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  Tian placed his palms under her breasts and he let his thumbs sweep across her dark nipples. They peaked with desire, tightening to stiff, rubbery posts. Milana fought to keep still. Her belly quivered and her damp scent leaked between her thighs. Sian laid his head onto her shoulder and whispered into her ear, “Be calm, my mate. You know you have earned punishment for speaking without permission.”

  “It was only to mother.” Her voice was breathy and soft.

  Sian knew that she was offering the meager excuse to falsely alleviate doubt that she had planned for her own punishment. However, the quivering of her body, suggested she was not so convinced she should have provoked them.

  “Come, Milana. Kneel before your mate.” Laiya’s cock pressed against his breeches, jerking once at the sound of her gasp.

  Milana climbed down from the sofa and knelt in front of him. She wished Sian’s caresses continued to send tranquility through her. Laiya placed two fingers under her chin and tilted her head up. She watched the strange silver items swing from the delicate chain in his hand.

  Laiya could see her nervous confusion, though he could not sense her emotions like his light twin. “Sian?”

  Sian moved from the sofa to stand behind her. While fingers from one hand brushed through her hair, the other lifted the weight of her breast and coaxed the tip back to hardness.

  Laiya waited until her eyes half-closed with passion. Unable to help herself, her head dropped back onto Sian’s chest, and her breasts lifted further in offering to him.

  She is fine, Laiya. Though, I suspect she wishes one of us would fill her. Sian could feel her bottom clenching against him. Her feminine musk wafted through the room, enticing both the men.

  Laiya waited for her eyes to close, and then he reached for her taut, chocolate nipple. Surrounded by the feathery brushes of his fingertips, Milana did not realize he had the clamp until it bit into her sensitive skin. “Aaah.” Her hiss echoed quietly.

  Milana tried to prepare herself for the other nipple’s capture. The stinging pain quickly burst to shockwaves of pleasure when Sian stroked over the swollen nub. The clamp seamed to intensify her nerves and desire. Milana finally opened her eyes and lowered her head to gaze at the chain swinging gently from her breasts. The tips of her nipples were elongated, and she shuddered when Laiya reached out to twist the one he had just secured.

  Her hands were folded at the small of her back and her fingers stroked Tian’s heavy balls. He had undressed before he joined her at the window. Milana rolled her shoulders against his chest.

  Sian’s cock throbbed with her light touch, and he reached his hand over her hip. One palm flattened against her belly, holding her against him, and the other drifted to her slick folds. “Aaah… aaah, Sian.”

  Laiya stripped, and he knelt in front of her. His lips brushed along hers, inhaling the soft hissing pants. “You will wait for permission, Milana.”

  Her voice quivered. “Yes, Laiya.”

  His kiss was tender, which always surprised her coming from her dark twin mate. When he lowered his head and nipped a captured bud, her hand slipped up to Sian’s shaft. The only way to end this punishment was to overwhelm them with arousal. Sian’s hand stroked her labia, spreading her cream and occasionally brushing her clit.

  “Ppplease, Laiya.”

  Sian kissed her neck. She is close, brother.

  Perhaps, a bit more for her insolence?

  She will fail, Laiya. It will crush her to disobey.

  Laiya lifted his head. “Look into my eyes, Milana.”

  They were filled with tears, and he could see Sian was right. Laiya held her breasts and released the clamps. “Come for us, Milana.”

  She shuddered and fell against him, releasing Sian’s shaft from her hand. “Oh… oh…” The burst of pain from blood filling her tips melded with her climax.

  Sian held her steady, still kneeling behind her, until her quivering stopped. He helped her stand and led her to the bed where Laiya lay waiting. After satiating their arousal, Milana curled with her head on Laiya’s chest and Sian’s legs entwined with hers. She rested, lying between them as always and filled with their feeling of love and protection.

  Sian stared out the window at the triple moons, listening to the rhythmic breathing as they slept. He hoped the petition to open the vault was productive. The thought that he and Laiya could experience such joy with Milana was tempered with the knowledge of the hopeless situation for his younger brothers to ever achieve such happiness. It cast a heavy shadow across his heart.

