Facing the Mirror

Published by Jaye McKenna at Smashwords

Cover Art by Chinchbug

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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is

entirely coincidental.

Words of Caution

This story contains sexually explicit material and describes sexual

relations between men. It is intended for adult readers.

Dedication

For Lia,

my twisted twin

and my candle in the darkness.

Thanks for being you!

Facing the Mirror

A novella in the Guardians of the Pattern universe

Jaye McKenna

1. Interrogation

The basement room was bare. In the harsh, artificial light the drain

set in the center of the concrete floor was a dark mouth, ready to
swallow all evidence of violence. Cameron Asada suppressed a shiver
that had nothing to do with the temperature and tried not to think about
the things that might be washed down that drain tonight.

Tiny, plastic blisters in the corners near the ceiling suggested he was

under surveillance, which he might have found amusing under other
circumstances. There would be little enough to see during tonight’s
proceedings, meaning the focus would be on Cam himself. Fortunately,
his years of undercover experience had taught him to maintain an aura of
professional indifference, which was completely at odds with the cold
dread curled in the pit of his stomach.

His security escort handed him an earpiece. Cam settled it in place

and tapped the tiny power pad to activate the device. A soft chime in his
ear indicated that it was working, and he gave a brief nod to the man
who’d handed it to him. He didn’t know the man’s name, but every single
member of DeMira’s private security detail was cut from the same cloth:
intimidating, silent, and just bright enough to understand when to turn a
blind eye.

“The prisoner’s on his way.” The security man’s voice was a deep

rasp. “Boss says two kilometers is enough clearance.”

The man’s unease brushed along the edges of Cam’s awareness.

“Two kilometers is plenty.”

“And once we’re out of the way, you’ll just… suck all the secrets

right out of the guy.”

Cam’s bark of laughter sounded loud and harsh in the bare room. It

would certainly look that easy; he only wished that it was. “Pretty much,
yeah.”

The guard gave him a brief, sidelong glance. “So why the

clearance?”

“Background noise. If there are other people around, targeting one

person’s thoughts is like trying to hear a whisper at a loud party.”

“Huh.” The man cleared his throat and fell silent. Cam didn’t have to

read his mind to know what was on it. Same thing that was on
everyone’s mind once they learned he was a psion. Can you get into my
head and steal my thoughts? Can you see my secrets? As if he’d want
to. As if anyone would, once they got a taste of what that really meant.

“It’s… not as easy as it sounds,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he

bothered trying to explain. It never made any difference. Nobody wanted
to be around a man who could expose all of their deepest, darkest
secrets.

The man didn’t say anything to that, only leaned away from him and

averted his eyes. Cam shook his head and stared down at the floor, gaze
drawn back to the drain.

He heard a door slam followed by heavy footsteps from somewhere

in the house above. His escort shifted a little closer to the door.
Probably couldn’t wait to get the hell away from him. Cam didn’t blame
the guy.

“You’re armed?”
Cam opened his jacket to reveal the stunner he wore.
“Good. When you’re through, sit tight. We’ll be along to let you out

once the boss gives the word.”

He answered with a brief nod; he’d performed enough psionic

interrogations for the Sapphire Guild that he knew the drill. He leaned
against the wall while he waited, feigning nonchalance. Knowing he was
being watched made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, but he
avoided glancing at the cameras. DeMira was likely observing him
already, studying the man who’d worked so hard for this opportunity to
prove himself invaluable to the Sapphire Guild. Cam had no intention of
betraying even a hint of his true feelings.

The door banged open and another member of DeMira’s security

staff strode in. His tailored, dark suit was identical to the one Cam’s
escort wore, and neither of the impeccably groomed men would have
looked out of place in a meeting of corporate executives. Nikolai
DeMira preferred to surround himself with the finer things in life. His
security team’s attire was no exception, though given the often violent
nature of their work, Cam had to wonder how many of those expensive
suits DeMira’s security team went through in a week.

A muttered curse and the dull sound of a fist hitting flesh came from

just outside the open door. A moment later, a man stumbled in and went
down hard on the floor. With his hands bound behind him, he was unable
to break his fall, and landed with a grunt of pain.

Another dark-clad security man followed him in, adjusting his suit

jacket and rolling his eyes as he stepped over the prisoner. Cam
remained leaning against the wall, expression impassive.

“We’ll just leave you to it then, Spook,” said the one who’d escorted

Cam out here.

Cam ignored them as they filed out and closed the door behind them.

The sound of the bolt sliding home was loud in the bare concrete room.
He reminded himself that being locked in with a prisoner deemed
valuable enough to warrant psionic interrogation was standard
procedure. He had yet to earn the level of trust required to change that.

He hoped to remedy that tonight.
“Security is on the way out.” DeMira’s voice came over the

earpiece, and Cam knew that his guess about being watched had been
dead on. “This man was caught copying information he should not have
had access to. I want to know who he’s working for. The fact that he’s
been conditioned against chemical interrogation suggests he’s an agent of
some sort. He’s proved resistant to traditional methods, and I do not
want him damaged to the point that all I get from him is gibberish.”
There was a pregnant pause. “Get me what I need, Vega, and you and I
will discuss your future with this organization.”

Cameron Vega, a mid-level lackey who was hungry to make a name

for himself in the Guild, had worked his ass off to earn the opportunity
this job represented. He curved his mouth in a small, satisfied smile. “I
look forward to it, sir.”

Cameron Asada, on the other hand, dreaded that meeting with every

fiber of his being, but was smart enough to keep that sentiment buried.
After two years of working for one of DeMira’s underbosses as
Cameron Vega, and two years before that building Vega’s reputation as a
freelance telepath, he didn’t even have to think about the appropriate
reactions.

While he waited for DeMira to signal that his men were clear, he

studied the prisoner. The man had managed to lever himself up to sitting
and had wedged himself into a corner. As if a few more feet between
them would protect his secrets. Cam would have laughed if he hadn’t felt
like throwing up.

The prisoner didn’t look like much. He was slim with short hair that

was currently a medium shade of dirty. Dark eyes watched Cam with an
expression that was equal parts wariness and exhaustion. The man
wasn’t dressed half as well as his escort; he wore filthy, ripped jeans
and the tattered remains of a T-shirt. Dark bruises mottled the pale skin
that was visible under his torn clothing. The fact that he sported only

bruises spoke volumes about the value of the information Cam was
expected to obtain.

“All right, Vega, Security is out of range.” DeMira’s voice over the

earpiece made him jump. “You may proceed.”

Cam shifted his attention to his shield and braced himself for the

emotional onslaught as he visualized the pattern that would thin his
defenses down to almost nothing. The prisoner’s fear hit him hard. He
squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to ignore the fear and focus instead on
the intellectual constructs that drove it. He wished he could separate the
two, but it was the emotional content that led him to the most relevant
thoughts. Years of practice had taught him how to work his way through
the emotional chaos and locate the information he wanted. But no matter
how much practice he got, it never got any easier. The work was
mentally exhausting, and would leave him feeling drained, wrung out,
and a more than a little dirty.

He drew in a deep, steadying breath and dove into the seething

maelstrom of the prisoner’s mind. Cam refused to let the man’s terror
distract him; with single-minded purpose, he sought the threads of
awareness he wanted. The ones that tasted of the darkest fear were the
ones that would lead him to the core of the man’s identity.

The curtain of conditioning that had protected the prisoner’s secrets

from chemical interrogation was little more than a thin veil to Cam’s
highly-trained senses. He pushed it aside and moved deeper.

When he reached the core, it was all laid out in front of him, his for

the taking.

“Special Agent Jacob Sylvester,” he said, more for DeMira’s benefit

than that of the man before him. He didn’t require the prisoner’s
cooperation to do this — only his continued consciousness.

Shock rolled through Cam’s mind as Sylvester registered what he’d

said.

“How… how did you—” Sylvester’s voice was hoarse.
Cam ignored the words and the disbelief and denial ringing through

Sylvester’s thoughts. He focused instead on a much fainter thread — a
whisper of truth intertwined with the most primal fear. Following it, he
found the most important — and damning — information. “Working
undercover for Federation Security’s Department of Substance Control
right here on Alpha. He’s a Fed.”

“FedSec DSC,” DeMira’s pleasant tenor sounded resigned. “Of

course. They grow ever more resourceful. I need to know what he
managed to pass on to his superiors.”

Opening his eyes right then was a mistake; the look of horror on

Sylvester’s face was like a kick in the gut.

“Filthy mind-fucker,” Sylvester spat at him. “Get the hell out of my

head!”

Cam swallowed hard and clamped down on his own guilt. They were

on the same side, but Cam couldn’t tell the man that. He had no choice
but to rape Sylvester’s mind and condemn him to whatever fate DeMira
decided he deserved. The chance to deal a death blow to the Sapphire
Guild was worth far more than the life of one local agent who’d been
careless enough to get caught.

Or so his own bosses at FedSec’s Department of Psionic Operations

would have him believe.

Cam steeled himself and sank back into the chaos of the prisoner’s

thoughts, fighting his way through Sylvester’s mounting terror. “He hasn’t
had time to pass any of it on,” Cam said. “He was planning to deliver the
data tonight.”

“Where? When?” DeMira asked.
The answer loomed large in Sylvester’s thoughts: a meeting at one of

the parks in the center of Paris, the largest city on Alpha.

“Highton Park,” Cam said. It crossed his mind to lie about the time,

thinking he might at least protect the agent’s contact. He decided against
it; he couldn’t afford to blow this, and DeMira could well be testing him.
“Two hours from now. Near the fountain. He’s supposed to meet a man
who’ll be wearing a red jacket.”

Sylvester slumped in the corner. The wave of defeat and resignation

that washed through the man’s mind confirmed that Cam had found the
truth. Feeling sick, he adjusted his shielding pattern to shut Sylvester out.

“Good work, Vega,” said the voice in his ear. “Very impressive.”
Cam forced a chuckle. “It’ll be more impressive when you confirm it,

sir. I’ve heard rumors that FedSec is playing around with artificial
memory insertion.”

“Those rumors have reached my ears, too, but I’ve yet to see any

proof,” DeMira said. “I’ll be sending someone to the park to meet his
contact.”

Cam knew he’d just condemned not one, but two FedSec agents to

death at the hands of the Guild. His face remained impassive, his hands
steady, but his insides felt like they were being ripped to shreds.

I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m sorry…

2. Mirror

Cam stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror of his cheap,

rented room and wondered how much longer it would be before he
couldn’t look himself in the eye anymore.

He’d changed in the years he’d worked this case, and not for the

better. He felt dirty and tainted, as if he were sinking into the muck along
with the scum he worked with every day. How long, he wondered, until
he became the very thing he hated?

He thought about Jacob Sylvester and his contact, and decided that

maybe he already had.

Where the hell was the line? And when, exactly, had he crossed it?
When he’d first been offered this assignment, that line had been

crystal clear in his mind. He’d jumped at the chance to be instrumental in
shutting down one of the Federation’s largest suppliers of illegal drugs
and weapons. Veiled hints that the Sapphire Guild was also involved in
human trafficking had further fueled his determination. But after four
years of being confronted with ever-darker moral shades of gray, Cam
had to wonder if the trail of broken minds and lifeless bodies left in his
wake might be too high a price to pay. The success he could achieve
here was ephemeral at best. Even if he did manage to bring DeMira’s
organization down, another would soon fill the void.

