Taking Command Read online

  Table of Contents

  Taking Command

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  About the Authors

  Also Read

  Also Available

  Thank You

  Taking Command

  by

  KyAnn Waters

  & Grad Stone

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Taking Command

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by KyAnn Waters & Grad Stone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-573-9

  Published in the United States of America

  Chapter One

  The stench of ionic exhaust spewing from the cluster of idling engines soured Tarik Baill’s stomach and burned his nasal membranes. Yet, he waited with his heart racing and his senses fully alert. Waiting. Waiting. “In position. Ready for go.”

  “Hold, repeat, hold your position.”

  Tarik glanced over his shoulder one last time. “Negative, Morry. We move now.”

  “Tarik, I need more time.” Morry liked a plan and hated when situations erupted outside of his control. This wasn’t the time for hesitation.

  “Sorry, we don’t have any more time.”

  Boom!

  An explosion rocked the port side of the space station. Tarik bolted from his crouched position. Sweat trickled along his spine and dampened his palms. He tightened his grip on his ion pistol, squeezed off a deadly pulse of yellow energy and dropped a Tri’Neith government soldier guarding the ship. His ship. The guard crumbled to the ground.

  Sensing another guard, Tarik shifted. A flash of light blinded, and searing pain ripped through the flesh of his upper left arm. Fuck. He ignored the pain—his military training still serving him well—and returned fire. The guard cried out as his trigger hand disintegrated. Tarik fired again, assuring the man wouldn’t be a further hindrance. Then he signaled to his team.

  Morry rushed over, spun, and braced his back against the ship. “You’re a crazy sonofabitch. One of these days, you’re going to get yourself into a situation you can’t get out of.”

  “Not as long as you have my back.” Tarik grinned as the automatic door of the spaceship hissed open.

  Tarik entered the craft first, his men slipping in behind. Morry covered the entrance and Rodra stealthily slithered through the corridor to the lower deck. Intel had guards outside the ship. If they were lucky, there would be only a few casualties inside.

  The vessel was small—in its infancy—and the only one of its kind. Tarik’s footfalls were whisper quiet as he raced through the main area of the ship. The layout had only slightly altered from his memory. He bolted left, then charged into the dimly lit captain’s suite, staying low to create a smaller target.

  Adrenaline and battle stimulants mixed to sharpen his senses all the way to the cellular core. He forced his breathing to slow. Steady inhales and exhales. He focused and listened. The fully charged pulse gun at his shoulder was set to combat mode and, like him, covered in blood spatter. Detecting no soldiers, he relaxed his stance.

  “Lights,” he commanded softly. Movement caught his eye. With lightning swift reflexes, he snapped the gun to the left. “Shit.” He’d almost blasted a newer model fem-bot to pieces. Big tits, a tight ass, and the soft curves of a woman. But she was nothing but a damn mechanical date. “You’re lucky you aren’t reduced to spare parts.”

  “I have just the spare parts you need, sir,” the mechanically feminine voice soothed.

  The plush suite had the amenities of any luxury space resort. Liquors from across the galaxy stocked the full bar. Everything from Earth motion pictures to Ocara hard-core sex flicks. Some of twin-cocked beasts double penetrating females of every persuasion. Lavatories, closets, and the master bedroom were on the same par of comfort.

  Tarik moved on, quickly continuing the sweep with his gun at full ready. The bot followed behind as he searched onward.

  “Is your large weapon always kept at the ready?”

  Tarik rolled his eyes. “Who programmed you?”

  “Captain Javis. I have several programs ready to be initiated.” The bot suggestively swiveled its mechanical hips.

  Tarik lowered the gun barrel. “Not now.”

  Bots were novelties of the wealthy and connected. Tarik had known men and women who’d given up real relationships for the uncomplicated comfort of a mechanical mate. Bots had mouths like vacuums. Set to a low vibration, they would send a woman into orbit or churn cum from a guy’s nuts. Tarik would blow in moments, which was about all the time he had if he were interested. He wasn’t. His fist had always served him well enough. He chuckled as the fem-bot swiveled closer. Captain Javis had a taste for well-endowed assets.

  “I’m sure the captain had a last good time.” But now he was dead by his own government-issued ion gun in the hands of one of Tarik’s men just hours ago.

  Tarik moved on. There was little time for mourning losses, as both sides had suffered far too many casualties already. War was hell…and he belonged in hell. By morning, the captain’s body would be discovered, and Tarik and this ship, BioOne, would be nothing more than a memory for the inhabitants of Etan. Once in deep space, he’d remain cloaked until clear. And then he’d be on his way to the rendezvous spot.

  The Rincon was a deadly region of space. Only fools would pursue Tarik into the isolated sector with such a hostile environment. Government vessels refused to enter. Precise maneuvering, above average piloting skills and luck were needed to navigate the Rincon. A miscalculation meant either being incinerated by the boiling red giant or sucked into a massive black hole.

  Both anomalies vied for the same orbit while maintaining an angry balance, and an augmentation cloud of highly charged particles swirled around the binary star system in a spectacular nebula. Tarik’s target was a lone planet trapped in the eye of the storm between the clashing titans. Only his group was desperate enough to use the volatile location.

