Stark Surrender Page A

fingers.
    She perched on the chair across from him, watching with awe as he poured her a recyclable cup of steaming dark brew. She picked it up and inhaled the scent. “Real coffee.”
    He nodded, his mouth full, and pushed the rolls closer to her. They were warm and fragrant, and the first bite had dried pieces of fruitgel in it, along with sugar and spice. The bits of gel were hard and stuck to her teeth, and the bread was gluey, but she ate hungrily without stopping. Finally she licked her fingers, then slurped her coffee, picking the fruit from her teeth with a fingernail in between drinks.
    “Have another,” he said, “Vegesausage too, and fruit chews.”
    She didn’t like vegesausage, although she’d eaten it when she was hungry enough, but the gummy brown fruit sticks were okay, even if they were hells to get out of her teeth.
    “Where did you get all this?” she asked, more to hear his deep, beautiful voice than anything.
    “A bakery a few blocks away,” he said, sitting back in his chair. It creaked ominously, and he moved back, wedging the back of the chair against the wall.
    Liss examined him curiously over her coffee. In the cool light of another cloudy New Seattle morning through her grimy window, he was quite a specimen, especially in these slums. He was big and strong, with the clear skin and glossy hair that revealed a life of good nutrition and health. He was handsome too, if a woman liked the hard-as-cerametal type. His hair was sleep-tousled, but even she could see that it had been expertly barbered, and his hands looked powerful, but his nails were neatly trimmed.
    His leathers weren’t new, but they were soft, supple and tailored to his tall, lean frame. All in all, he was a virile male in his prime. And a dangerous one. He’d taken out both Vince and Rat with a swift, cold efficiency.
    Maybe he was down here in the streets because he’d made a lot of credit as a contract killer, and then lost it when a hit went wrong, or he’d spent it all on partying and illegals. If he was a drug or drink addict, though, he hadn’t been for long. He didn’t have the half-starved look, and his pupils weren’t dilated.
    Something was wrong with him, though. He held himself carefully, and there were shadows like bruises under his eyes, a tight set to his sculpted mouth. He’d lifted his hand to rub his temples more than once. Also, he hadn’t eaten much more than she had, and he was a big man.
    He was either hiding from someone, or he’d fallen on hard times and found himself down here with the other detritus of society. Wasn’t her problem, unless he expected her to support him.
    “So what do they call you?” she asked.
    His gaze met hers, and she caught her breath at the flat, cold power in his icy gray gaze. Shit, he was scary.
    “Call me Lode.”
    Liss looked down quickly. She’d bet her new leather duster that wasn’t his real name, either. But hells, in this neighborhood most beings went by street names they thought sounded tough. Most probably didn’t even remember their real ones.
    “So I’m working for you now, huh?” she asked.
    His dark brows shot together, and she shrank back in her chair, fear sweat prickling her skin. She shouldn’t have asked. “Sorry. I’ll do whatever you want.”
    “I’m not a pimp,” he said flatly, “nor do I have plans to become one.”
    “Um, why do you need me, then?” He didn’t want to fuck her or sell her. She tried to imagine what other use he might have for her ... maybe as a lookout or a shill. Dangerous, but light years better than letting drunken, stinking strangers pound into her body.
    He rubbed his temple again. “You’ll be my informant. If you want, pretend to be my mistress.”
    Liss stared at him. “Uh ... pretend to be?”
    “That’s right. You know these streets, the inhabitants, the gangs, the places that are safe and those that aren’t. That’s what I need from you. I’ll feed, clothe and shelter you, and you’ll be