Chapter 1

There was nowhere in the whole cluster quite like The Redhorn Saloon in the port of Cortez, that rocky industrial outpost that clung to the outer borders of Commonwealth space. The booze flowed freely, the old gamblers who propped up the card tables were easy enough to part from their cash, and the girls there were talked about on every ship in the sky.

The girls were gorgeous-- every shape, size, type and xeno race a man could ever need. There were gene-mods, cybs, maybe even a few psykers if you picked the right night and wanted to get your mind quite literally blown. Their looks were only matched by their lack of inhibition. There was no line they wouldn’t cross, no rule they couldn’t break, no taste they wouldn’t indulge. Even the most grizzled, weather-beaten old traders would come away from The Redhorn growling that he’d never seen a girl do something like that before.

It was, in other words, exactly the kind of place where a man like Cas Dawson could do very well for himself. Wanted in every quadrant for being smarter than the pricks who thought they ran the show, Cas had a reputation for being the best there was at exactly three things: smuggling goods, bullshitting his way out of trouble and fucking some of the luckiest ladies this side of the Oort Cloud.

Every girl in the bar froze as he walked in, heads turning to observe all six foot two inches of swaggering muscle on muscle. Cas supposed it would be hard not to. He had a handsome face. Deep brown eyes. A dark, thick head of hair, and one of those jawlines that made even the most prudish women feel things in their nethers that they hadn’t felt in years.

Besides, the outline of his thick cock was already visible even wrapped up in the leathers he wore to protect against the smoggy atmosphere of the loading docks. Cas had yet to meet a woman who wasn’t at least a little bit interested in that.

The barkeep was already pouring a glass of something smoky and strong before Cas even found his way to the bar. There was a knowing smile on barkeep’s face as he handed the glass to his best and most troublesome customer.

“What the hell are you lookin’ at, Henry?” Cas drawled, his voice deep and gruff, barely able to keep the sarcastic smile from his face. “I told ya I’d survive.”

He dropped a pouch of Credits triumphantly. Enough to afford one hell of a night in a place like the Redhorn. Enough to afford a hell of a night in a place twice as nice as this-- but Cas knew what he liked.

“Lookin’ at a man who already owed me at least half of that before he even walked in the door.” Henry cast a dubious glance down at the pouch, then begrudgingly pushed the drink in Cas’ direction. “Miracle that those bio-hacking bastards you took that job from actually paid up. Figured they would’ve just killed you, taken your ship for scrap on arrival.”

“They tried. I talked ‘em out of it. S’pose it’s been a day for miracles. Might even think about paying my tab this time.” Cas’ rugged face split into an easy, self-satisfied grin as he winked at Henry, who scowled behind beetle-black eyebrows and a matching handlebar mustache.

Knocking back his drink in a single shot, Cas turned from the bar and scanned the crowd. He was at that very moment looking to work out the frustrations of weeks spent away from civilisation, running guns just out of sight of the watchful eye of the Naval blockade. Having successfully proven that he remained the best damn crook in town, now he needed to indulge his other appetite.

No sooner did he see her than he decided he wanted her. Raven-haired and ivory-skinned, she had a body that almost burst from the slinky dark red dress clinging to her every inch. She was in trouble from the moment he first locked onto her as his target and she knew it. They exchanged barely any words, but the way they stared at each other was so hungry that they may as well have screamed their desire.

She came to him, all wide, swaying hips and pink, pouting lips curved into an easy smirk-- the way they always did. His strong, rough hands took hold of her so forcefully that he might have been trying to leave marks. She all but melted in his grasp.

In a matter of moments, he had her in his private room above the bustle of the main bar. She looked even better out of her dress than it it, the thin burgundy fabric ripping as he pulled it from her body, revealing her total lack of underwear. She was slender and supple but her frame was topped with firm, perky tits that filled even Cas’ big, rough hands. His lips met hers in a tongue-searing kiss, her body grinding up against his as he slipped out of his clothes.

Pressing her down onto the bed, a low growl escaped Cas’ throat. She pulled out of the kiss and turned to rise to all fours, shaking her head to send her hair cascading over one shoulder. When she looked back at him, there was a teasing smile on her lips.

“Mm.” Her husky voice shifted into a sensual moan, dripping with need. “Ride me, spacer.”

Cas didn’t need to be asked twice. Kneeling on the mattress, he placed himself at her entrance, taking a moment to savour her wetness. She pushed herself back on his thick cock, impaling herself on the nine-inch length of him with desperate willingness.