  Tarik continued his sweep of the ship. He didn’t have much time. The Tri’Neith government considered him and his group of insurgents enemies. On Etan, Gyron, and Rontox, the three planets governed by the Tri’Neith, there were heavy bounties, capture or kill orders. Being captured would mean torture and a bittersweet death.

  Tarik believed in the cause, but he also had a mission of his own. The Tri’Neith was corrupt beyond salvage. A military uprising was now brewing…because of him…because of BioOne. The ship would shift the balance of power. No world would be out of reach. No world would be safe.

  “How may I be of service?” the bot asked.

  At the moment, Tarik had no need for distraction from a noisy toy. “Turn off your orator function and stay back.” Not that he didn’t enjoy the thought of fucking with no chance of emotional baggage, but right now, he had a small
detachment of men leaving the ship.

  Using modified implants within his skull, he sent a tele-command. I’m in. As soon as your section is clear, move out.

  Because of the extreme risk involved, Tarik believed that, if the situation went bad, only he was expendable.

  We need a sensory sweep within the ship. Have you gained access to the bridge? Morry asked Tarik. Do not order anyone off this ship. Not yet.

  Anxiety laced Morry’s words. Their survival, specifically Tarik’s, rested on the success of gaining control of BioOne. Of not being captured. But sometimes instinct outweighed careful planning.

  Move now. He felt it in his gut, a need to fight or flee, and right now, survival of BioOne meant getting out of the spaceport without detection. We’re out of time. I’ll take my chances.

  Secure the ship first, Morry demanded.

  Negative. Clear out. Tarik rushed through the ship, working quickly. Time was running out.

  Regardless of Morry’s instructions, the men would listen to Tarik. This was his plan, his mission, and ultimately, all decisions were his to make. One by one, his men checked in. Clear. Clear.

  Tarik? He waited for Morry to finish stating whatever was on his mind. I’ll see you soon. Good luck.

  If anything went wrong, he was on his own. Tarik worked quickly. Failure was not an option. If discovered, they’d never have another chance at capturing BioOne.

  Assured he and the bot were the only two entities still remaining on board, he breathed easier. The seductive fem-bot smiled mischievously from a nearby corner silently waiting to service him. He tucked his pistol into the holster strapped on his thigh.

  He communicated with his team via the neuro-net transducers within his mind. The highly encoded link carried not only data but thoughts and emotions crossed as needed. Tarik found it funny how as much as this ship was mostly biological, he’d become partially mechanical. If he were ever captured by the Tri’Neith, they’d have to slice and dice their way inside to get at the hardware grown throughout his brain. But without his biological energy, the nano devices would be destroyed.

  Concerned that his crew was still in the spaceport and vulnerable, he sent them a mental order. Secured. Now to get the hell out of here.

  He had possession of the ship. Getting out of the Etan spaceport was now his priority. Once in deep space and cloaked, he could focus on the next step in preventing a potential fleet of bio ships. The government’s loss of BioOne was a needed boost to the rebellion.

  Damn, he was tense. Muscles bunched and burned. He rolled his shoulders to release the tension. Maybe he’d let the bot suck his dick. Then he could finally relax after a long day—long week. Who the fuck was he fooling? He hadn’t truly rested in over a year. Not since everything he’d believed in had been reduced to lies and all he cared about destroyed. He’d fled, leaving behind the tattered remains of a life that no longer fit who he’d become. He didn’t have to like what the Tri’Neith’s treachery had turned him into. He was glad. Hate made it easier for him to do what had to be done.

  Most believed Tarik was dead and gone. But the explosion that killed him hadn’t been an accident. He’d had to destroy all research pertaining to BioOne. He’d succeeded but nearly took out his entire team. The official government version and reality weren’t the same. No matter. He wouldn’t be a pawn for any government to use, yet he was still a driven man, still had a mission. Just not for any noble purpose. Fighting against the Tri’Neith government he’d once served wasn’t for the greater good of the people. Tarik had his own battles to wage.

  Tarik strode to the command center of the ship as the fem-bot scurried behind. “Looks like it’s just you and me around here for a while. And if you insist on following me around, turn off your pheromone emitter.” Tarik didn’t need the air saturated with sexual stimuli. He needed clear thoughts, and his hard cock was breaking his focus.

  With the ship secure, the mental link to his team would be severed. There would be no contact with Jone Morry, the one man he trusted until their preset rendezvous in a few weeks and it was once again safe to uncloak the ship. Their fight was over for now, and this was home.

  The design was as he remembered. Hopefully, the coding was as well. Tarik leaned the pulse rifle against the ship’s control panel and rubbed his palm over the smooth topped finish. Heat seeped into his hand and traveled up his arm. Just as he’d hoped, the ship recognized his biological signature, remembering him. Once linked, the ship would monitor his heart rate, stress, temperature, and even become intuitive of his needs. The relationship was nearly symbiotic. This ship would protect him as he vowed to protect the ship.

