Mine to Serve: ES Siren 6 Read online

  About Mine to Serve: ES Siren 6

  A man with a secret past and a woman with an uncertain future.

  When Lucinda Farrell is found guilty of a crime she didn’t commit, she’s resigned to her fate. It’s either stay on a dying Earth or travel through the galaxy to the new world of Solitaire to complete her three-year sentence. Many claim the space bucket, Earth Ship Siren, won’t make the long twelve-month journey and are almost proven right when a micro-meteor shower hits and cripples one of the three ships heading to Solitaire.

  As pilot of the ES Siren, Jarred Cooper has never been short of female admirers. But he’s got a secret he holds close to his chest—literally. Letting go of his past has never been so difficult when he’s yet to find a woman who makes his breath catch and his heart beat fast. He knows love at first sight doesn’t exist. Then he glimpses the beautiful prisoner, Lucinda.

  But when overcrowding and rationing of food become serious issues, getting her to understand they can make things work, despite his past and their huge social divide, just might be the biggest hurdle of them all.

  Contents

  About Mine to Serve: ES Siren 6

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  About Mine to Hold: ES Siren 4

  About Mine to Keep: ES Siren 5

  About Mel Teshco

  Copyright

  To Shona Husk and Denise Rossetti – brilliant writers both! And to all the couples out there loving each other against all the odds.

  Chapter One

  “Damn, but I can’t wait for our shift to be over.”

  Lucinda Farrell swiped a lock of sweat-dampened blond hair from her eyes before nodding in agreement with Bettina—fellow laundry worker and prisoner aboard the Earth ship, ES Siren—wishing for the umpteenth time that her work day was done. At least then she could drag her weary ass back to her cell, pass out on her bunk and pretend she’d never left Earth.

  Pretend she was still a free civilian.

  She blew out a ragged breath and pressed a hand to her hollow belly. “I know. I’m so tired I doubt even our measly rations will be enough incentive to keep me awake.”

  Bettina held up a uniform, eyeing it critically for stains. Officers’ uniforms had to be returned in pristine condition. “I bet the assholes from the Sprite have no idea how their boarding our ship has affected our workload.”

  Lucinda shook her head and muttered, “More likely they don’t give a shit.”

  Thousands of additional people had embarked the Siren after a micrometeoroid shower had seriously damaged their own ship. The extra numbers had taken a toll on all the prison workers aboard the Siren. Lucinda wasn’t one bit surprised by the growing discontent. Most people’s workloads had almost doubled.

  She guessed the same thing would have happened on the Sphinx, where many of the people from the crippled Sprite had also gone.

  She just wished that it hadn’t mostly been the prisoners onboard the Sprite who’d perished. At least they would have been put to work, instead of expecting to be waited on hand and foot. Meanwhile, the Siren’s food, recycled water, meds, and most basic necessities were running perilously low and being rationed out under the strictest supervision.

  Still, she liked to think that if the situation had been reversed, and ES Siren had been the one to cop the brunt of the hail-sized meteors, the other ships heading to Solitaire wouldn’t have turned the survivors away.

  Bettina’s flushed cheeks reddened even further. “You’re probably right. God help us if we’re tempted to steal rations that were meant to be ours in the first place.”

  Lucinda swallowed back the bitterness that threatened to choke her. She should be used to unfairness by now. Besides, she had no doubt that the punishment would be severe indeed if they were caught stealing. With personal space at a premium and excess weight a growing concern, it’d be one quick shove out of an airlock. Rumors had already grown exponentially about a fuel supply shortage because of the unexpected load.

  Her thoughts dissolved when the clothes cleanser beeped above the clunking and rattling of the other machines and the constant hum of conversation. With the steam cycle complete, hot air blew into the cleanser while it cycled round and round. At the next loud beep, Lucinda flipped open the lid to drag out the laundered and dried blue camo clothes.

  A puff of heat hit her full in the face and took the already stuffy room to a whole new level of suffocating.

  It was the least of her problems.

  She glanced down at her tender and red-raw hands, the skin peeling away thanks to the constant heat and steam. Add the damn magna-cuffs that seemed to hold in the heat, and her hands and wrists would probably never be the same again. With a sigh, she folded the washing into neat piles before placing them into a laundry bag and sealing it shut. Placing a vacuum nozzle into a specialized compartment, she watched the bag of laundry shrink into a neat parcel before she flicked the off switch and stuck a room identifier number on the parcel.

  E87. She knew that number by heart.

  A smile tugged at her lips, a tingle of anticipation dissolving a little of her weariness as she placed the package onto the trolley with the others. This was the last delivery for her shift, and therefore her last opportunity to catch a glimpse of the gorgeous and enigmatic pilot, Jarred Cooper, whose job it was to coax the ship all the way to the new world.

  The last batch of laundered clothes belonged to the air crew; therefore the trolley had to be left in its drop-off location, right next to the air crew’s mess hall and the bags of dirty laundry awaiting pick-up.

  Her belly fluttered even as her mind rebelled. How had she become so desperate for a man’s attention? She’d had many offers since leaving Earth, but none of the men came close to Jarred, nor did they stir the same level of interest or excitement inside her.

