if she did that, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
They’d been practicing for their performance all morning long, but somehow the dozens of orgasms she’d experienced, and the dozens of loads all three men had spent inside her, had not been enough to quench the flames of her desire.
“What number are we?” she asked.
“We’re last in the lineup,” Reece answered. “Lucky number seven.”
Fairchild sighed. She wished she didn’t have to wait that long. It wasn’t just her desire that was making her impatient. She was nervous about performing for such a large crowd, and she was eager to get it over with.
Still, it was good that they would be able to watch their competitors first. They were up against six other teams of exhibitionists, and she had a feeling they’d all done this sort of thing before. She and her three guys were the rookies on the block.
Reece must have sensed her apprehension because he placed a knuckle under her chin and tilted her face up toward his own.
A couple weeks ago, she wouldn’t have liked that reminder of how much taller he was, but now, as his clear gray eyes stared deep into her own, she felt a sexy tingle race up her spine.
“Remember,” he said in a voice like smoke. “It’s not about winning. It’s about Slayn.”
The tingle was replaced by a shiver. She remembered. How could she forget? The idea that Victor Slayn had taken a liking to her was infinitely repulsive, but it was necessary if she wanted to get the bastard alone.
And Reece was right, of course—they didn’t need to win—but a woman didn’t make it in the Mercs Guild by not being competitive. Reece must have read some of that in her look, because his lips curved into a smirk, and he leaned down to kiss her mouth.
“Come on,” he said. “The show’s about to start.”
* * *
It didn’t take long for Fairchild to realize that her fears had not been unfounded.
The first team wasn’t just good; they were elite.
The woman must have been a sword-swallower in another life, because her gag reflex was completely nonexistent, and her men certainly had the length to test it.
And the positions! Fairchild didn’t even know bodies could bend like that.
They seemed to defy the very laws of physics as they writhed and cavorted on the stage.
What Fairchild and her teammates were to killing, these guys were to sex—stone cold professionals.
“This doesn’t look good,” Fairchild murmured.
She and her team were watching from the wings, hidden by the backstage shadows. Even from that angle, the performance was incredible. Fairchild could only imagine how it must look to the audience members who were watching it head-on.
“Looks pretty good to me,” Nash chuckled.
Fairchild punched his arm.
“That’s not what I mean, dumbass. There’s no way we’re going to be able to top what they’re doing out there.”
“Don’t worry,” Reece soothed into her other ear. “You’ve already caught Slayn’s eye.”
Dutton didn’t say anything. He was standing right behind her, still and steadfast as a pillar of stone. Fairchild leaned back into him for support.
Maybe, she thought.
Maybe…
But who was to say she was the only target Slayn had his eye on?
For all she knew, the creep had sent champagne and roses to every team in the competition.
And even if she was the only one who had grabbed his attention, that didn’t guarantee she’d be able to hold it.
She was in grave danger of getting overshadowed.
She tossed a glance in Slayn’s direction. He had his opera glasses pressed to his eyes as he watched the performance with laserlike intent. Fairchild couldn’t see the blonde anymore, but she had a feeling the woman was still in the box with Slayn, on her knees and working.
Fairchild frowned and leaned back into Dutton.
The second team was even more devastating than the first.
“The hell?” Nash whispered as the performance neared its climax. “What are they doing?”
Fairchild had been wondering the same thing.
She watched as the three male performers lay down on their backs and wove their legs together in a complex, triangular pattern that brought all three of their pelvises into alignment.
After a bit of graceful maneuvering, their three massive erections were pressed together in a single, thick column of flesh.
The fourth and final member of the team, a petite little female, moved into position above the supine men. She took a wide stance. A hush fell over the crowd.
“No way,” Fairchild whispered. “She can’t…”
She did.
As Fairchild and her teammates watched in silent astonishment, the woman slowly crouched, lowering herself onto the three hard cocks below her. In spite of her small size, she seemed to accept them with ease, her pussy stretching to accommodate the triple girth of her partners.
The crowd erupted into a roar of applause. In his box above the stage, Slayn set down his opera glasses so he could add his hands to the ovation.
Fairchild cursed under her breath.
She and her guys had been planning to improvise their performance, but it was clear that wasn’t going to cut it. If she wanted to hold Slayn’s attention, she was going to have to think of something, and fast.
What though?
She remembered the briefing. Slayn liked strong women. He liked to dominate them.
And he was a weapons dealer. That meant he had a taste for violence. Power dynamics. Control.
Fairchild turned and started to walk, heading deeper into the backstage area.
“Hey!” Reece hissed behind her. “Where are you going?”
Fairchild didn’t answer. She just stomped ahead, looking for the wardrobe area she’d seen a few minutes earlier when they had first arrived backstage.
In addition to competitions like this one, the theater hosted a whole variety of live entertainment for Calyxia’s guests.
Showgirls. Erotic magic. Full-length dramatic plays with real sex scenes. Musicals.
Fairchild pushed through the door of the wardrobe department and barged inside. A couple of dressers were sharing a narco stick, and they started to protest, but as soon as they saw the three big men who were with her, they changed their minds.
Fairchild marched over to one of the racks and started rifling through the costumes. It didn’t take her long to find something that might work. A leather jacket embellished with chains and pointed studs. The type a back-alley bruiser might wear. She turned and held it up in front of Reece’s frame.
“Think this’ll fit you?” she asked.
Reece cocked one brow. “Care to explain what this is all about?”
Fairchild sighed. She looked left and right at Nash and Dutton, who were standing on either side of her. Then she focused her eyes on Reece again.
“Can I trust you?” she asked.
“Of course,” all three men answered in unison.
Fairchild nodded. “Remember what you told me that first time in the briefing room? About not holding anything back? I’m going to need you to do that again.”
“Anything,” said Reece. “But—”
“Listen,” Fairchild cut him off. “We can’t compete with these other teams in terms of raw talent, so we’re going to have to rely on shock value instead.”
“Shock value?”
Fairchild yanked the leather jacket off its hanger and shoved it into Reece’s hands.
“Put this on,” she said. “Then I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”