He blinked at the mirror and tried to see the difference between the

idealistic thirty-four-year-old who’d thrown his heart and soul into this
operation and the world-weary man who stared back at him now.

The brown eyes and the auburn hair that badly needed cutting were

still familiar, though the eyes were harder and he’d found a few strands
of silver in his hair. Minor details, compared to the changes in his heart
and mind. The true differences ran deep, hidden in places the mirror
couldn’t reveal.

It was just as well those changes were invisible. In a few short hours

he’d be at DeMira’s estate enduring a civilized dinner with a man he
would have no compunction about murdering in cold blood.

A hot shower did nothing to ease the knots in his shoulders, nor did it

wash away the blood on his hands or cleanse the ever-darkening taint in

his soul.

After dressing for dinner, Cam sank down on his bed with a sigh. He

closed his eyes and let his awareness drift down into the core of light at
his center. There, he began reinforcing the patterns any other psion
working for DeMira would expect to see.

His ability to put up a false screen of intention and motivation was

the reason he’d been chosen for this mission in the first place. The web
of lies he wove was consistent and believable enough to fool even the
most skilled psionic interrogator. Cam was able to immerse himself so
deeply into it that he could even pass chemical interrogation, a fact he’d
been required to prove again and again in training before he’d been
allowed to take that particular skill out into the field.

The memories of those training sessions still made him feel queasy.

Allowing someone else into his mind to rifle through his false overlay of
thoughts and memories had been terrifying. What if they’d been skilled
enough to find the man underneath and the past he’d tried so hard to put
behind him?

No one had ever seen through him, though. He’d become adept at

making Cameron Asada disappear, along with all his doubts and fears.
Cameron Vega was the man DeMira had hired, and Cameron Vega, cold-
blooded psionic interrogator and renegade telepath-for-hire, was exactly
what DeMira would get.

And if DeMira had his own psionic spies scanning his staff for

traitors or agents, Vega would pass muster. He could eat, drink, and
make nice with the Sapphire Guild’s inner circle.

And he could bury Cameron Asada so deep that his cries of protest

would never be heard.

3. Slave

Admission to Nikolai DeMira’s inner circle came with perks Cam

had not been expecting. A luxury suite at DeMira’s Paris estate was the
most extravagant of the benefits DeMira extended to his personal staff.
Housekeeping had already sent someone to gather Cam’s belongings
from his New London apartment, and he’d been promised that everything
would be in order by the time he was ready to retire for the night. In
addition to the suite, he’d been given the use of a car that was worth
more than he made in a year, and a generous line of credit at Marco’s, an
exclusive clothing shop in downtown Paris.

In the two years he’d worked for Gregor Vorzana, one of DeMira’s

most trusted underbosses, he’d never been invited to dine with the boss.
Vorzana kept his underlings at a distance. All of Cam’s dealings with
him had been conducted either over the net or in Vorzana’s New London
office.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he walked into the

estate’s elegant, glass-walled, formal dining room, but he hadn’t
imagined he’d be one of only four guests. Three of the seats around the
table were already occupied; the expensively dressed mountain of flesh
on DeMira’s right was Vorzana, and farther down the table sat Randal
Torres, Vorzana’s pretty, blue-eyed Golden Boy.

Rumor around the New London office was that Vorzana and DeMira

were grooming Torres to take over a new Guild venture on Calypso.
Rumor also had it that Torres had slept his way into the position.

DeMira sat at the head of the table. Next to his chair, Cam could see

someone kneeling on floor, head bowed, face hidden by a curtain of
shimmering, silver-blond hair.

“Cameron Vega, we meet at last.”
DeMira’s voice jerked Cam’s focus away from the figure on the floor

and onto the man who moved around the table to greet him.

If Cam hadn’t known just what DeMira was, he would have found the

man extremely attractive. DeMira had olive skin and glossy black hair,
and moved with a fluid grace that was surprising, given his powerful
build.

“Gregor speaks highly of your work in New London,” DeMira

continued. “I’m pleased to have you join us here in Paris.” DeMira’s
handshake was firm and those flat, black eyes met Cam’s with a
directness that was disquieting.

“Thank you, sir,” Cam said. “I’m honored to have been given the

opportunity.”

“Hardly given, Vega.” Vorzana squinted at him from his seat at the

table. “You’ve earned it, and as pleased as I am for you, I’m sorry to
lose you to Nikolai.”

DeMira inclined his head in acknowledgment of Cam’s words, then

turned to Vorzana. “He’ll be back in New London soon enough. Once
we’ve cleaned house here in Paris, your offices will be next.”

“Excellent. And as to the matter of compensation we spoke of

earlier… I’d be quite willing to make a trade. Say, Vega’s services in
return for Miko’s?” Vorzana waved a hand toward the silent figure
kneeling beside DeMira’s chair.

“The boy is not for sale, Gregor, as well you know. However, since

I’m well aware of how fond you are of him, he can certainly
accommodate you tonight.” DeMira glanced toward his chair. “On your
feet, Miko.”

If DeMira hadn’t said boy, Cam would have been hard-pressed to

say whether the pale figure that rose gracefully to its feet was male or
female.

Cam’s first reaction was a jolt of pure lust. The boy wore nothing but

a slim leather collar and a scrap of silver fabric tied in a loose knot
about his waist. The flat chest and narrow hips said male, but the
delicate, androgynous features said maybe not. His skin was pale, almost
luminous. White-blond hair hung in a silky curtain down his back, the
ends just brushing his hips. Large eyes of brilliant amethyst darted from
face to face. Cam had never seen eyes that color before, and guessed
they had to be a modification of some kind.

Those beautiful eyes widened as they fixed on Cam. For a just a

moment, the boy’s blank expression morphed into something Cam might
have called shocked recognition, if he’d ever seen the boy before. He
barely had time to register the shift before Miko’s features smoothed
back into indifference and the boy’s gaze dropped to the floor.

Vorzana’s eyes roamed over Miko. “Lovely,” he said on an exhale.

“Far more beautiful than anything I’ve seen on the auction block on
Xyle.”

Nausea twisted through Cam’s gut. Disgust extinguished the flames of

desire that had initially heated his blood. The boy — for he couldn’t be
much older than sixteen — was a slave. Illegal in the Federation, slavery
was big business on Xyle, a decadent pleasure planet in the Colonial
Alliance. Working for Vorzana, Cam had learned that the Sapphire Guild
was the only supplier of Alliance slaves in the Federation, but this was
first time he’d ever laid eyes on one. It shouldn’t have surprised him that
a man like DeMira would keep a slave, but somehow it did.

“Turn around, Miko,” DeMira ordered. “Show my guests how lovely

you are.”

Miko executed a slow turn, tension evident in every line of his

slender body. Cam adjusted his shielding pattern just a fraction and had
to bite his cheek to keep from crying out when he was hit with a
suffocating mixture of fear, dread, and desperation. The intensity of it
took his breath away. No normal human mind could project an emotion
that strongly. He wondered if DeMira had any idea that the boy was a
psion.

Then it occurred to him that DeMira might have brought the boy in to

read him, to plumb the depths of Cameron Vega’s mind and root out his
secrets. But no — there had been no duplicity in Miko’s thoughts. What
he’d sensed was pure terror. Miko’s entire awareness was focused on
doing nothing to attract more attention to himself. Cam didn’t blame him;
he’d be quiet, too, if he had Gregor Vorzana eyeing him like a piece of
meat.

“Come.” DeMira moved toward the table and indicated the chair on

his left. “Enjoy a glass of wine with us. When Draven arrives, we shall
have dinner, and then we’ll get down to business.” He cast a sidelong
glance at Cam.

Cam sat, his awareness of the boy who stood at his side almost

painful. DeMira approached Miko and laid a possessive hand on the
boy’s back, stroking his pale, flawless skin. Miko’s face betrayed no hint
of emotion, but Cam saw the shudder that rippled through him at the
touch, and marveled at his control.

When he glanced up at DeMira, the man’s flat, black eyes were fixed

on him, regarding him intently. “What do you think, Vega?”

Cam took a moment to collect himself under the pretense of studying

the boy. “He’s… he’s beautiful,” he murmured, and let his gaze travel
over Miko’s slim form. Just looking at the boy that way made him feel
sick and dirty, as if he were raping him with his eyes.

He forced himself to give DeMira a leering grin. “If he was mine,

you’d never get me out of bed.” The words rolled from his tongue with

ease, despite his disgust at DeMira for keeping a slave, and at himself
for the aching desire that had been his initial reaction. He knew that it
was a measure of his own skill at assuming his undercover persona, but
it still made him feel ill that he could react that way. He didn’t like to
dwell on what it said about him.

Vorzana let out a bark of laughter. “What did I tell you, Nikolai?

He’ll be right at home here.”

“What about you, Torres?” DeMira’s gaze slid from Cam and fixed

on Torres, who returned it with a cold stare.

“I’m not into children,” Torres said with a grimace. “And I don’t

have to resort to slaves.”

It was a dig Cam wouldn’t have dared to make, but DeMira just

laughed. “Miko’s no child. He’s nineteen. Perfectly legal for anyone
whose sensibilities might be offended. Your tastes are perhaps not
refined enough to allow you to appreciate Miko’s unique talents.”

Torres shook his head and looked away.
DeMira took his seat and filled Cam’s wineglass from the crystal

decanter sitting between them. He raised his own glass in a toast. “To
our newest resource protection specialist, Cameron Vega. Welcome. I
look forward to working with you.”

Cam inclined his head and waited while Vorzana and Torres joined

the toast.

After they’d drank to Cam, Vorzana raised his glass again. “And we

must also drink to Nikolai and his impeccable taste in… entertainment,”
he said, eyes raking over the boy who stood motionless at DeMira’s
side.

Cam raised his own glass in response and took a sip, but the wine,

fine as it undoubtedly was, tasted like vinegar.

“Come, Miko.” DeMira patted his knee. Miko slipped onto DeMira’s

lap and curled against his broad chest, face hidden by a river of pale hair
that glinted like silver in the light. DeMira’s hands moved over the boy’s
body, stroking and petting. Cam couldn’t watch. He lowered his lashes
and studied the other two men. Vorzana’s little piggy eyes were glued to
Miko, bright with interest, while Torres kept his own gaze averted,
concentrating on his wineglass instead.

This would have been an excellent opportunity to thin his shield and

get a taste of the emotional undercurrents swirling around the table, but
with DeMira’s slave broadcasting fear strong enough to drown out
everything else, there was no point.

Torres cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Speaking of Draven, that shootout he managed to get himself involved
in earlier this week has caused us no end of trouble back in New
London. City security has been tightened to the point where it’s
interfering with our normal distribution channels.”

DeMira waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve been assured that the

additional security measures will be relaxed within the next few days.
Put the word out to your distributors that they should be back to business
as usual by the end of the week.”

Torres’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “Draven’s a psychopath,

DeMira,” he said softly. “The latitude you give him concerns me. If he
can walk into New London anytime he pleases and raise enough hell that
it interferes with our operations—”

“Draven’s work in New London is what prevented the spy Vega

interrogated last night from handing vital data over to FedSec DSC,”
DeMira said coolly.

Vorzana took a sip of wine and watched his protégé with a

speculative frown.