  The pilot had captured a piece of her heart the moment one of the bags of dirty laundry had spilled from her trolley and he’d hurried to her aid before a guard could arrive and take the opportunity to report her for the supposed transgression. She’d glimpsed his name on his shirt as he’d helped her retrieve the mess of socks, uniforms, and underwear.

  Jarred hadn’t even blinked at handling the unwashed garments. When his eyes had caught and held hers, awareness had surged between them and sent a frisson of yearning down her spine and to places she didn’t want to think about.

  She’d dragged her eyes away. He was way out of her league.

  But she’d glimpsed Jarred many times after that, and had felt his gaze linger on her even after she’d turned away. Damned if it didn’t make her day that much brighter. Lord only knew it was the one time she fell asleep with a smile on her dial and a dirty dream in her head.

  Anything to take her away from the hell that her life had become since she’d said no to the elitist old pig in his air-cleansed tower who’d expected her to ride his fat little boner. She shook her head at the memory as she pushed the squeaky trolley from the room.

  She sighed, forcing away her daydreams. The laundered clothes should have already been delivered. They would have been, if not for the extra work, which meant longer hours.

  She only hoped Jarred was off duty. He was the one man she’d gladly lay beneath, given half a chance, though she no longer held any expectation that someone like him would want her for anything other than a one-night stand.

  Despite the cooler air outside the room—the rest of the ship maintained a fixed temperature—her already hot face flushed further at
the thought. She had a feeling Jarred would make her fly, too, just like his ship. Make her forget about the three-year sentence that had taken her away from her home forever.

  As she passed the too-familiar-looking guard standing duty outside the laundry room, she kept her eyes downcast. She’d learned which soldiers to avoid, and this man was one of the worst. Stokes had been given the nickname Strokes by many of the laundry girls, for obvious reasons. He’d already managed to fuck half the laundry girls at least once, but apparently that wasn’t near enough.

  She pushed past him unimpeded and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god for small mercies.

  “One-thirty-three, where do you think you’re going?”

  She froze as Stokes called out the despised number that had replaced her name. What the hell did the bastard want from her? Well, she already knew what he wanted. Rejecting his advances seemed to have brought out his brutal side.

  The guy might be an ordinary soldier, but he’d been one of Lieutenant Zane’s biggest supporters and could have filled the shoes of the evil lieutenant more than admirably.

  She jumped at the hot press of his hand on her lower back. His chuckle grated in her ears as his touch moved downward. Although her skin crawled with revulsion, she didn’t move again. She refused to show him any reaction, aware that men like him thrived on fear and vulnerability.

  “Answer my question,” he said, his voice tellingly hoarse.

  She swallowed. No doubt her aloofness made him want her more. She lifted her chin and kept her voice neutral, despite a fierce desire to lash out. “I’m making my last delivery.”

  His tone became ripe with suggestion. “My shift ends in a few minutes too.”

  Her mouth dried. She knew exactly where this was heading.

  He did little circles with his stubby fingers at the base of her spine. “I know how little rations you laundry girls have been getting lately, and how much extra work you’ve had to do.”

  Everyone’s rations had been reduced. She wasn’t stupid enough to imagine even Stokes wasn’t feeling the pinch, though she didn’t doubt for one second the military, air crew, and civilians were eating better than any of the prisoners.

  Except Stokes’ intake of nutrition wouldn’t be depleted by long, exhausting hours and physical labor. His only source of exercise was fucking those prisoners desperate enough for whatever he offered in exchange.

  “We survive,” she managed. The last thing she wanted was to encourage the bull-headed dick-for-brains.

  “And I’m offering to make your life much more comfortable.”

  She jerked away from his touch even as she twisted to face him. She had to buy some time, work out a way to get rid of the toad. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

  His beady little eyes glinted. “I don’t think you need me to spell it out. Suck my dick or ride it, the choice is yours.”

  Fury washed over her. How fucking considerate of him. He was nothing more than a leech, extracting whatever humanity was left from the girls who worked their fingers to the bone just to get the job done. “I’d rather starve.”

  Sheer disbelief kept him silent for perhaps a second or two. Then fury mottled his face, a vein throbbing into life at his temple. “Do you think I haven’t heard about your sexploits?” He took a step closer, and though he wasn’t much taller than her five-foot-seven, he used his big body to intimidate. “Your cellmates fuck me as freely as they have you.”

  Her heart sank like a stone. It’d been just the one occasion she’d given in to the advances of her two female cellmates. They’d seemed attuned to when she’d most needed physical release, their skilled hands and tongue bringing her quick relief … if just for a little while.

  She’d never been with a woman on Earth. She’d never had a shortage of male admirers, and had never felt more than a mild curiosity at the idea of being with a woman. But although she’d discovered a feminine touch was wonderful in relieving the ache between her thighs, in her opinion, there was no competing with a man’s thick, hard cock and stubble-roughened jaw.

  No, not stubble, a neat goatee, a sly little voice reminded her as an image of the pilot filled her head. Jarred would be a lover of her own choosing, unlike the man-whore standing over her. But she refused to be intimidated by him. “Guess I’m a lot fussier when it comes to a man’s cock.”