  Chapter I

  Sharell treated herself to one last fast food hamburger and the best greasy fries in the world. She had found the perfect place, and the perfect spot in this place, to spend the day. Her last day.

  This day had not seemed important a month ago. Back then, she was still far too excited and enamored with the prospect of her new job. Now, she sat on the grass in Henry Thompson Park, leaning against a tree with her long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. She had less than an hour to change her mind, but she was already wearing the gray polo shirt with the Manerea Industries logo.

  People walking dogs gave wide berth to other leash holding travelers, nodding fake pleasantries. Dropping the pretense after they passed, their smiles faded to irritation caused by the obligatory twice daily walks to keep Fido happy and the carpets clean. Sharell found the frantically squealing and running kids more interesting. She watched them enjoying a childhood that ended too soon for her.

  It was a beautiful, sunny, warm day, a perfect day, tugging one final bribe and enticing Sharell with what she would miss. This was only June, and summer promised many more perfect days like this… if she wanted to back out of her contract. A gust of wind rustled the leaves overhead, still slick green and not yet dulled by the summer’s bleaching heat. Small branches blew against each other and the leaves collided, passing whispered secrets. Sharell had the uneasy feeling they were warning her.

  It was strange, because sitting in the park in the middle of the week was something she had never done before. Hell, she was a kid herself the last time she followed the winding paths through the manicured grounds. Probably to smoke a stolen cigarette with Lucy Farvell behind a tree like the one she leaned against.

  Sharell bit into another fry, and tasted the salt and small burst of oil it released. A gazillion calories, but what did it matter? It would be her last blowout for a long time. Where she was going, the fare would be far more nutritious and recognizable by the bland or non-existent taste. Good things had gazillion calories. It was the difference between a tart strawberry and adding sugar and a dose of rum. It was the difference between the greasy fries and the baked imitations she was facing, if they bothered with fries at all.

  Sharell looked across the grass and watched a shadow-wave from clouds overhead darken the bright green blades, racing towards a little girl. She stood covering her eyes and pressed against an oak. Her playmates scrambled for cover and the little girl squirmed impatiently. Soon she would be running after them, searching impossible hiding places. She was ‘It’.

  So are you, the leaves taunted, and Sharell felt the prickle of goose bumps rising on her arms.

  She pried the last hard oil-saturated nugget from the paper seam along the bottom of her fry bag, crumpled her wrappers, and crammed them into the brown bag. Dark oily stains polka-dotted the surface. Everything seemed so sharp and noticeable, too ‘in your face’, on this perfect last day.

  Sharell shook herself from her musings, battling a building case of nerves threatening to upend all her plans. “Screw it. I’ll come back and it will all look the same.”

  Except the little girl playing tag will be older, and hiding by a tree with her best friend and a cigarette. Sharell looked up at the gossiping leaves. “Shut up.”

  She walked across the lawn, deliberately crossing a dark moving cloud shadow, and tossed the bag into a wire basket. ‘KEEP HT PARK CLEAN’. “Yes, old Henry Thompson doesn’t mind a little pu
ppy piss, but don’t leave your wrappers,” she mumbled.

  An arch of branches announced the end of the path that opened onto the parking lot. The breeze sent the leaves leaning and whispering again, but Sharell ignored them. She walked across the pavement, looking at the cars. Most of them were bubble shaped domes that varied only in color. She missed the sharp lines of the cars from the sixties and seventies. Hell, you could tell the model from a mile away. Now, they were all from the same cookie cutter mold, rounded against wind resistance to increase gas mileage.

  What will they look like when you come back?

  Sharell glared at the archway. “Exactly the fucking same, except they’ll probably all be silver.” This seemed to make sense. Other than pretentious glued on dealer logos, the colors were the only remarkable feature left. Sharell owned a ’72 pickup with all the bells and whistles for that model year. She spent a year restoring it herself… and handed the keys to Barry Sinclair a week ago. If that had not stopped her, nothing a bunch of leaves said was going to change her mind.