“So he won’t be disciplined,” Torres said in a flat voice.
“He was acting on my orders.” DeMira flashed a feral grin. Torres

paled and pressed his lips together.

Vorzana’s beady eyes flicked between the two of them. “So the

matter is closed now? No need for further concern?”

“Not regarding Jacob Sylvester, at any rate,” DeMira said. “If he

wakes up, he’ll have no memory of the incident. Or of anything else.”

Cam swallowed hard and managed to keep his expression impassive.

The Guild’s policy was to mind-wipe anyone posing a security risk to
Guild operations. Cam had never been responsible for condemning
someone on his own side to it before. Guild scum he could rationalize;
Jacob Sylvester was another matter entirely.

“And what of his contact?” Vorzana asked.
“Draven arranged an accident for him,” DeMira said with an offhand

shrug. “Unfortunately, he didn’t survive it.”

“And I imagine Draven enjoyed every moment,” Torres muttered.
Cam was in full agreement with that sentiment, but dared not say so.

Torres was right — Draven was a psychopath. Cam had yet to meet a
colder, more ruthless individual. Draven’s soul — if he even possessed
such a thing — was as black as DeMira’s. Perhaps blacker, as Draven
didn’t even bother to pretend to be anything other than exactly what he
was.

“In this business,” DeMira said to Torres, “one does not always have

the luxury of choosing the tools that come to one’s hand. A lesson you
will no doubt learn when you take full responsibility for the Calypso
venture. Draven’s activities are not your concern. He understands the
parameters of his position and the extent to which he falls under my
protection quite intimately.”

“Intimately?” Vorzana raised an eyebrow.
“Quite.” DeMira’s smile was enigmatic.
The dining room doors swung open and a slim man with short dark

hair and eyes of pale amber strode in. He looked to be around thirty, and
the way he eyed the men at the table made Cam think of a wolf.

Draven.
If he had another name, Cam hadn’t heard it, though the organization

was rife with stories of his exploits. A living weapon with no
conscience, Draven was DeMira’s private assassin. Everyone who
worked for the Guild knew who he was, and those who knew what was
good for them kept their distance.

Draven nodded to DeMira as he took the last empty place at the

table, across from Torres.

“Draven, I’d like to introduce Cameron Vega,” DeMira said,

gesturing to Cam. “He comes highly recommended, courtesy of Vorzana.
If he passes muster tonight, he’ll be working closely with you in the
coming months.”

Cam had to suppress the urge to flinch as Draven’s calculating gaze

settled on him. A ripple of atavistic fear crawled up his spine and he
reinforced his shield almost without thinking. Draven’s eyes narrowed a
fraction, but he said only, “We’ve met. Briefly. In New London, last
summer. I won’t say welcome to the Family, just yet. That’ll be for later.
If he passes.” There was no welcome in those eyes, only cold appraisal.

“I look forward to working with you, too,” Cam said, not bothering to

hide the icy bite of sarcasm in his voice.

Draven gave him a wolfish grin and said to DeMira, “He’s a

convincing liar.”

Cam’s pulse pounded in his ears. Years of immersing himself in

Cameron Vega’s skin allowed him to bury the unease that might
otherwise betray him. He returned Draven’s grin with one that was just
as predatory. “Prerequisite for the job, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed.” Draven reached across the table and filled his wine glass,

but didn’t drink. That cool, assessing gaze never left Cam’s face. Cam
couldn’t decide if Draven was trying to unnerve him or if he truly
suspected something.

DeMira ignored them both. He turned his attention back to Miko,

whispering something to the boy. Miko unfolded himself from his
master’s lap with fluid grace, then knelt on the floor beside DeMira’s
chair with his head bowed and his hands behind his back.

Three of the household staff entered the room bearing trays loaded

with serving dishes. Following the wait-staff was a gray-haired woman
wearing an apron. She brought a covered platter of food to Draven and
set it in front of him, then left the dining room. Everyone else was served
from the dishes brought in on the trays.

Cam tried not to stare. Draven’s dinner was presented in precise,

rounded portions ringing the edge of his plate. As Cam watched him
from the corner of his eye, Draven rotated the dish a quarter turn.
Nobody else at the table even gave him a glance as he picked up his fork
and began polishing it with his napkin.

The dinner conversation revolved around such harmless topics as

Vorzana’s plans to remodel the executive offices of the New London
headquarters and Torres’s recent family vacation to the island resort
DeMira owned on Calypso.

DeMira split his attention between detailing his plans to invest in

several promising corporate ventures based on Calypso and feeding the
boy who knelt at his side. He offered choice morsels from his own plate
to Miko, and the boy used delicate movements of his lips and tongue to
take the food from his master’s hand. Miko ate with an expression of
rapture on his face, tongue sliding across his lips in a way that made
Cam sweat. After swallowing each bite, Miko cleaned DeMira’s fingers
with long, slow licks.

The boy’s performance was so erotic, Cam had to look away,

ashamed of his own body’s swift and heated response. His gaze fell
upon Vorzana, who followed Miko’s every motion with unconcealed
lust.

The meal dragged on, and Cam found himself wishing it was over.

Finally, dessert was cleared away and coffee was served. DeMira
leaned over to whisper something to Miko, then rose and exchanged a
few quiet words with one of the security men standing at the door.

“Come,” he said, gesturing for his guests to rise. “We shall adjourn

to more comfortable surroundings to complete our business.”

Cam got up with the others and followed them into a small sitting

room just off the dining room. Miko remained kneeling beside DeMira’s
chair. His head was no longer bowed, and Cam thought he saw the glint
of tears on the boy’s cheeks.

4. Test

Cam took a seat on the couch DeMira had indicated and watched

through the open doorway as the security guard DeMira had spoken to
led Miko away. A moment later, Draven closed the door of the sitting
room and leaned against the door frame, waiting while the others settled
themselves. When DeMira was seated, Draven pulled a small white
sphere from his jacket pocket. He swiped a finger along the black strip
running around it and set it in the center of the coffee table. Cam winced
as a subtle vibration just on the fringes of perception set his teeth on
edge.

“My apologies,” DeMira said to him. “After your exposure of

Sylvester, we cannot be too careful. I, too, find the sonic disruptor
annoying, but it’s the only way to ensure our privacy. We’ll be able to
relax after the purge — which is what you are here to assist us with.”

“Purge?”
“Agent Sylvester managed to infiltrate the organization despite our

extensive background checks and security precautions. From this point
on, the identity of anyone with access to sensitive information will be
verified by psionic interrogation. Draven will start with you. Then you
and he will work your way through the Paris offices.”

Cam didn’t even blink. He hadn’t realized that DeMira already had a

psionic interrogator on staff, and hadn’t spent enough time around
Draven to have sensed that the man was a psion. He’d expected to be
questioned under veritane, a truth drug, and the tightness across his
shoulders loosened a little at the knowledge that he wouldn’t be.
Maintaining his cover in the face of chemical interrogation was much
more difficult and exhausting than letting another psion dig around in his
mind.

At a nod from DeMira, Draven pushed himself away from the door

and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of Cam, so close their
knees almost touched.

Cam glanced around the gathering and frowned at Draven. “Don’t

you need the others to leave?”

The smile Draven gave him was thin and cold. “Why? Do you?”

“No. Just… mental interference. I thought—”
“I only get what I want to get. Just your secrets, Vega — no one

else’s.” The unnerving smile widened and Draven leaned forward.
“Besides,” he continued in a low voice, “I already know all their
secrets. Yours are the ones I’m interested in.”

DeMira and Vorzana both laughed. Torres fidgeted, averting his eyes

and twisting his wedding ring.

Cam returned Draven’s gaze and dropped his shield. “Go ahead.” He

made the statement a deliberate challenge, and didn’t miss the slight lift
of Draven’s eyebrow in response.

Draven’s eyes unfocused as he went to work. Cam tried to relax,

knowing it would go faster if Draven didn’t have to fight his way in. He
gritted his teeth, steeling himself for the cold, nauseating sensation of
another mind slithering through his thoughts.

That crawling feeling of violation never came, though. Time dragged

on and he wondered what the hell Draven was waiting for.

Until Draven’s lips quirked in a sardonic smile. “Former riptide

addict, eh?”

Cam’s body tensed, and for an instant, his mind froze, too. The hell of

addiction was his own nightmare past, not Vega’s. Cameron Vega might
be a bit too fond of his liquor, but he’d never touched drugs. Draven
should not have been able to dig that deep. And Cam should have felt
him there if he had.

If he’d found that… what else had he found?
The web of lies that he’d lived and believed for the past four years

wasn’t nearly enough to stem the adrenaline surge that came with the
knowledge that he’d been discovered. Cam held his breath as he waited
for Draven to call him a traitor, and DeMira to put a bullet through his
head.

Draven’s smile widened. Pale amber eyes met Cam’s and held his

gaze. “Not uncommon for psions,” Draven said. “Especially the stronger
receptives. Riptide is the only thing that stops the voices, right, Vega?”

“Right,” Cam managed to whisper.
“Is he clean?” DeMira asked, his voice like velvet-edged steel.
“He’s clean.” Draven’s eyes remained fixed on Cam’s. “Has been

for twenty years.”

A shudder rippled through Cam, and he couldn’t quite suppress it.
Draven’s lips quirked again. “He’s also exactly what he says he is.”
Cam stared at Draven, trying to understand what the hell kind of game

the man was playing. Draven had seen right through him, so why not

expose him to DeMira? That was Draven’s reason for being here.

Or maybe Draven had other plans for him. Torres had called him a

psychopath, and everything Cam had heard about the man seemed to
support that assessment.

Cold sweat broke out on his body and he struggled to hold onto his

calm façade. Vega had nothing to hide; Vega wouldn’t be fazed by any of
this.

Draven leaned forward, almost close enough to kiss him, and

whispered, “You can reshield now. I’ve seen everything I wanted to.
And some things I didn’t.” And with that, he grabbed the sonic disruptor
and shut it off as he rose.

Vorzana let out a sigh. “Thank God that’s over.”
DeMira got to his feet and moved toward Cam. “Welcome to the

Family, Vega.”

Although he was too wound up to appreciate the sudden absence of

that annoying, just-perceptible itch in his brain, Cam gathered himself
enough to get up and receive a handshake and a congratulatory slap on
the back from DeMira.

Vorzana and Torres also rose and shook his hand, Vorzana saying

quietly, “Sorry about that, Vega. I had no doubts, but with things as they
are…”

“It’s all right, Mr. Vorzana.” He managed to keep his voice steady

and his eyes off of Draven. “I understand. You can’t be too careful.”

“Now that’s out of the way, we can adjourn for the evening,” DeMira

said. He turned to Cam. “The housekeeping staff informs me that your
belongings have been delivered and your suite is in order, but please
notify them if there is anything you require.”

“Thank you, sir. You’ve been most generous.”
“You’ll find that hard work and loyalty are rewarded, Vega. And

speaking of hard work, you and Draven will begin the purge tomorrow.
You’ll be conducting the interviews at the retreat where you questioned
Sylvester. When you’ve verified the integrity of the Paris staff, we’ll
move the proceedings to New London.”

“Yes, sir.”
Draven’s gaze fixed on Cam. “I’ll meet you in the dining room at

0700 for breakfast. We’ll head out right after that.”