Her pussy was so slick that he could glide straight in, pounding down into her from behind. Her round bubble of an ass projected out perfectly for a spanking. As he tanned her pale ass pink with one hand, his other tangled in her hair. Cas pulled her head around so he could watch that smile of hers as her body twitched and spasmed through orgasm after orgasm.

He didn’t even remember her name (if he’d even gotten it) though before long she had been moaning his for the last half hour. Either way, there was no sign of her stopping any time soon.

Just as Cas began to feel his own orgasm beginning deep within his heavy balls, his stroke was interrupted by a high, reedy male voice.

“Honey?” The voice was faltering, uncertain, growing louder as the speaker walked down the hall towards the closed door of the room. “You know, I have been lookin’ for you all night, darlin’. The gentleman behind the bar told me that you he had seen you coming up here.”

“Fuck,” the woman hissed in a whisper, pressing her forehead against the headboard. “My husband!”

Cas silently cursed Henry. He had to start paying that damn tab.

As the voice reached the door, its quavering tone piped up again. “May I come in, sugar pie?”

Without waiting for a response, the woman’s husband flung open the door and stepped inside the room, pausing in his stride only when he smelled the hot, sweet scent of his own wife’s sex in the air. Cas turned just in time to see the husband’s eyes bugging out of his head as he took in the scene in front of him.

With a husband like that, it was no wonder that she had come looking for a man like Cas. Her husband was perhaps a foot shorter than Cas, beer-gutted and narrow-shouldered. His head was shining and bald, but his beard was silver-white. The only thing that kept Cas from laughing out loud at the little old man’s comical appearance was that he was wearing the uniform of a Cortez patrolman, the bozos who passed for local law enforcement.

Unfortunately, that came complete with a gleaming blaster hanging from his waist.

“Marjorie! No!” the man whimpered, staggering backwards and clutching his chest.

That was her name, Cas thought to himself, pleased to have been reminded even if it hardly seemed relevant at this point.

“Oh ... Cas,” Marjorie breathed with a shudder, backing up onto Cas’ cock a final time before she had no choice but to face the lesser man she’d married.

The husband’s face dropped into a mask of pure shock. “Not again!”

His watery blue eyes locked onto Cas’ glinting chestnut ones. Anguish was replaced by anger as the husband saw the half-smile that Cas had been unable to keep from his face. It was an anger which only grew when he saw the glazed look of pleasure still fading from the eyes of his own freshly-fucked wife, too thrilled to feel particularly guilty.

Thinking fast as he saw the little man go for his gun, Cas leaped for the clothes he had discarded in a pile and gathered them up all at once. Without pausing to think, he vaulted the window of his room onto the low roof beyond and dashed across the jagged tile, barely thinking to cover his shame (or pride, in his particular case) as he stumbled over the edge, dropping down to the bustling city streets below.

The ship was called the Adonia, though for the life of Cas he’d never know why. He’d won it off some simpering over-educated moron who hadn’t been able to hold his cards in a way that could keep Cas from seeing them any better than he could hold his drink. The original owner had been the son of a merchant family, intending to take up the torch carrying Commonwealth goods from port to port. That alone made Cas feel better about making off with the man’s ship.

He only wished he could feel a little better about seeing the Adonia’s massive hold so empty as his client’s middleman directed this week’s meager cargo into it.

“Three crates?” Cas crossed his arms over his chest and whistled lowly, shaking his head in disdain. “That’s sure as shit not what we agreed on when we shook hands over this, Doc.”

Doc Clayton ran his fingers through his few remaining wisps of blond hair and sighed. “Yeah, yeah. You know how this goes. The import-export business is a fickle bitch. What do you want me to say?”

“You can tell me where the rest of my damn cargo is, for starters.”

Doc shrugged. “This is it, I’m afraid.”

Cas cracked the knuckles of his right hand, moving a little closer to the blaster on his hip. “Afraid, huh? S’pose you ought to be.”

Doc tracked the movement with bloodshot eyes and held his hands up, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “Son, it’s been a long week. If you’re gonna shoot me, you’d better get on with it. But for what it’s worth...”

Cas arched an eyebrow. “Let’s hear it.”

“Cargo’s changed. Payment, point of delivery and time frame are all the same.”

Cas glanced at the three boxes again. Length-wise, all were a little shorter than he was tall. All were about the same width as his shoulders were across. If he went banging around in the hold at night in the dark, he’d risk busting his knee on the uppermost edge of one-- but with a week to get them from Cortez to Liberty Terminal, there’d be no need for him to do that. There’d be ten thousand credits waiting for him there upon arrival whether the bay was half-empty or filled to the brim. If anything, the lighter load would save him fuel. With a little clever dealing, he might even be able to pick up another, smaller gig between Cortez and Liberty to pad out his stash of Credits even more.