  Thoughts of Barry filtered through her mind. For the past year they had been dating. More accurately, they had been having sex together while Sharell avoided his attempts at a relationship. He had the strong, hunky body she liked, but his manner was too soft spoken. He politely acquiesced to whatever she decided, which with her was a mixed bag of beans. Part of her demanded to be in control, as she had been forced to take care of herself at such a young age. Another part of her remained uncertain, and she wanted someone strong enough to guide her. Her precarious confidence ran macho guys off.

  It was all an illusion. Even her decision to take this job had kept her awake, wondering if it was the right course. She had hoped Barry would grow some balls and demand she change her mind. Instead, he seemed more excited about getting his hands on the title to her truck.

  She crossed the street to her motel room. It had the nondescript look all rooms for under fifty dollars shared. Oversized flowers splashed across the double bedspread and curtains, and anything able to be carried was screwed or bolted down. This seemed ironic, as Sharell’s occupation was construction when she grew tired of slinging drinks. She could easily remove any questionably valuable trinket she wanted, but who in hell would steal a picture of a badly reproduced masterpiece or an antiquated television that needed a three foot pedestal to support it?

  Still, she could steal them. She could use the telephone on the desk and call a friend to drive her back to the sane, normal world. Sharell still had control. She could still change her mind. At least, that was what she told herself.

  The clock clicked on the nightstand tapping a countdown. She had thirty minutes. This sounded better than a mere half hour. Sharell lay back on the gaudy bedspread and stared at the ceiling, calming her nerves by looking for patterns in the popcorn.

  What she did not realize was that she had lost control of the situation long before Barry drove off in her ’72 cherry red pickup truck. Sharell had gone through Manerea’s list, divesting herself of worldly possessions except for the acceptable items that fit into the single suitcase they gave her. She had plenty of warnings. Giving up her apartment, selling her furniture, and driving a few boxes of mementoes to Lucy’s house where she stashed them in the attic, away from her kids. Sharell also handed Lucy her cellphone. It was the latest ‘smart phone’ and she had barely learned a few of the apps it could perform.

  She lay on a bed in a room paid for by her new employer, next to a tempting fast food restaurant and across from the park that would taunt her with a last bribe to back out. If she was not standing under the motel awning in front of the office, the limo would simply drive on to its mysterious destination.

  Sharell had no family to say goodbye to. This had been a major plus on her application. Crazy shit… like owning no property, no long-term employment or relationships… shit most employers looked for. These all checked on the plus side of her application, like admirable qualities and references. Major warning, and one she missed. Instead, the ordered control of the divesting list and the twice weekly letters offered her reassurances, ticking their own countdown towards the exciting changes in store for her.

  Click. Ten minutes to takeoff. Better decide.

  Sharell glanced at the red numbers. “I’m not changing my mind. I’d be nuts to turn down this much money.”

  After five more clicks, she rose to use the bathroom. The young woman in the mirror had not changed. Maybe, there was a touch more anxiety edging the anticipation in the green eyes, but not much.

  Sharell reached for the suitcase and turned to study the room. She had left nothing behind. Actually, she had left quite a lot. Her toothbrush, toiletries, and hairbrush sat on the counter, but they were not on the divesting list of items she could take. The click of the black box… they search for survivors with black boxes.

  Sharell glared at the clock and lifted her chin. “I’m not backing out.” She walked into the sunshine, glanced at the blue sky, and strode to the awning. The long black car pulled up before she set her bag down. There was no lettering on the outside of the limo, but the smiling man exiting from the driver’s door wore a gray polo shirt with Manerea Industries embroidered on the pocket.

  “Sharell?” Of course she was, but the personalized greeting was demanded in his duties.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No ‘sir’. Call me Manny. Want to sit up front? You’re my only pickup today and it’s a two hour drive.”

  There was never more than one pickup, and if Sharell had looked closer she would have noticed the backseats barely had impressions or scuffing from other passengers. The seat she sat on was clean, but the leather slightly faded from sliding jean covered butts of Manny’s other pickups.