“I’ll be ready.”
Draven gave him a brief nod and left the room.
Cam watched him go, suspended somewhere between relief and

dread. How much of the truth had Draven seen? And what had he meant

by that cryptic, whispered comment?

DeMira turned to Vorzana and clasped his shoulder, giving the older

man an indulgent smile. “I’m sure you’re eager to get to your evening’s
entertainment. Good night, Gregor.”

Vorzana rubbed chubby hands together, a broad leer on his face. “Oh,

I’m sure Miko will see to it that I have a good night. The boy is amazing,
Nikolai. Simply amazing.” He took his leave, Torres following in his
wake.

Cam trailed after them, heading for his own suite and wondering if a

security detail would be waiting for him when he got there.

5. Scream

Half an hour later, Cam slumped on the couch in his suite and stared

at the liquor bottles lined up on the shelf above the small bar. They
hadn’t come from his shitty little apartment in New London; Cameron
Vega couldn’t afford to set foot in the kind of establishments that stocked
the brands he’d been supplied with.

Drowning himself in whiskey shipped all the way from Earth at

ridiculous expense seemed like an appropriate way to finish off the
evening. But as much as he’d appreciate the numbness of an alcohol fog,
he couldn’t risk it. Draven was still here at the estate, and God only
knew what he’d told DeMira.

Or had he?
There had been no security detail awaiting him. In fact, all he’d found

in his suite were his clothes and the few possessions he’d managed to
accumulate over the past four years.

The fact that Cam was still walking around alive and free said

Draven couldn’t have gotten the whole truth out of him. He’d be dead
otherwise. Or mind-wiped, like poor Jacob Sylvester.

In spite of the survival instinct telling him to get the hell out while he

still could, Cam knew he couldn’t throw the mission unless he was
certain that his cover had been compromised. All he knew right now was
that Draven had somehow fished out the fact that he’d had a riptide habit
in his teens.

Although… now that he gave it a moment’s rational thought, Cam

realized that it was possible that Draven hadn’t pulled a damn thing out
of his head.

A large percentage of untrained psions did end up hooked on riptide.

It was the only readily available drug that could quiet the voices and
soothe a mind that couldn’t shut out the mental noise of the world around
it.

Draven could have just made a lucky guess.
Except…
Twenty years clean. Draven hadn’t pulled that out of his ass.
And yet, here he was, safe in his own suite, contemplating DeMira’s

expensive liquor.

He got slowly to his feet, eyeing the bar. One drink wouldn’t hurt. It

might even relax him enough that he could fall asleep. He’d need sleep if
he was going to be able to work tomorrow. Psionic interrogation
required concentration and focus, and it sounded like he and Draven
would be doing a lot of it.

At the bar, he poured himself a glass of Scotch and took a sip. The

smooth liquid rolled over his tongue, the smoky flavor lingering like
early morning mist over a lake. It went down far too easily. He raised
the glass to his reflection in the mirror and gave himself a wry grin —
then froze as a psionic scream sliced through his defenses.

The glass fell from his fingers and shattered on the stone countertop.

Cam brought his hands to his head and turned his attention inward,
visualizing the strongest shielding pattern he knew and pushing it into
place.

It didn’t help.
The screaming continued — wordless howls of fear and pain. With a

feeling of sick dread, Cam realized that he knew exactly who those cries
were coming from.

Miko.
The boy’s mind was like nothing he’d ever sensed before, an

intriguing mixture of light and dark, color and shadow. Cam had only felt
the briefest touch of that mind, but he’d know it anywhere.

“God…” Cam ran his hands through his hair, scrubbing hard at his

scalp, as if that could make the pain stop. What the hell was Vorzana
doing to the kid?

Not your business, Vega.
Not his business at all, if making it his business would compromise

the operation.

Another mental cry knifed through his awareness, this one tasting

more of tears than terror. Cam reached over the puddle full of glass
shards for the bottle and raised it to his lips. A shame not to savor it, but
he wanted the numbness far more than the sensory experience.

The alcohol made him feel hazy and sleepy, but it did nothing to shut

out Miko’s misery. For the first time in twenty years, Cam thought of
riptide, and how good it felt when it started working. It wasn’t the high
he craved; that had never been his reason for using. It was the silence.

Not even the still-vivid memories of withdrawal hell could stop him

from thinking about that blissful silence. Cam wrapped his arms about
himself and shivered, trying to turn his thoughts to something else.

Anything else.

It was a damn good thing he didn’t have access to the stuff right now.
When exhaustion drove him to his bed, it was well after midnight. He

longed for sleep to take him, but it didn’t. He stared into the darkness
long into the early morning hours, trying to shut out Miko’s mental
whimpers and struggling to convince himself that doing nothing to help
the boy was the right course of action.

And trying to ignore the voice of Cameron Asada, which told him

quite emphatically that no, it wasn’t.

6. Games

Draven was waiting for him in the dining room as promised. Cam

tried to view the fact that no one had come for him in the night as a good
thing. He crossed the room toward the buffet, watching Draven out of the
corner of his eye, seeking any hint of the man’s thoughts that might be
visible on his face.

Surely now that they were alone, Draven would confront him if he

had any suspicions. Maybe he was planning to blackmail Cam, or maybe
he was just toying with him, drawing it out to watch him sweat. That fit
with the rumors around the New London offices about how much
DeMira’s assassin enjoyed his job. Cam’s gut churned while he waited
for Draven to say something.

But Draven said nothing, not even a good morning. He took a seat at

the table, ignoring the food-laden sideboard that ran along the far wall of
the dining room.

The platters of eggs, potatoes, and sausages held no appeal this

morning. Cam went straight for the coffee. He’d already learned that
DeMira stocked excellent coffee — dark and bitter with just a hint of
vanilla, and packing enough of a punch to allow him to at least pretend
he’d gotten enough sleep. He poured himself a generous cup, took a long
drink, then steeled himself for a difficult day.

He took a seat at the table. Draven didn’t even acknowledge his

presence. He’d only been sitting for a minute when the same gray-haired
woman who’d served Draven last night appeared carrying a covered
platter. She placed a full plate in front of Draven, then turned and headed
back to kitchen without a word.

Just like the plate Draven had been given at dinner last night, all the

food — potatoes, mushrooms, fried onions, fried tomatoes, eggs,
sausages, fruit, and yogurt — was arranged in a ring, all in circular-
shaped servings, all the same distance apart, with no two touching.
Draven adjusted the plate so the potatoes sat at twelve o’clock, polished
his fork with his napkin, and started on them. Cam watched from beneath
lowered lashes as Draven worked his way clockwise around the plate,
finishing each pile and wiping his fork clean before starting on the next.

Exactly halfway through his breakfast, Draven gave his fork an extra

polish with the napkin and set it down next to his plate. He looked up at
Cam and cocked his head to one side. “Bad night?”

Cam nodded. “You could say that.”
“Me, too.” Draven picked up his fork again and started in on the pile

of scrambled eggs.

Cam waited a few moments to see if Draven would say any more, but

the man was concentrating hard on his breakfast again. After draining his
coffee, Cam got up and poured himself another cup.

Once they were settled in the private flyer DeMira had sent for them,

Draven stared out the window. He didn’t speak until they’d left the
forested estate grounds behind and were heading north, toward the
distant mountains where DeMira’s retreat was located.

“Riptide helps.”
“What?” Cam had to search his memory before he realized that

Draven was continuing the conversation he’d started at breakfast, well
over an hour ago.

“Miko’s loud. He loses control when he’s hurting. Riptide helps.”

Draven turned back to the window and fell silent.

Cam stared at him, wondering how to respond to that. None of the

things that came to mind were complimentary to DeMira or Vorzana, and
he couldn’t bring himself to joke about it. Miko’s pain and his own
inability to do anything about it had affected him far more than he wanted
to admit, even to himself.

A few moments later, Draven turned back to him and gave him an

unreadable look. “Vorzana won’t be there tonight. He caught the shuttle
back to New London this morning. Next time he comes to the estate, I’ll
make sure you’ve got some riptide to see you through.”

Cam swallowed hard and thought about what he might have given for

a hit of riptide last night. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea. But thanks
for the thought.”

Draven turned back to the window, and Cam wondered if he’d

offended the man.

For the rest of the flight, Cam waited, balanced on the ragged edge,

for Draven to confront him.

Draven, for his part, continued to stare out the window in unnerving

silence.

At least they weren’t working in the bare concrete room in the

basement where Cam had doomed Jacob Sylvester. The rustic living
room where he and Draven took turns sliding into the minds of the
nervous Paris executives was almost cheerful by comparison. The
furniture was sturdy and comfortable, a fire crackled in the fireplace,
and the view of the valley below was breathtaking.

Cam stared out of the picture window at the snow-covered peaks

across the valley while he waited for Draven to escort the next victim in.
A dozen people from the Paris office had been brought to a small hunting
lodge on the edge of DeMira’s property. The security team had been
tasked with shuttling them back and forth one at a time, to give Draven
and Cam the mental silence they needed in order to perform the
interrogations.

Or rather, the silence Cam needed. Draven didn’t appear to require

isolation in order to work. He’d made that clear last night, when he’d
slipped deep into Cam’s mind and dredged up secrets Cam had thought
long buried.

He wondered why, if Draven was that skilled, DeMira needed his

assistance at all. It would have made a lot more sense to have Draven
perform the interrogations in downtown Paris. He’d asked, but Draven’s
reply had been as short and cryptic as everything else that came out of
the man’s mouth.

“Emotions,” he’d said, as if that explained everything.
Cam had frowned. “What about them?”
“Emotions don’t make sense to me.”
That was all the explanation Cam got, and he couldn’t decide if it

meant that Draven couldn’t sense emotions or didn’t experience them.
Given the rumors Cam had heard and the things he’d already observed, it
wouldn’t surprise him at all to learn that Draven didn’t process emotions
the way normal people did.

He heard steps in the hallway outside the living room, and turned to

see Draven and a tall, blond man enter the room.

“Ben Linton, this is Cameron,” Draven said, meeting Cam’s eyes and

giving him a knowing grin. “Cameron Vega.”

Nausea and apprehension swirled in Cam’s gut, making him thankful

he’d only eaten a light lunch. He was almost certain that Draven knew
who he was and was toying with him, no doubt enjoying the sense of
power he derived from keeping Cam off-balance.

“Vega’s our new resource protection specialist,” Draven continued,

never taking his eyes off of Cam. “He’s just going to do a quick

interview, make sure you’re not keeping any secrets from the
organization.”

Linton’s eyes darted between the two of them. His expression didn’t

change, but his tension level jumped. Cam stepped forward to shake the
man’s hand.

“I’ve nothing to hide,” Linton said as he took Cam’s hand in a firm

but sweaty grip.

Draven raised an eyebrow at Cam, then turned to give Linton a cool

smile that didn’t touch those pale wolf-eyes. “Good, then this won’t take
long. Have a seat. And try to relax.” He gave Cam a nod.

Cam thinned his shield and steeled himself for the onslaught. They

were all scared at this point — even the ones who had nothing to hide.
Nobody, however innocent they might be, liked the idea of a telepath
poking around in their mind. It occurred to Cam that it wouldn’t be long
before he was just as feared as Draven within the Sapphire Guild.

