It still amazed him that they would leave her alone with him for hours at a time, no sign of a guard. Just one more example that she was of little value to her people. He thought of his sister Calla, and his heart ached. No matter what she did, whatever personal failings she might have, he would never have treated her the way Bethany's family treated her.
It simply wasn't right.
"How are you feeling?" she asked him courteously. She used her foot to kick down the cart's brake and walked over to the counter.
He already knew what she was doing—she was getting him his bowl of gruel before it got cold.
Why she did it he had no idea. His company seemed to make her nervous; for all she knew his very existence could cost her life. Yet she still took the time to bring him his food before it had time to cool.
"Enjoy your dinner," she said, giving him a brief smile. "I have to go and get the other carts."
"Thank you," he said politely, reaching out to take the bowl from her. He deliberately stretched his fingers so he could touch her hand. That spark of awareness leapt between them, and he tried to capture her gaze with his. He loved looking deep into those cat eyes. Too bad she was afraid to meet his stare.
"I have to go," she said, her voice cracking.
Jess smiled. She could pretend all she wanted but there was no way she could deny their attraction.
She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Once the revolt was over and the station belonged to the slaves, he was going to make her admit it.
Bethany put both hands against the small of her back, enjoying the way it stretched her aching spine.
The carts were so heavy… at least she was done with them for now. The men were locked in their barracks. Soon the blasting crews would enter the mine, and she should get some sleep.
But even as she walked toward her father's apartment, she couldn't stop thinking about Jess. It was getting harder and harder to ignore him. She'd realized fairly early on, within the first few days of his waking up, that he was taking advantage of her.
And to think she'd felt so dirty and wicked for having thoughts about him. After all, he was an injured man who relied on her for his very survival. That was until he'd shifted position as she was feeding him, pressing his erection against her rather blatantly. Suddenly she had realized the attraction wasn't one sided. It hadn't taken long after that to understand he was milking her for all she was worth. Every time she helped him, he was doing his best to feel her up. Worse, he was hoarding his pain pills. She had to put a stop to it; or he might end up addicted. This kind of complication was the last thing she needed in her life.
Of course, she understood he was still very sick. Privately she wondered if he would be able to return to the mine in time to meet their deadline. They'd only discussed it once; he had told her not to worry. He would make it somehow.
The words haven't been reassuring enough for her.
At least he was tucked in for the cycle, and it was time for her to go home and rest. All the slaves were fed and locked in the barracks. Jess and Bragan were secured in the store room. Everything was clean and ready for the next work cycle. She sighed, enjoying the fact that she had eight blessed hours to rest and be alone. Her father probably wasn't even out of bed yet.
She made her way through the quiet station. The only signs of life were a few of the younger women who had helped prepare dinner for the slaves. Now they were hard at work on breakfast for the rest of the station. Fortunately, Bethany had managed to scavenge some bread earlier so she wouldn't have to waste precious sleep time waiting for the food to be readied.
She arrived at her father's apartment, amused as always to see the small surveillance camera above the door. It swept slowly back and forth, recording everything in a continuous loop, all cycle every cycle.
It was relatively new; with his elevation to the head of the council he'd become convinced that he needed such security.
Bethany considered him utterly paranoid. Of course, her opinion didn't really count, she thought wryly. Pompous ass.
She placed her hand on the palm plate and the door slid open silently. She crept into the apartment as quietly as she could. She knew from experience that waking him wasn't a very good idea. She moved quickly to the fresher, but to her surprise the door wouldn't open. It seemed to be jammed, and there was a tangy, almost metallic smell in the air. What was going on?
"Is there someone in there?" she asked, keeping her voice low. If he was still asleep she didn't want to risk waking him.
"Bethany, is that you?" Moriah's voice came though the door. For a moment Bethany didn't recognize it; the sound was hoarse and painful.
"Moriah?" she asked. "It's me, Bethany. Open the door. What's wrong?"
The door slid open and Bethany sucked her breath in. Moriah stood shakily in the center of the small room. She was naked, her pale body streaked with blood. Around her neck were fresh bruises and her eyes looked dead.
"Moriah, what happened?" Bethany asked in a shocked whisper.
"I think I killed your father," Moriah said, her voice harsh and painful. Bethany's mouth dropped.
"What do you mean?"
"He was strangling me," Moriah said. Her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over Bethany's shoulder.
"I thought I was going to die. He was drunk and saying crazy things. He was going to kill me," she added.
"I could hardly breathe. My arms were flailing around and then I felt something…"
"What was it?"
"It was the lamp," she said tonelessly. "You know, the one in his bedroom? Made out of plast-crete? I grabbed it and hit him over the head."
"Are you sure he's dead?" Bethany asked, filled with dread. "If you just injured him, he might not remember what happened. We could tell him he had an accident."
"No, I'm pretty sure he's dead," Moriah said, her tone flat. "I didn't stop hitting him until I could see parts of his brain. I splattered them."
Bethany gasped and swayed. She grabbed the door for support.
"I suppose you're going to turn me in now." Moriah said softly. "Will you let me shower first, and get dressed? I don't want them taking me away while I'm still naked."
Bethany nodded her head, stunned.
"Um, yes, you can shower," she said. "But we have to figure out what to do."
"What's there to figure out?"
"How we're going to get rid of the body. And explain his absence. I have to admit, I don't have any ideas right off."
"You aren't going to turn me in?" Moriah asked, voice hollow. The woman was in complete shock.
She didn't have a clue what she was saying.
"No, I'm not," Bethany said. "It's obvious that you did it self-defense. I know what Bose is like. You aren't the first woman he's abused, and he's certainly threatened my life more than once," she added with a bitter laugh.
"There's no way you'd get a fair hearing, though," she continued. "And in all honesty, there's no reason they wouldn't blame me for what happened. With Bose gone I won't even have anyone to live with. I wouldn't be surprised if they punished me instead of you," she mused. "Makes a certain amount of sick sense. If they blame me, they get to punish someone who doesn't have any value to the community.
They won't want to kill you. You can still have children."
"So what do we do?" Moriah asked. "People are going to be looking for him today. There's a body in the bedroom. What should we do?"
"Well, first you need to get cleaned up," Bethany replied. "I need you to go home to your baby. I'll tell everyone that Bose is sick—that will buy us some time. Then we'll think of what to do next. Maybe we can rig some kind of accident?" she muttered, thinking out loud. "If his body's destroyed in it, they won't know when he died. He's been drinking a lot lately, more than usual. They might blame the bakrah for the accident."