  They almost always chose to sit up front, and it was easier for Manny to judge her commitment without calling over his shoulder. Dr. Manuel Ramirez had a PhD in psychology and loved to drive. The combination made for the ideal setting for his final evaluation; much more natural than a professional office in some brick building. This way, he could watch how closely she stared at her surroundings. Too much melancholy and she would not make it a week. In seven years, he had only been wrong twice.

  “Have you been working for them long?”

  “Since the beginning,” Manny smiled. The road opened to farmland, with ranches and mountains in the distance. “It’s a great company.”

  “But, you get to come and go.” Sharell looked through the windshield, trying to capture and hold the memory of every waving cornstalk, the old red Kubota tractor belching a black fog of smoke, faded wood fences needing repair… she shuddered and listened to Manny.

  “Not really. I mean, I leave for pickups, but the rest of the time I stay at headquarters, just like everyone else.”

  “What exactly does Manerea do?”

  “They build.”

  “Well, that’s about as vague as anything else I’ve learned. What do they build?”

  “You’ll see when we get there.”

  Okay. A no go question. “Pretty damn covert company.” She glanced at him, smiling nervously. “And employees.”

  Manny laughed. “Look, I promise. If you’re willing to give up all this,” he waved his hand across the scenery, “you won’t be disappointed. They keep things interesting or people wouldn’t stay.”

  “The salary doesn’t hurt. Besides, I thought I was under contract. It looks kind of tough to break.”

  “Mmm, but wait until you see why.” Manny glanced at her and watched her eyes narrow on the mountains. Anticipation was winning the battle over her last defensive anxiety, and he relaxed. She passed, and this was a very good thing.

  There were prettier girls working for Manerea, but this one was in the top ten. Hell, the top five. Green eyes… not hazel… true green, dark hair, five-ten and one-thirty on the scale, according to her application. Most of the pounds were divvied between long legs, a nice ass, and the full breasts stretching her company shirt. She would get the stan
dard issue with her name on it locking her into the contract when she was shown to her quarters, along with a host of suitors vying for the new pussy on the block. This kept the men happy, and a happy crew was a productive crew. “Not many women in Maintenance.”

  “I guess I have an aptitude for fixing things.” Except Mom and Dad. I couldn’t fix them.

  Sharell closed her eyes, trying to banish the memory of them and the host of miscellaneous families willing to put up with a troubled, confused teenage girl in exchange for a monthly check. Her last surrogate father was a handyman, and Sharell followed him around learning the tools and mechanics of putting things back together. They let her stay for two years. At eighteen, the front door closed behind her and her suitcase for the last time. They were practical people with practical needs, and they needed the money for the bed she was vacating.

  On her application, she listed her parents as ‘Deceased’. They might as well have been. Her mother was buried in Henry Thompson Memorial Gardens and her father was in prison up state for putting her there. Sharell never visited the cemetery after the funeral, and she never wrote to her dad. She was certain her new employer had done a background check and was aware of her history. Apparently, it placed another check on the plus side.

  “Might want a last look,” Manny suggested.

  Sharell was surprised to see how close the mountains were. She must have dozed off. There was only a mile or two of open plain before the shadows and rock swallowed the car. The packed dirt roadway was wide enough for semis to travel, and the limo buzzed along at forty.

  Manny’s eyes darted to her a few times. She was leaning forward following the rock walls to the sky. “You okay?”

  Sharell shivered as the slice of blue above thinned. To the sides of her was nothing but rock with jagged edges where the demolition equipment cut through to make the road. “I’m fine. I guess it will take a little getting used to.”

  Manny knew about her past. He knew how she suffered guilt for not screaming or running to neighbors. She was ten, and hid squeezed between the bookcase and drapes like her mom told her to. She spent two hours silently crying, following her mother’s warning to be quiet, until her father finally finished ranting at the body on the floor and he passed out on the sofa. Sharell did not get hysterical or sink into a depression when she calmly pointed to her father from the witness stand.