He put that thought firmly out of his mind and concentrated on his

task. It wasn’t nearly as bad as what he’d had to do to Sylvester. DeMira
had wanted very specific information from Sylvester, which meant
digging deep and immersing himself in Sylvester’s terror. Now, Cam
only had to verify that each employee was telling the truth about who
they were.

Linton hadn’t been prepared for the possibility of psionic

interrogation, nor had he been conditioned against truth drugs. Cam knew
the man was a plant the moment he slipped into Linton’s mind.

“Sloppy,” he said, glancing at Draven. “Calypso Syndicate.”
“Typical,” was Draven’s only comment. The next thing Cam knew,

Draven had straddled Linton’s legs, almost sitting on the man’s lap, the
muzzle of a gun Cam hadn’t even known he was carrying pressed to
Linton’s forehead. Draven’s gleeful anticipation rivaled Linton’s fear.
Cam adjusted his shielding pattern and let out a quiet sigh of relief when
the emotions of the two men before him cut off.

“Are you playing a game with me, Mr. Linton?” Draven asked in

pleasant voice.

Linton’s eyes flicked from Draven to Cam and then back to Draven.

“N-no. No games.”

“Too bad. I like games… but you’re not very good at them, are you?”

He leaned forward and said in a loud whisper, “Cameron’s a lot more

fun than you are. He doesn’t leave his secrets lying around where just
anyone can find them.”

Draven sat back and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was like a whip-

crack, and even though he’d half expected it, Cam jumped, adrenaline
coursing through him. He turned his face away, unable to look at Draven.
Every muscle in his body locked as he waited for Draven to turn the gun
on him.

“Huh.”
Cam glanced up to see Draven standing in front of the couch

examining the dark, spreading stain under Linton’s body.

“You were right. Very sloppy.” Draven looked at Cam and grinned.

“I think this couch is done for.”

“Did you…” Cam swallowed back the acid that rose in his throat. He

wasn’t sure if he should be disturbed or relieved. If Draven knew what
he was, he’d have died last night, the same way Linton just had. “Did
you get anything more out of him?”

“Mr. DeMira’s compensation package apparently wasn’t good

enough for Mr. Linton. He was approached by our competitors a few
months ago. He’s been feeding them information ever since. Too bad he
didn’t have any names.” Draven’s eyes narrowed as they searched
Cam’s face. “You don’t look so good.”

“I… I’m just tired,” Cam said, which was true. He didn’t think it was

necessary to add sick, frightened, and heartsore; the words would likely
mean nothing to Draven.

“Mmm. Rough night and all.” Draven gave his shoulder an awkward

pat. It took everything Cam had not to flinch away. “We’ll call it a day.”
He glanced toward the couch. “This’ll need to be cleaned up before we
continue, anyway. It might upset people.”

7. Reward

It was late when Cam returned to his suite. All he could think about

was falling into bed. He hoped a good night’s sleep would clear his
head, because right now he was confused as all hell.

He’d learned two things today. One was that he wasn’t sure how

much longer he could keep doing this job and still live with himself. The
other was that Draven was as dangerous and unpredictable as they came,
and that Torres’s assessment was dead on.

Draven’s comments that afternoon had all but convinced Cam that the

man was on to him. And yet, when they’d met with DeMira to give him
their report, Draven had given Cam full credit for rooting out Ben Linton.
He’d even gone so far as to tell DeMira they were lucky to have Cam
working for them, and that his presence would ensure that the purge was
quick and successful.

Cam couldn’t understand why Draven was so intent on making him

look good, but he wasn’t about to argue. He accepted the praise
graciously and thanked DeMira when the boss told him he would be
rewarded.

He assumed DeMira meant a financial reward right up until the

moment he walked into his bedroom and found DeMira’s slave kneeling
at the foot of his bed, head bowed, wrists crossed behind his back.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath. He could hardly refuse

or protest the boss’s reward without offending the man, especially after
what he’d said last night: If he was mine, you’d never get me out of bed.

It took a conscious effort not to glance about the room in search of the

tiny cameras he knew were there. Being observed wasn’t something that
usually worried him, not after four years of living and breathing the role
of Cameron Vega, a man whose soul now belonged to the Sapphire
Guild. Tonight, however…

There was no question in Cam’s mind that Vega would take full

advantage of the boy. Cameron Vega’s preferences were well known, at
least around the New London office. His stomach clenched at the
thought. He’d done plenty of things he regretted in the name of the job,
but this…

He approached the slave and circled him, raking his gaze over that

slender, perfect body. Miko’s hip-length hair cascaded down his bare
back like a river of molten silver. Cam stopped in front of him. The boy
remained motionless under Cam’s scrutiny, rigid with tension.

Cam put a hand under Miko’s chin to tilt his head up. Eyes of

brilliant amethyst stared up at him — no — through him. The boy wasn’t
focused on him at all, but on something far away, or maybe something
deep inside his own head. Cam had seen expressions like that on trauma
survivors. His stomach churned again.

For the mission, he reminded himself.
He could almost feel the taint in his soul growing blacker, oozing

deeper.

“Miko,” he said softly. “Damn, you’re pretty.”
Miko blinked up at him. Those beautiful eyes widened and focused

on Cam as if he’d only just realized Cam was there. Before Cam could
say another word, Miko’s hands were working at his belt. With
practiced efficiency, the boy unzipped Cam’s pants and hauled them
down over his hips.

Cam bit back the words of protest he would have spoken. Vega

would want this. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to be still as
Miko took him in hand.

He wanted to tell Miko to stop. He’d never wanted to be the kind of

person who would use someone like this. The fact that he was only doing
it to maintain his cover didn’t make it any easier. Somewhere along the
line, he’d let himself become the kind of scum he was trying to bring
down, and the thought made him sick.

Sick or not, he couldn’t stop his body from responding to the firm but

gentle pressure of Miko’s hand. Nor could he stop the moan that escaped
his lips when Miko’s pink tongue lapped at the head of his cock.

There was no room here for Cameron Asada’s morals; they would

only get him killed. Cam swallowed hard and retreated into his Vega
persona. After four years, it was far too easy, like slipping on a
comfortable pair of jeans.

Heat pooled low in his belly, and he couldn’t stop the cry of pleasure

that tore from his throat when Miko took the entire length of him into his
mouth. He buried his hands in the spun silk of Miko’s hair. The boy’s
hand cupped his balls and his tongue flicked its way up his shaft.

Cam shuddered in guilty pleasure at the sensations coursing through

him.

He hated himself for the way his hips thrust forward as he fucked the

boy’s mouth, and for the climax that ripped through him and left him
feeling breathless and wrung out. And he hated himself even more for the
way Miko watched him with wary eyes, as if the boy wasn’t sure
whether to expect a pat on the head or a fist in the gut.

Miko lapped him clean and then sank back down, head bowed. Cam

fixed his pants, then tugged on the collar around Miko’s neck. “On the
bed.”

A tremor rippled through Miko’s thin frame, but he rose and went to

the bed, his movements stiff and careful. Sore from whatever Vorzana
had done to him last night, Cam thought, and gritted his teeth to keep from
scowling. Miko settled himself on the bed on all fours: elbows resting on
the mattress, ass in the air.

Cam forced a laugh. Vega would make some self-deprecating attempt

at humor right about now, so he said, “You’re a lot more confident in my
ability to get it up again than I am, kid. Just sit. Old man like me needs a
breather between rounds.”

Miko turned around, but instead of relaxing, he leaned back, reclining

in a provocative pose that started Cam’s pulse pounding again—

—until the boy shifted a little and the angle of the lamplight revealed

the fingertip-shaped bruises on his hip.

Cam shook his head and sank down on the bed, the memory of those

pitiful cries he’d endured for half the night killing any lingering desire he
might have felt.

Miko took that as an invitation and crawled across the bed and onto

Cam’s lap. Once settled, he ground his butt down against Cam’s groin.
Cam didn’t have the heart to shove him away, but he wanted to.

“No, Miko,” he whispered. “It’s okay. You don’t have to…”
Miko turned to look at him, eyes narrowed.
“How old are you?” Cam asked in a low voice.
DeMira had said nineteen, but looking at the boy, Cam wasn’t sure he

believed it. Sixteen, maybe. Miko showed Cam his hands, all ten fingers
at once, then folded one thumb in.

“Nineteen?” Cam asked in a whisper.
Miko nodded his head yes.
Cam hated the relief that curled through him. As if knowing the kid

was of legal age made any difference whatsoever. He knew damn well
Miko would never have touched him if he’d thought he had a choice in
the matter

“Why don’t you speak to me?”
One graceful, long-fingered hand rose to Miko’s throat and he shook

his head.

“You can’t speak.”
Those beautiful, impossibly-colored eyes met his, wide and sad.
“Did DeMira do that to you?” Cam whispered.
Miko shook his head hard, an emphatic no.
Mindful of the watching cameras, Cam made a show of pushing the

boy gently off his lap and getting to his feet. “God, you’re beautiful,” he
said. “Wish I wasn’t so damn tired.” He stretched and yawned. “I need a
shower. Go ahead and fall asleep if you like. The mind is more than
willing, but the body isn’t even close.” He gave the boy a wry grin and
headed off to the bathroom.

He stood under the steaming spray for a long while. It did nothing for

the tension riding him, but at least it kept him away from Miko. Once out
of the shower, he took his time getting ready for bed, avoiding the mirror
as much as possible. He had no desire to look upon the monster that
would be staring back at him.

Cam drew out his bedtime routine as long as he could, hoping that

Miko might fall asleep waiting for him. He had no idea if refusing
Miko’s advances would buy the boy trouble, and he didn’t want to be
responsible for causing him any more pain.

After brushing his teeth for the third time, he finally shut off the

bathroom light and went out into the bedroom. Miko was waiting for him
in the bed. The moment he saw Cam, he flung back the covers and took
himself in hand, stroking slowly as he gazed at Cam with sultry, half-
closed eyes.

Cam looked away. “Jesus, kid…” He let out what he hoped was a

convincing sigh of regret. “I’m too fucking old for this.” He climbed into
bed beside Miko and turned out the light. Miko moved toward him and
pressed his body against Cam’s, hands roaming over Cam’s bare chest
and then working their way down into his sleep pants.

“No,” Cam whispered. He took hold of the boy’s thin wrists and

gently pushed Miko’s hands aside. “You don’t have to do that. I’m not…
just… try to get some sleep, Miko.”

Miko went so still, Cam couldn’t even hear him breathing. Cam

turned over and lay with his back to the boy. After several minutes, he
felt Miko shift away from him and settle on the other side of the bed.

Cam closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep, but his mind

refused to shut down. He couldn’t stop analyzing everything Draven had
said to him today, trying to figure out how much the man knew. He dozed
on and off, jerking awake at every sound, convinced that Draven and the

security team were coming for him.

Morning found him even less rested than he had been the day before,

and not at all looking forward to spending another day in Draven’s
company.

8. Choices

When Cam left his suite, Miko was still asleep, curled up as close to

the edge of the bed as he could get without falling off. Cam had gone
about his morning routine in careful silence. If, as he suspected, sleep
was the only place Miko found any peace, then Cam wasn’t going to rob
him of even a single minute.

Draven’s unnerving breakfast ritual was repeated, right down to the

foods served and their positions on his plate. The man ate with precise,
efficient motions. His attention stayed on his food the entire time, and he
wiped his fork clean after finishing each carefully arranged serving.