  “Cloak to a small Etan cargo vessel.” This was an impressive skill that a diplomatic ship wouldn’t need. However, a ship masquerading as an ally could easily overtake an enemy.

  The ship intrinsically responded with a low tremor rolling up through him, appearing not as BioOne but as an older model cargo ship unable to do more than transport goods from Etan to neighboring planets.

  “Visual.” The white dome covering the bridge wavered like metal in blistering heat. A ripple faded, turning the dome transparent and revealing a spectacular outside view of the surrounding spaceport. Numerous hull sensors transmitted even the slightest nuances back to him. “Full sensory.”

  Suddenly, the sensation of being out on an open deck was real. A gust of solar wind blew across the port bow. Tarik turned his face to the breeze. A feeling of triumph welled in his chest.

  The embolic feeds retracted, and the pressure locks release. BioOne drifted away from the docking platform. A rush of raw power akin to sex surged through him, thickening his cock as heat simmered in his groin. He’d done it. He’d stolen BioOne.

  Slow and steady, the ship backed away from the spaceport. Small, insignificant, and not a threat to those who didn’t understand what it was capable of. The control towers allowed the ship to pass, and he navigated through the ships clustered around the port.

  His heart pounded as he kept alert, watching for the slightest disruption to his plans. A Tri’Neith battle cruiser bristling with massive guns was stationed at the perimeter of the port. Tarik held his breath. BioOne, as a cargo ship, would seem little more than a speck by comparison while passing by the behemoth war ship.

  Once clear of the outer marker beacons, he engaged the engines. Running his fingertips over the propulsion panel, he steered the ship forward then slipped into light speed with ease.

  “We’re clear,” he informed the bot, almost not believing he’d taken command of BioOne.

  Tarik allowed a smile to form on his mouth as he shed his pockmarked battle armor. Then he flinched, reminded of his upper arm burn caused by the energy blast. Both sides had fought to the death. Losses Tarik refused to feel now. Later, when the war was over or when he was dead and he no longer mattered, he’d remember.

  Taking a moment after a very long day, he sank back into comfort of the captain’s control chair. Stars streaked past overhead until he closed his eyes and enjoyed the silence of space.

  A hum, a deadly hum, crawled over his flesh. A pulse rifle charging prickled the hairs across the nape of his neck. Sweat beaded along his hairline.

  “Go for your weapon, and I’ll blow your hand off.” The command wasn’t from any fem-bot.

  He opened his eyes to find an attractive female with dark hair and wide green eyes staring down at him. She held a pulse gun—his fully charged pulse gun—and it was aimed directly at him. How in the hell had the woman come aboard? The scent of perfume hadn’t come from the fem-bot. “How did you get on board?”

  “I’ll ask the questions.” Her full lips were anything but smiling. Another time, in a different place, she’d be a temptation. She was slim and athletic. His type—that was if she weren’t pointing his pulse gun at his head. Her thick dark lashes lowered as her eyes narrowed. “Your gun.” She indicated the blaster strapped to his thigh. “I’ll take it.”

  His lips twitched. “You can try
.” He had no idea how multiple sweeps of this ship could have missed her, or what he’d do with her once disarmed. But he could guess why she was there. Only diplomatic papers would get her on board, probably entertainment for the captain. Regardless, he still had control of the ship. At least for as long as she didn’t pull the trigger and obliterate him.

  Even if he still had communication with Jone and his team, they wouldn’t be of help. He didn’t need them. With a mental command to BioOne, he waited.

  ****

  Shon Monet’s arms trembled trying to support the man’s heavy gun. Charging the gun hadn’t been difficult. Firing accurately posed a major problem. “Maybe I should tell you that I’ve never fired a pulse gun, but I’ve covered war zones and seen the effects. So best case scenario, you’ll lose your hand.” She allowed the gun to shift lower, redirecting aim at his groin. “Or perhaps a smaller target?”

  The man stayed relaxed with his hands on the captain’s chair armrests and made no move for his gun. However, she wasn’t about to trust someone who was hijacking a Tri’Neith diplomatic ship—with her on board.

  “This is the point where you make your demands,” he said, leaning back in the chair and acting as if he wasn’t caught in a treasonous act.

  “M-me?” she stammered.

  The space pirate had hypnotizing ice blue eyes, long feathery lashes, and expressive brows. She couldn’t look at him without feeling a tug in her belly. Although he was attractive, in a beautiful and dangerous way, the feeling wasn’t pleasant. Her stomach rolled as adrenaline rushed through her.

  “You’re the one hijacking the ship. What is it that you want?” There was something frightening about his almost predatory calm. “No. I don’t care what you want.” She lifted the gun and took an authoritative posture. “I’m taking command of this ship and will be the one making demands here. I order you to return to port. Now.”

  He cocked a brow, and she bristled. Damn it, this was supposed to be a simple assignment. Her intentions had been to do a story on the ship, tout the accomplishments of the government, and land the best story of her life. BioOne—the new era of diplomacy. But something just hadn’t rung true. Why had the Tri’Neith Minister of Defense assigned her an escort and restricted her access to a supposed harmless ship?