  “Is everything okay here?”

  Lucinda blew out a slow, unsteady breath, scarcely believing her savior was the very man she’d been hoping to catch a glimpse of. She resisted a strong urge to fall into Jarred’s arms even as Stokes snapped out a salute and declared, “Everything is fine, Sir.”

  The pilot’s green eyes flashed her way, sharp and assessing. Then he turned his attention back to the other man. “That’s good to hear, Stokes. I’d hate to think any of the men onboard have been taking advantage of the female prisoners.”

  She almost laughed. Most of the guards were taking full advantage of the female prisoners, offering bribes for sex—tokens or food and water rations—whatever the women needed most.

  There was no paperwork for a one-night stand. No paperwork equaled no formal protection. It also meant there was no proof of what really went on between the guards and their prisoner lovers. She wondered what the pilot would say if she told him she’d forgo the paperwork too, just to be with him.

  Jarred turned toward her, his voice gentling. “I was waiting for my clothes. When the trolley wasn’t where it should be, I thought I’d see what had caused the delay.”

  “Sorry, Sir.” She cleared her throat. “I got … waylaid.”

  Something dark flickered in Jarred’s eyes. “So I see.” Then he smiled, real warmth glinting in his gaze, reminding her of the rich, green grass of home—before famine and war. “Allow me to escort you the rest of the way?”

  Her heart did a slow somersault in her chest. “Of course.”

  Giving the squeaky trolley a shove, she walked with Jarred down the corridor. Stokes’ stare bored like hot lasers in her back, and a shiver rippled down her spine. She had no doubt the guard would make her pay for not giving in to his demands.

  Jarred glanced down at her, a frown creasing his brow. “If Stokes so much as looks at you the wrong way, please let me know.”

  She nodded, despite having no intention of lumping her problems onto her savior. She wasn’t about to get complacent and expect someone to step in whenever things got tough. She’d learned that survival meant looking out for herself, not relying on anyone else.

  Jarred followed her onto a service lift. As it glided to the air crew level that formed the mainframe of the ship, she stared a little more openly at him. Her hands tightened on the metal trolley handle.

  His dark goatee seemed only to emphasize his strong, square-cut chin, his high cheekbones making her think of the Navajo Indians she’d seen in photos from history books. His short-cropped dark hair showed no signs of gray, though he exuded a world weariness that had her guessing he was around ten years older than her twenty-seven years.

  Life on the dying Earth toughened people, weeding out the weak so that only the strong survived. Her pulse tripped. The pilot was the type of man any woman would feel safe with.

  The doors slid open and Jarred gestured for her to precede him. “After you.”

  Her heart melted. Despite his hard edges, he was a true gentleman. A rare commodity these days.

  Her footsteps echoed as she turned left, to where the mess hall was located, right next to the laundry pick-up and drop-off room.

  Since the extra people had boarded ES Siren, she’d come to appreciate the mainframe of the ship, which housed only the air crew. No modifications here; no cramped and boxy module rooms, which would be taken off the ship and used for accommodation on Solitaire.

  No, the lodgings here were permanent, and much more spacious, giving a real sense of freedom in comparison to the overcrowding on every other part of the ship.

  It was nothing short of grandiose.

  Sh
e only hoped those who lived and worked here counted themselves lucky that the air crew from the Sprite had elected to stay aboard their own craft to repair it.

  She pushed the trolley past the mess hall and into the drop-off room, where a couple of disgruntled crewmen waited for their clothes. As they grabbed their numbered laundered packages and stalked out of the room, she turned to Jarred with a little smile, unable to banish the sudden shyness that filled her.

  She bit into her bottom lip, then said, “I guess this is where I say goodbye.”

  Funny how her feet seemed to have no inclination of moving.

  “Your shift has ended, yes?” he murmured, his big body filling the small room and making her hotter than any steam from the laundry room.

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded tinny and far away, her upper body swaying toward him.

  “Would you be interested in coming to my room?” His voice came out husky, throaty.

  She closed her eyes as thoughts rebounded through her head and desire thickened her blood. This was what she’d wanted, so why the hesitation? Unlike Stokes, Jarred had actually invited her to his room—not demanded or intimidated.

  Her eyes opened. To hell with it. They could all die tomorrow in another freak micrometeoroid shower, or one of the million other things that could go wrong in space. What did she have to lose?

  Her lips curled. “Yes.” Her one-word answers were getting repetitive, but it was all she could manage right then.

  “Thank god.” His eyes glinted. “I’ve wanted to get to know you for so long now.”

  Her mouth dried, her body heating up so fast she wondered if she had an all-over flush. At least her tongue seemed to have loosened. “Then what’s stopped you?”

  “You might be surprised.” His voice sounded strained, his whole body tense.

  She took a step his way before her palms made contact with his blue camo shirt, which molded to his chest. God, he was so big and capable. She imagined there’d be no one better to fly the Siren. She stared up at him, trying to read his fathomless stare. “Is it because I’m a prisoner?”