Obsessive eating habits aside, there was a marked shift in Draven’s

behavior that day. From the moment they left the estate, the man was all
business. There were no cryptic comments, no meaningful looks or sly,
sardonic smiles, and to Cam’s immense relief, no toying with the
frightened staff they were interrogating.

For the most part, Cam was inclined not to question, but he couldn’t

help but wonder what the hell had changed.

Maybe Draven had already voiced his suspicions to DeMira and

didn’t see any point in tormenting him. Or perhaps the man had a short
enough attention span that Cam no longer interested him.

After a dozen uneventful interviews which took until mid-afternoon,

they left the retreat. Draven didn’t speak to him until they’d landed back
at the estate.

“Don’t make any plans for tonight,” Draven said as they walked

toward the main house. “Dinner meeting with the boss.”

“Oh?”
“We’re interviewing a transport specialist for the new Calypso

venture.”

Cam snorted. “Is that a nice way of saying smuggler?”
Draven gave him a flat stare. “It’s what we call the people who move

product for us.”

“Like you and I are resource protection specialists, eh?”
The irony was lost on Draven. He frowned and continued, “Mr.

DeMira wants your impressions during dinner and the interview after.

You’ll be taking the candidate on a tour of the estate, too. We’ll make
sure nobody else is around for that, so you can have a poke around in his
head. You don’t have to get too deep — we just want to know if he’s
hiding anything.”

It was the longest speech he’d ever heard Draven make, and Cam

couldn’t help but stare at the man.

“After you escort him to his suite, you’ll report to the boss. If you

think he’s keeping secrets…” Draven’s mouth quirked in a half-smile.
“Then it’ll be my turn to play with him.”

Cam shifted his gaze to the ground and kept his mouth shut. He hoped

his own presence wouldn’t be required if DeMira decided to set Draven
loose on the guy.

They parted ways in the hall outside Cam’s suite. Miko was gone, but

when Cam entered the dining room an hour later, the boy was there on
his knees beside DeMira’s chair. Miko’s eyes locked onto Cam’s and
followed him as he crossed the room.

Cam was seated farther down the table this time, opposite Draven.

DeMira was flanked by Randal Torres on one side and a stranger, whom
DeMira introduced as Captain Flynn Morgan, on the other.

Like most spacers, Morgan was pale and slim. He had close-cropped

blond hair and flinty gray eyes, and he wore his elegant designer suit
with the discomfort of someone unused to such formal attire. The line of
piercings all the way around his ears and the tattoos that started on the
backs of his hands and disappeared under his sleeves suggested that he
was used to moving in very different circles than the one he found
himself in now.

DeMira introduced both Cam and Draven as associates, not divulging

their actual roles within the organization. Once the meal had been served
and Morgan began answering DeMira’s questions about his security
measures, Cam adjusted his shielding pattern to let in just enough to get a
sense of the general mood around the table. He doubted he’d pick up
anything useful until later, when he escorted Morgan to his suite, but on
occasion, he came across a mind that was so distinctive it was easy to
pick out of a crowd. If Morgan possessed such a mind, it would make his
own job that much easier.

The only thing he got, however, was a sickening wave of

apprehension and fear coming from Miko. It was so strong, it drowned
out anything else he might have sensed. Cam glanced over at the boy,
who knelt at DeMira’s side, head bowed, face hidden by a silky fall of
silver hair.

As Cam turned his attention back to the table, he saw Draven shoot

Miko a hard stare. The boy’s head jerked up and his eyes widened as he
locked gazes with Draven. A moment later, Miko bit his lip and
frowned, and Draven’s lips curved in a small smile.

Cam observed the silent exchange until Draven gave him a brief nod,

as if to say, Proceed. If they’d been alone, he would have had a hundred
questions, but they weren’t, and Cam had a job to do. He readjusted his
shielding pattern. There was no trace of Miko’s terror, not even a
whisper. Cam breathed a silent sigh of relief and focused his empathic
awareness on the men around him.

The emotional landscape was dominated by a general feeling of

anxiety. Not surprising, given the nature of the association being
proposed. In a business where trusting the wrong people could have dire
consequences, tension was to be expected, especially during the initial
negotiations. Less intense but far more disturbing was the thread of lust
and envy he sensed.

Cam studied the men at the table from beneath lowered lashes as he

tried to determine the source of that uncomfortable feeling. It wasn’t
coming from Torres; Cam had taken his orders from Torres for most of
the past year, and knew the feel of his mind well enough. It wasn’t
coming from Draven, either — all Cam sensed from him was an air of
watchful calm. That left DeMira and Morgan. It didn’t take long for Cam
to note the way that burning thread of lust vibrated and brightened every
time Morgan’s gaze settled on Miko.

The constant tension thrumming through his unprotected mind was

starting to give him a headache. Cam adjusted the pattern again, this time
to block everything out. He’d have to wait until he and Morgan were
alone to perform the empathic analysis DeMira wanted.

After the meal, one of DeMira’s security staff came to lead Miko

away. Morgan’s gaze followed the boy, who wore only a scrap of
shimmering black fabric knotted loosely about his narrow hips. Cam
hoped Miko couldn’t sense Morgan, but the fear the boy had been
broadcasting earlier suggested that he could.

DeMira gestured for his guests to follow him, and took them into the

adjoining sitting room. Draven set the sonic disruptor in the center of the
table, then moved to stand beside DeMira’s chair.

Resource protection, indeed.
DeMira, Morgan, and Torres settled right to business, with Draven

watching over the proceedings. Cam remained silent; Vega wasn’t
qualified to participate in this discussion, and was well aware of his

place here. Asada, on the other hand, was alert for any details that might
be of interest to FedSec.

After an hour or so of asking detailed questions about Morgan’s

operations, DeMira leaned back in his seat and said, “Well, Captain
Morgan, you come highly recommended, and it appears that you have the
means to work within our distribution schedule. Tomorrow we’ll
discuss the additional security we’ll require for your cargo handling
operations. Torres here will coordinate the background checks on your
crew and schedule an inspection of your ship. At this point, I’m
confident that we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement.” The two
men rose and shook hands.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. DeMira,” Morgan said smoothly. “I’m

sure you’ll find our security more than adequate. I look forward to
discussing this venture further.”

“As do I, Captain.” DeMira glanced at Cam. “Vega, would you care

to show Captain Morgan to his suite?”

“Certainly, sir,” Cam said, pasting on a pleasant smile.
On his way out of the room, Draven brushed against Cam. One amber

eye winked as Draven slipped something small and light into Cam’s
jacket pocket.

Cam gave Draven a nod, though he had no idea what the man might

have given him. Nor did he have time to consider it further. He took
Morgan on a quick tour, pointing out the areas of the estate that DeMira’s
guests had access to. While part of his mind concentrated on small talk,
the rest of it was occupied with studying Morgan’s emotional state. He
sensed no duplicity. Morgan was more nervous than anything — a
perfectly reasonable state for anyone about to enter a business deal with
one of the most dangerous men in the Federation. The man hid his anxiety
well, doubtless a survival trait for a smuggler whose reputation was
solid enough to bring him to the attention of Nikolai DeMira.

Morgan’s suite was in the same hallway as Cam’s. As he led the man

down the hall, Cam sensed an outpouring of fear and despair that was all
too familiar.

Miko.
Part of him hoped he might find the boy in his own rooms, because at

least then he’d know Miko would be safe for the night. Another part of
him hoped he wouldn’t, because he didn’t think he could go through with
another show for the cameras.

When he entered Morgan’s suite, he glanced through the open

bedroom door and almost froze at the sight of Miko on his knees at the

foot of the bed. The boy was in the same position he’d been in when
Cam had found him in his own room the night before: hands behind his
back, head bowed.

Cam sensed the hot flare of arousal that overshadowed Morgan’s

anxiety. There was a dark undercurrent slithering through the man’s lust,
a hint of something cold and malevolent that Cam couldn’t quite interpret
and quickly decided he didn’t want to. He adjusted his shield to shut it
out. Not his business; he already had what he needed.

Morgan moved forward and circled the kneeling figure on the floor, a

cruel smile curving his lips. “DeMira is certainly… accommodating,” he
murmured, running a hand over Miko’s hair and down his back.

Miko shivered at the touch and lifted his head to stare at Cam,

pleading with his eyes.

“Mine for the night, then?” Morgan asked.
Cam swallowed hard. “Yes, Captain. Yours.”
Miko’s eyes widened and Cam caught the nearly imperceptible shake

of his head, and the silent word his lips formed: No.

Reminding himself of his mission priorities, Cam tore his gaze away

from Miko’s. “I’ll bid you a pleasant evening, then, Captain Morgan.” It
took far more effort than he would have expected to keep his voice even.

Turning his back on Miko’s silent plea and walking out of that suite

was one of the hardest things Cam had ever done.

Vega wouldn’t care. Vega would be relieved that his day was almost

over, maybe thinking about the expensive Scotch he planned to enjoy
after he’d reported to DeMira. His only thought regarding Miko might be
a vague regret that the boy’s talents wouldn’t be his to enjoy tonight.

He tried to stay focused on Vega as he made his way to DeMira’s

office, but keeping Cameron Asada down wasn’t as easy as it had been.
Every atrocity he was forced to commit in the name of his mission
pushed Asada closer to the edge. Nausea rolled through him as he
detailed his observations for DeMira and bade the boss a polite good
night, all the while fighting down bitter resentment toward a job that
required him to take actions he could no longer justify.

Not to his soul, at least.
Back in his own suite, Cam closed the door behind him and leaned

against it, covering his face with his hands. He remembered the cameras
and made a show of rubbing his eyes and yawning, hoping it would be
interpreted as exhaustion rather than the desperation it was.

A hot shower, a stiff drink, and a good night’s sleep were what he

needed.

It wasn’t until he was halfway to the bathroom that he remembered

Draven slipping something into his jacket pocket after dinner.

Curious, he checked the pocket, frowning as his fingers closed

around a small, plastic box. He drew it out and stared at it, a chill
running through him as his mind registered the contents under the
transparent lid: half a dozen needlepaks of riptide.

Temptation… or salvation?
Only addicts — psions — used needlepaks; the average recreational

user mixed riptide with alcohol and consumed it in much smaller
quantities. Enough to feel the high, but not anywhere near the dosage
required to protect a mind that sensed every whisper of thought and
flicker of emotion around it.

Was Vorzana coming back? Or did Draven have reason to think he

would need the stuff tonight?

Cam scowled down at the needlepaks. It didn’t matter how bad things

got, he wasn’t putting that poison into his body. The agony and the
hallucinations of withdrawal were still vivid scars in his mind.

Never again.
He thought about the darkness he’d sensed in Morgan when the man

had touched Miko.

No. Not even to block that out.
With slow, deliberate motions, he walked back to the bar, placed the

unopened box on the counter, then headed to the bathroom.

He managed to keep his mind off of Miko while he concentrated on

his evening routine. Once he was lying in bed, though, he couldn’t think
of anything else. He kept his shielding pattern as tight as he could make
it, afraid to reach out, afraid of what he would sense but be unable to put
a stop to.