It was a good deal, he decided. A strange one, maybe-- but that was exactly why people like Doc’s clients booked with Cas.

“Liberty Terminal in a week,” Cas agreed, spitting in his palm and holding it out in offering. “Ten thousand credits upon arrival.”

Doc hesitated. “Ain’t no one works with you ‘cause you’re cheap, Dawson. Don’t forget the rest of the deal.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Ten thousand credits upon arrival and I don’t ask any questions. Or answer anyone else’s, come to that.”

Doc nodded, taking Cas’ hand and shaking it twice. “Done deal. Happy trails, spacer.”

“Always a pleasure, Doc.”

Half-sprawled in the worn captain’s chair at the controls of The Adonia, Cas eased his way along Cortez’s bustling skyway. He couldn’t help but sneer at the blocky troop transports and banged-up patrol vehicles he passed as he headed for low orbit, keeping his head down and obeying the rules for now. He could just imagine the headline on the feeds. The most notorious smuggler in The Commonwealth arrested for speeding.

Before too long, he’d escaped Cortez space altogether, going FTL as he hit the open stars. Setting cruise control and autopilot, the only light left in the cockpit was the flickering of passing stars and the faded yellowish glow of switches and instruments.

As he flew, Cas thought about the kind of women that 10,000 credits could buy. Real high-end ladies over on Belle Pierre or in Shimmer City, something a little classier than saloon girls. Losing himself in a fantasy and the half-darkness, his heavy eyes began to close.

KRRT-KRRT! Cas awoke with a start, a grinding noise from down in the engine room penetrating a happy, filthy dream. His whole damn turbine was screeching in complaint about something, though Cas didn’t have time to figure out what. Warning sirens and emergency indicators swept the dashboard like Christmas lights. The ship shuddered and jerked, Cas’ knuckles whitening on the steering control column, the stick jerking so violently that it threatened to yank his shoulder out of its socket.

Barely bringing this bucking bronco back under control, Cas swung around a view-screen with his free hand. His eyes flicked across diagnostic read-outs and external visuals. He muttered a string of curses as he caught sight of the measurements from a nearby pulsar. A stray magnetic flare had gone further than expected, the energy wave throwing off every system in Cas’ usually trusty old rust-bucket.

“That’s what you get for sleepin’ on the damn job,” Cas chastised himself under his breath.

A plume of white sparks flew from the insulated wires running around the ship. Cas leapt up in shock, last traces of sleep fog fleeing his brain as he realised just how much trouble he was in. Rushing for the engine room, he all but threw himself down the ladder that led down from the bridge. Arriving to find things in the same state of chaos as above, he opened the junction box to gain direct access to the ship’s main electronics system.

Running a hard reset like this was dangerous. Every bit of tech on-board would seize, even if just for a moment. And that included the life support and the air filtration. Yanking out a bundle of cables and counting to three, Cas reconnected them with a single desperate motion. The entire ship was plunged momentarily into darkness. Cas held his breath and hoped.

The lights came back up. Systems indicators flashed for a second, then settled into safe shades of green. The turbine hummed contentedly. Gulping in air with relief at having averted disaster, Cas slumped to the floor, a self-satisfied grin on his handsome face. Yet as he rested on the metal grating that covered the floor of the engine room, he could hear a faint hissing from the other side of the ship, over in the cargo hold, like a compartment slowly depressurizing.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, turning his head towards the sound. A soft sliding, then an echoing gasp.

His pulse quickened. Cas had plenty of enemies. Some of them had even slithered their way up to high places. He imagined stowaway assassins, a grubby Cortez hitman sneaking aboard while he’d been stuck talking to Doc. He’d left his blaster in his cabin, but there were a few spare tools laying around and he was handy with his fists if it came to it. Or he could seal the hold and open the airlock and...

Wait a second.

Was that a woman’s voice?

“Dammit!”

The voice was high and breathy, even through the sharpness of the swear. Definitely female. Definitely displeased.

“Not again!” the voice simpered just as Cas slipped around the corner.

And definitely not as surprised to be in Cas’ cargo hold as Cas was to find her there.

The first thing that caught his eye were the crates. Two of them had been badly jostled in the turbulence, sliding all the way to the far side of the hold. The third had tipped over and come unsealed altogether. A dense fog was pouring out from within, so thick and cold that Cas could have sliced a chunk off and served it up alongside dinner like ice cream for dessert. It wafted toward Cas, leaving the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as the cool mist licked against his skin.