Why did this slave, who had probably known nothing but abuse for

most of his short life, affect him so much? He’d turned Jacob Sylvester
over to DeMira and rationalized it as part of the job. He’d stood aside
and watched Draven kill Ben Linton in cold blood and told himself it
hadn’t been him that pulled the trigger. But the moment he’d laid eyes on
Miko, the priorities demanded by his mission felt twisted and wrong,
and he found himself wishing there was some way to get the kid away
from this place.

What was so different about Miko?
Maybe it was the fact that Sylvester and Linton had both made a

string of career decisions that had placed them in DeMira’s organization,
doing a dangerous job. Danger that both men had been cognizant of right

from the start. They’d both had a choice.

He doubted Miko had been given any such choice. Rather doubted

Miko had been given anything at all, save perhaps the back of DeMira’s
hand if he didn’t do as he was told.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the look Miko had given him as he’d

turned his back on the boy. The desperation in Miko’s eyes had shredded
Cam’s heart, but what else could he have done?

You could have helped him, Cameron Asada’s voice suggested.
No, was Vega’s immediate response. Can’t help him, can’t save

him, not your job.

He repeated the words over and over in his head, trying to drown out

that voice that would still have him do the right thing, the honorable
thing, the thing his heart wanted to do.

He’d almost managed to convince himself that he had no more choice

than Miko when a psionic scream sliced through his defenses cutting so
deep it took his breath away.

Tearing, splitting, burning hot… strong hands holding him down,

fingers gripping tender flesh, pinching, hitting, hurting…

Miko.
With a strangled sob, Cam tried to focus on his own shielding

pattern, reinforcing it and pushing hard.

It didn’t help. Miko’s output was so damn strong it was a wonder the

whole estate wasn’t in an uproar. Cam felt a pang of envy for all those
who were sleeping peacefully; he wished he was as oblivious to Miko’s
pain as everyone else.

A wave of burning agony tore through him again and he cried out

before he could stop himself. He wondered how Draven managed to stay
sane with that going on every other night, and then let out a harsh bark of
bitter laughter.

Draven was hardly sane.
But Draven did know how to get through this. And he’d given Cam

the means to get through it, as well. Cam thought about the riptide Draven
had slipped him. It would shut out Miko’s screams and his pain, leaving
Cam in peaceful silence.

He wanted that silence.
With a muttered curse, Cam rolled out of bed and turned on the light.

He dressed and left the bedroom, not sure what he intended to do, but
knowing he had to do something.

The needlepaks lay on the bar where he’d left them.
One hit was all it would take.

One hit would be enough to let him ignore what was happening in the

suite down the hall, allowing Cam to drift off into dreams and get the
sleep — the oblivion — he craved.

He hated himself for even considering it, but at the same time, his

mouth watered in anticipation. Twenty years he’d been clean. Would one
hit be enough to send him spiraling back down into the darkness of
addiction?

He started to reach for the box, then hesitated.
Any peace the drug could bring him would only be an illusion. Miko

would still be alone and hurting. Cam just wouldn’t be able to feel his
screams anymore.

But if he interfered, he’d be throwing away the four years it had taken

to build his reputation and earn the trust of the Guild. DeMira wouldn’t
thank him for interrupting his new business associate. And Draven…
Cam had a pretty good idea of what Draven would do.

He drew in a shaking breath. His fingers closed around the box,

trembling as he fumbled it open and removed one of the needlepaks.

Two seconds to inject himself. Five minutes for the drug to start

working.

He only had to endure Miko’s pain for five minutes more…
And how the hell long does Miko have to endure it?
“Fuck.”
Cam slammed the needlepak down on the bar, grabbed his stunner,

and headed for the hall.

9. Rescue

Cam’s first thought when he flung open the door of Morgan’s suite

was that he’d made a terrible mistake. The captain stood at the bar, fully
dressed and mixing himself a drink. He blinked at Cam, then glanced
toward the bedroom. Cam followed his gaze to where Miko lay on the
bedroom floor in a tangle of pale, slender limbs and silvery hair.

No mistake.
Cam raised his stunner and shot the man before he could even speak.

Morgan crumpled to the floor. Cam didn’t bother checking for a pulse.
He headed straight for the bedroom to kneel at Miko’s side.

The boy looked dazed, his eyes glassy and staring. Red marks and

welts covered his pale skin, and Morgan’s heavy, leather belt lay on the
floor nearby. There was blood, too. Cam didn’t want to look too closely
at that, but given the agony he’d already shared with Miko, he had a
pretty good idea where it was coming from. He snatched the quilt from
the bed and wrapped Miko in it, then lifted him in his arms, surprised at
how light he was.

Now he just had to get himself and Miko out of here before anyone

took a look at the vid-feeds. He had no plan in mind other than to try to
hole up somewhere until he could figure out a way to get them out of the
house and off the grounds unobserved.

Stupid, given that he wouldn’t be able to hide either of them from

Draven, but he was committed now. He’d see it through to the bitter end,
knowing that at least he’d tried. Cold comfort that would be when he
found himself staring down the barrel of Draven’s gun.

He moved toward the door of the suite and started to shift Miko over

his shoulder. Before he could complete the move, the door flew open
and Cam found himself face to face with Draven.

Pale amber eyes flicked from Cam to the boy in his arms and then

over to where Morgan lay sprawled across the floor in front of the bar.
One dark eyebrow lifted, but other than that, Draven’s expression
remained neutral.

Cam held Miko close to his chest, arms tightening around him as

Draven moved into the room and kicked the door shut behind him.
Draven’s eyes met and held Cam’s gaze for a long moment.

“Is he all right?” Draven asked in a low voice.
“I-I don’t know. He’s bleeding.”
Draven moved closer and lifted a hand. Cam stiffened, but the man

only held his hand up to Miko, palm out. Miko struggled to free his own
hand from the confines of the quilt and pressed it against Draven’s, palm
to palm.

“Is he really the one?” Draven asked in a whisper. Cam heard no

reply, but Draven gazed at Miko for a long moment, then said, “You’re
certain?”

Again, there was only silence, but this time Draven straightened up

and looked Cam in the eye again, his gaze cool and assessing. After a
moment, he nodded to himself and said, “Follow me.”

Cam followed, brain scrambling to catch up. Draven hadn’t pulled a

weapon, hadn’t disarmed him, hadn’t raised the alarm or called for
backup…

What the hell?

Draven led him out of the suite and down the hall, then through a

security door that required Draven’s print to open. They descended a
narrow set of stairs. Cam took slow, careful steps, very aware of the
fragile burden in his arms. He hoped he hadn’t just condemned Miko to a
worse fate than what he’d already endured.

There was no clue to be had from Draven, but the man moved with a

sense of purpose. Cam had no choice but to trust him. His decision had
been made the moment he’d pointed his stunner at Morgan.

They passed two landings with security doors, but Draven ignored

them, continuing on down the stairs. At the basement level, they went
through another security door and continued their descent. The air
became cooler and Cam figured they had to be well below ground level.

Where the hell was Draven taking him?
A private dungeon under the house? Given what he’d seen over the

past couple of years, it wouldn’t have surprised Cam one bit to find out
he was being taken to DeMira’s own personal chamber of horrors.

Except that Draven hadn’t pulled a gun on him, and Cam was still

carrying Miko, who lay shivering in his arms with his eyes closed.

The stairs finally ended at a single door. Draven turned to the

security panel on his left and punched in a long code. A moment later, a
section of wall next to the panel slid aside and Draven motioned for Cam
to go through. He found himself standing in a dimly lit, brick-lined
tunnel. On the floor, pushed into a corner, was a small backpack. Draven
closed the panel, then sat down on the floor next to the backpack and
looked up at Cameron.

“Give him to me.”
Cam set Miko down on Draven’s lap. Draven’s arms went around

Miko and he held the boy against him and whispered something to him.
Then he pressed his forehead to Miko’s and closed his eyes.

The silence was almost deafening. Cam strained his ears for the

sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs. There would be pursuit
soon. Given the sophistication of the surveillance systems he’d seen in
the house, somebody knew something was up by now. But he heard
nothing.

He stared down at Draven and Miko. They were still sitting with

their foreheads pressed together, not a sound coming from either of them.
Cam peered down the tunnel. Lights flickered farther down, and the end
was shrouded in darkness, making it impossible to guess how long it
was. He glanced back down in time to see Miko pulling away from
Draven.

Draven’s arms loosened. Miko shifted and struggled to his feet, still

clutching the quilt around him. He looked up at Cam, eyes no longer
glassy with shock, but bright and alert. Draven remained seated. He
opened the backpack and pulled out some clothing — a pair of jeans and
a sweatshirt, underwear, socks, and sneakers — all of which he handed
up to Miko.

After a quick glance about, Miko shrugged off the quilt and shivered

in the cool air. He used a corner of the quilt to mop up the mess of blood
and semen running down his thighs. The welts Morgan had left on
Miko’s back stood out in shocking contrast to his pale skin, making Cam
wish he’d acted sooner.

While Miko dressed, Draven started to get up. Cam bent to help him,

but Draven shrugged him off. When he was upright, Draven leaned
against the wall for support, as if whatever he’d just done had cost him
dearly in energy. He rubbed a shaking hand over a face that had gone
ashen, then focused on Cam.

“Get him out of here.” Draven pointed down the tunnel. “Follow it

all the way. It’ll get dark at the far end, but it’s a straight shot. It lets out
into the woods north of the estate. Keep heading north. About half a
kilometer on, you’ll hit the street. East will take you into the city. I’ve
done what I can to help him, but I’m not a healer. He needs medical
attention. I’d avoid hospitals if I were you. I’ll try to stall things here, but
DeMira will be out for your blood. I won’t be able to help you if you’re
caught.”

Cam stared at the man. “Why are you—” He stopped then and shook

his head. “What about the surveillance cameras? He’ll know you helped
us.”

“Taken care of.” Draven’s gaze shifted to Miko, and his eyes

narrowed. “And I still cannot believe you would risk yourself that way.”

Miko gave him a faint smile and hitched one shoulder in a shrug.
“I thought you were going to kill me.” Cam still wasn’t convinced

that Draven wouldn’t. “But… when you gave me credit for dealing with
Linton… I couldn’t figure out what you were playing at.”

Draven stared at him for a long moment, face impassive. “Paving the

way for you. And covering my own ass. So that when you finally decided
to take Miko out of here, DeMira would believe you had fooled me as
well.”

“How could you know I would… I didn’t even know until a few

minutes ago.”

“Maybe not, but he did.” Draven jerked his chin toward Miko.

“That’s why he wouldn’t leave before now. I tried to get him out. He
was adamant that he stay here and wait for you. He said you would come
for him, Asada.”

The sound of his real name — a name Cam hadn’t heard spoken in

four years — went through him like an electric shock. “You knew…”

Draven gave him a feral smile. “All your secrets. All your regrets.”
Cam didn’t know how to respond to that, but the thought of it set his

nerves on edge and sent a chill up his spine.

“Get him out of here,” Draven said. “Keep him safe. Teach him if

you can. He’s special. He sees things, knows things he shouldn’t. Things
about the future, maybe.”

There were so many questions Cam wanted to ask the man, but every

moment he lingered was a moment too long. “I’ll take care of him,” was
all he said.

Draven turned to Miko and held up one hand. Miko lifted his own

hand and pressed it against Draven’s. Amber eyes met amethyst and
locked for a long moment, then Draven tore his gaze away and bent to
pick up the bloodstained quilt. As he turned toward the hidden panel that
led back to the staircase, Cam reached out to grab hold of his arm.

“Aurora,” Cam said softly. “Institute for Psionic Research. You can

find me through them if you ever need a safe place to stay. Or hide.”

Draven gave him a silent, flat stare, then nodded once and pressed

his hand against a spot on the wall. The panel slid open and he slipped
through. A moment later it slid shut again, leaving Cam and Miko alone
in the tunnel. Miko stared at the panel, tears glistening on his face.

“Come on.” Cam laid a gentle hand on Miko’s shoulder. “We’d

better move. This place will be crawling with security before long.”

Miko lifted the backpack and started to slip it on, but Cam took it

from him.

“Let me. You concentrate on staying on your feet.”
The boy relinquished the pack and took one last look at the panel

Draven had disappeared through. He drew in a deep breath and squared
his shoulders, then looked up at Cam and gave him a slight nod. They
headed down the tunnel together at a fast walk.

10. Escape

Cam leaned against the wall in the infirmary of Federation Security’s

Paris Command Center while he waited for the medics to finish treating
Miko. The boy had kept up with him all the way through the tunnel and
the dark woods beyond it. By the time they reached the road, however, it
was clear that he’d reached the end of his strength. Miko had tugged on
Cam’s sleeve and then collapsed at his feet.

Cam had lifted Miko in his arms and carried him along the empty

roadway until a Paris police officer just coming off duty had stopped to
see if he needed help.

He’d used the code word.
The one he’d sworn he’d never have to use.
The one that meant mission compromised beyond salvation, agent in

need of extraction.

Once the officer had called it in and FedSec Paris had verified his

identity, he and Miko were driven to downtown Paris. At the Command
Center, Miko was whisked off to the infirmary and Cam was escorted to
the commander on duty, to whom he gave his report.

He’d never had to use the code word before, and he rather doubted

he’d be given the opportunity to do so again.

They’d nail him to the wall for this, no question. Four years of work

destroyed by a single, emotional decision.

Fuck.
“Agent Asada?”
A shot of adrenaline jolted through him at the sound of his real name.

He blinked at the medic and had to remind himself that he wasn’t
undercover anymore, wasn’t in enemy territory.

“Agent Asada?”
He rubbed a hand over his face and focused on the man. “Sorry. Been

undercover for too damn long. How’s Miko?”

“As you suspected, he was sexually assaulted. We’ve treated his

injuries, and he’s got some healing to do, but there’s no permanent
damage. I’m more concerned about his mental state. He’s anxious and
frightened. I’ve given him a tranquilizer, but I think he needs to see you.”

Cam hadn’t been happy about leaving Miko alone in the hands of

strangers, but after using the code word, he hadn’t had much choice.
“Lead on.”

“Is he a Federation citizen?” the medic asked as Cam fell into step

beside him.

“I don’t know. Why?”
“There are no medical records on file for him. Retina scans and

prints all come up negative.”

“That’s not surprising,” Cam said. “He was a slave.”
The medic’s eyes widened. “Does he speak Standard? I’ve been

asking him about his medical history. Drug allergies, chronic conditions,
things we need to know in order to treat him effectively, but he won’t
answer me.”

“He understands Standard, as far as I know, but he can’t speak.”
They stopped outside one of the treatment rooms. “We’ll do a bio-

scan, then. That’ll tell us most of what we need to know. I’ll get that
scheduled, if you’d like to stay with him?”

Cam nodded and went into the room.
Miko was sitting up in bed, huddled in a blanket that he’d clutched

about himself. His head whipped around as Cam entered the room. The
moment his eyes fixed on Cam, all the tension melted out of Miko’s
body.

Cam pulled up a chair and took a seat by the bed. “Are you all

right?”

Miko bit his lip and shrugged.
“The medics here want to help you, but they need some information

from you. What’s the best way for you to talk to them? Can you write or
type answers on a slate?”

Miko shook his head no, then worked his hands out from under the

blankets and made a series of signs and gestures.

Cam recognized it as Standard Sign Language, but that was the extent

of his knowledge. “Sorry, Miko, I don’t understand that, but I’ll find
someone who does.”

He started to get up, but Miko grabbed hold of his arm and held on

tight.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay with you. As long as you need me to.”
The grip on his arm loosened and Miko didn’t need to speak for Cam

to understand the gratitude and the trust in the boy’s eyes.

Two days later, Cam stood under the shower in his cabin aboard the

transport Andrea and closed his eyes, letting the hot water pound on his
back. Those two days had been a grueling series of back-to-back
interviews in which his decision to sacrifice four years of work in order
to save Miko was called into question by every single officer he spoke
to.

One even had the gall to ask Cam if he’d become infatuated with the

boy.

And the worst was yet to come, because Cam hadn’t faced his own

chain of command yet. That wouldn’t happen until they reached Aurora,
a week from now.

Only the fact that Miko was a psion in need of training had kept the

FedSec officials in Paris from taking the young man into custody and
pushing him into Alpha’s rehab system. That was about the only control
Cam had left over the situation — the authority to take Miko under his
own protection in order to deliver him to the Institute for Psionic
Research. It was the place where Cam had learned to control his own
psi. There, Miko would have a chance to explore his psionic abilities
and get whatever help he might need in order to lead a normal life.

Or as normal a life as a psion could hope for in a society that hated,

feared, and ignored such people.

With a sigh, Cam shut off the water. He wondered what his own

future held. A desk job if the Command Council on Aurora had any
compassion; or the daunting task of finding a new career if they didn’t.
Either way, his days in the field were over. Even if the Command
Council didn’t hang him out to dry, Cam knew he could never stomach
another assignment like this one.

When he walked out of the cabin’s the tiny bathroom, he stopped

dead. Miko knelt on the floor at the foot of the bunk, naked and shivering.
His head was bowed in submission, his wrists crossed behind his back.

“Miko, no…” Cam whispered. He dragged the blanket off the bunk

and settled it over Miko’s shoulders, then knelt on the floor in front of
him. “You don’t have to do that for anyone. Not ever again. Nobody
owns you, and nobody is going to hurt you. I promise.”

Miko stared up at him, frowning. His fingers moved, making a sign

that looked a lot like thank you, one of the few signs Cam had picked up
in the brief time he’d been able to spare Miko during the past few days.

“This is to thank me?”
Miko nodded an emphatic yes, then bowed his head again so his hair

covered his face.

It made Cam feel sick to realize that Miko was offering him the only

thing the boy thought he had to give. The only thing he’d been taught he
had that was worth anything to anyone. “Knowing that we’re both alive
and safe is thanks enough. Though I still don’t understand why Draven
helped us.”

Miko looked up at him again and gave him an enigmatic half smile.

Stay with you, he signed.

Cam knew that one, too, because Miko had made that particular

series of signs repeatedly ever since the medic had found a lab tech who
understood sign language and could translate for him. “Yes,” he said.
“At least for now. I’ll be able to stay with you at the Institute for a while,
help you get settled in there. I’m officially suspended from duty pending
an investigation, so I’ll have plenty of time on my hands.” He gave Miko
a rueful grin. “When they’re not grilling me over an open flame, that is.”

Sorry, Miko signed.
“Don’t be. It isn’t your fault. I was starting to wonder how much

longer I could look myself in the eye before I ever met you. It was only a
matter of time before DeMira pushed me too far. I’m just glad something
good came out of it.” He only wished it had come soon enough to save
Jacob Sylvester and his contact.

The corners of Miko’s mouth lifted in a small, shy smile. He got to

his feet, holding the blanket tight about himself and made his way through
the door that joined their cabins.

That evening as he got ready for bed, Cam studied his reflection in

the mirror. A few silver strands still graced his auburn hair, and the
brown eyes were still weary, but perhaps not as hard as they had been.
His heart certainly felt lighter than it had in a long time. Even though his
future was uncertain and the coming months promised to be difficult,
Cam decided that the man who stared back at him might be someone he
could respect after all.

The End

Acknowledgments

Thanks for this one go to Lia Black for beta reading and for helping make
this story a whole lot better than it would have been without her input.

Thanks also go to Chinchbug, for Cover Creation of Extreme
Awesomeness.

Author Bio

Jaye McKenna was born a Brit and was dragged, kicking and screaming,
across the Pond at an age when such vehement protest was doomed to be
misinterpreted as a paddy. She grew up near a sumac forest in Minnesota
and spent most of her teen years torturing her parents with her electric
guitar and her dark poetry. She was punk before it was cool and a
grown-up long before she was ready. Jaye writes fantasy and science
fiction stories about hot guys who have the hots for each other. She
enjoys making them work darn hard for their happy endings, which might
explain why she never gets invited to their parties.

Contact Info

Jaye McKenna can be contacted at

jayemckenna@gmail.com

Blog:

The Swamp

Jaye is also active on Goodreads.com

Chinchbug can be contacted at

raw.sloochy@gmail.com

Facing the Mirror

A novella in the Guardians of the Pattern universe

Special Agent Cameron Asada has spent four years deep undercover in
an attempt to deal a death blow to the Sapphire Guild, the largest drug
cartel on Alpha. The things he's done in the name of his mission weigh
heavily on his soul, and Cam is reaching the point where he's not sure he
recognizes the man he sees in the mirror anymore.

Things come to a head when Cam finally gets the break he's been waiting
for: an invitation to work for the boss himself as a psionic interrogator.
While working at the boss's estate, Cam meets Miko, a powerful psion
trapped behind a wall of silence. It doesn't take long for Cam to realize
that Miko is a slave, handed around to the boss's associates as a reward
for a job well done.

Miko's plight tugs at Cam's heartstrings, forcing Cam to examine just
how many lines he's willing to cross in the name of serving the greater
good. Will Cam risk his life and his career to help Miko? Or is the trail
of broken minds and bodies he's left in his wake worth the possibility of
victory over the Guild?

Coming Early 2014: Psi Hunter

In a future where humanity has spread out among the stars, those few
possessing psychic abilities are looked upon with suspicion at best and
murderous intent at worst.

On Aurora, one of the more tolerant worlds of the Federation, Pat
Cottrell works for Federation Security as a psi hunter, tracking down and
neutralizing dangerous psi-criminals.

Kyn Valdari works for the Institute for Psionic Research, running search-
and-rescue operations, in which psions in distress are offered the chance
to learn how to control psychic abilities that can threaten sanity and ruin
lives.

Kyn and Pat used to be best friends, closer than brothers. Three years
ago, one passionate night that never should have happened left both of
them shocked, confused, and desperately wanting more.

They haven't spoken since.

Now, the silence between them must be broken. Kyn and Pat have been
ordered to investigate a string of murders that may have been committed
by a psion powerful enough to kill with a thought. In order to succeed,
they will have to work together to save an abused, traumatized young
psion from being taken advantage of by the very organization that is
supposed to save him.

Psi Hunter is the first book in the Guardians of the Pattern series by
Jaye McKenna.

Also by Jaye McKenna

Human Frailties, Human Strengths

Psi Hunter (Guardians of the Pattern, Book 1) Available Early 2014

Document Outline

1. Interrogation
2. Mirror
3. Slave
4. Test
5. Scream
6. Games
7. Reward
8. Choices
9. Rescue
10. Escape
Acknowledgments
Author Bio
Contact Info
About This Book
Coming Soon
Other Works

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