Apprentice

Ardath Rekha


 


Chapter Twenty-four: Riddick - The Path To Hell


Riddick circled Jack slowly, watching her. Her balance was good. Her concentration was excellent. He feinted toward her and watched her dart back. Very nice. She was staying focused.

They circled each other again, stepping carefully around the center of the dojo. Both of them were unarmed, but he'd made Jack wear padding and protection nonetheless. Neither one of them was supposed to hold back.

She took one wrong step and he came at her in a blur of motion. She dropped before he could reach her, rolling out of his path. Her leg flashed out, foot aimed at his knee. He danced out of her way and backed off.

"Very good," he told her. "But you almost overbalanced. Don't let that happen again."

She rose from her crouch warily. Her breathing was still even. She almost never said a word when they were sparring, no matter how caustic his remarks got. All for the best, of course; he was instructing her, not the reverse.

Another slow circle of the dojo commenced.

Compared with the punks he'd occasionally trained in Slam, Jack was an absolute pleasure to teach. She concentrated on her lessons, not on proving how tough she actually was. She took his criticism without umbrage and accepted his rare words of praise without getting cocky. She worked hard, both in her combat training and her piloting lessons.

It helped that she was also quick-witted and graceful. More than four years after their last lessons together, he'd only had to make minimal corrections to her form and posture in her stances. She was the fastest learner he'd ever worked with.

Time to see if her reflexes had improved any.

In another blur of motion he'd gotten behind her and had his arm locked around her throat. Her hands came up to pluck at his arm.

"That's not going to do you any good, Jack, you already know that," he murmured. "Now come on and do what you're supposed to do."

His grip on her throat was only just tight enough to trigger an automatic reaction, not to actually strangle her. He heard her bite out a whispered curse as she let go of his arm and fisted her hands, driving her elbows back into his abdomen. He'd tightened his muscles in anticipation of the blow, so it didn't hurt much at all. He released her anyway.

"Next time I do that you'd better be ready, kid."

They circled each other once more.

She was ready for his next attack, responding with a flurry of kicks and punches before he got back out of range. Excellent. Her breathing was starting to get a little uneven, though.

It was almost time for this session to end, anyway.

He got behind her again and went for her throat. This time she was prepared. Her elbow in his gut -- only one? -- was fast and sharp, making him exhale abruptly. She whirled around, still right by him, and her other fist backhanded him across the jaw.

He staggered back from her.

"Yeah!" he laughed, his hand going to the small trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth. "Way to go Jack!"

Her eyes had gone wide. "Oh shit, Riddick, are you okay?"

She hurried forward.

Idiot.

He had her on the ground before she realized he'd moved. It took less than a second to pin her.

"Never ever hesitate like that, Jack," he told her. "You should be trying to finish me off, not help me. It's too bad, you were close to winning that round. But now you've lost." He smiled down at her calmly. "Now you're dead."

She sighed beneath him. "Fuck."

He released her and stood, then gave her a hand up. "Still, not too bad. You're starting to give as good as you get, and you're gaining control over your reflexes."

"Not enough," she muttered, pulling off the protective padding.

"No, not yet. But at the rate you're improving, pretty soon I'm gonna feel sorry for any punk who tries to mess with you."

The smile she gave him as she pulled off the helmet was very sweet. "I'm never gonna be a match for you, though."

You're a perfect match for me, he thought wistfully.

Five days had passed since he'd killed Pete, and things still weren't right between them. Riddick wasn't sure, exactly, what the problem was. A kernel of silence had come between them. The only thing he could figure was that Jack was having a very hard time dealing with the side of him that remained, now and forever, a killer.

He didn't blame her. It wasn't easy for him to deal with any more, either. Especially with her around, the embodiment of his conscience and his soul. He wondered what would happen if she ever had to actually witness him taking a life. He was a bit afraid of what he might see in her eyes afterward.

Of course, she wasn't the only one needing space. Her presence, over the last few days, had been a terrible temptation for him. He found himself constantly wanting to grab her, to give in and take her. His fantasies were full of explorations of her body, visions of how her face would look in the throes of orgasm...

Better not to think about it. He had himself under control, for now. He had outlets for his pent-up urges, ones that would keep Jack safe from the voracious hunger he'd developed for her.

Together they straightened the dojo and put away Jack's protective equipment. He followed her up the ladder into the living quarters, admiring the view above him as he climbed. He had to admit he loved the clothes she wore now, even if they did leave the beast within him howling constantly.

She seemed to have no idea how provocative they were. How provocative she was in them. He certainly couldn't think of any way to tell her that wouldn't make her rabbit away from him.

Another good reason for her to wear the padding; if he'd been sparring with her in the outfit she was wearing now alone, he'd probably have ended up fucking her after he pinned her. She was an almost-irresistible temptation.

She's also your best friend, you asshole, he reminded himself.

"I'm showering first," she announced as she headed for the bathroom. He nodded. He preferred it that way; then he got to take his own shower with her scent lingering in the room. The joys of vicarious pleasures, he reflected, were dubious but at least they were safe ones.

He checked the local news reports while she was showering. There had been a brief mention of the discovery of Pete's body a few days ago. He was surprised that there had been nothing further since then. Surely by now the local law enforcement had figured out what Pete had been doing in his spare time. That aspect of the story should have been explosive.

No boom yet, though. Strange.

Jack emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in her robe and toweling her hair. "All yours," she called, heading for her room.

Don't I wish.

He showered quickly and dressed. He needed to cut loose soon. His imagination was moving into overdrive again whenever he was around her.

She was reading one of his books when he exited the bathroom. Her smile, when she glanced up, was sardonic. "So what's with all these 'Judge Dee' books you have?"

He shrugged. "Why not? Imperial China is interesting. And they're damned good detective stories, anyway. You planning on reading them?"

"I might." She shrugged, glancing at the cover.

"Do it right and start with The Chinese Gold Murders. They're best in chronological order. That was Dee's first big case."

"Funny thing for an escaped convict to like to read about, isn't it?"

"Not really. The Sherlock Holmes is over there." He gestured to another set of shelves. Books were his one vice in terms of material possessions. "I'm going out for a--"

"Yeah, yeah." She sighed, and returned the book to its place on the shelf, pulling out the one he'd recommended she begin with. "I'll see you in the morning."

Her eyes met his. There was a question in them, but he didn't understand what it was. After a few seconds, her eyes dropped. She sighed again, sitting back down and opening up the book.

He left the ship feeling oddly like he'd forgotten to do something. Some act or gesture had been left out and was preying on him, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

He'd puzzle it out later. First, he needed to take care of some fairly pressing concerns.

As always, he removed his goggles upon entering the brothel. Heading for the bar, he smiled at Tonia and took a seat. Tonight things were going to go differently, but his drink would be the same.

One drink. That was his iron-clad rule. His tolerance for alcohol was extremely high, but he'd learned his lesson after his encounter with that psycho hellbitch Ruth. His guard would never go down like that again. So one drink only.

Barbour sat down beside him after a moment. "Mr. Fry, we have a problem. 'Carolyn'--"

"Doesn't want to see me. I know." He took a sip from his glass. "She told me the other night."

She'd been fairly irate at the time. He'd taken her hard and fast, without any preamble, bypassing all of the poses and dialogues. Afterwards, as he was dressing, she'd watched him with no small amount of anger showing on her face.

"I'm not some quickie fuck, Mr. Fry," she'd told him. "If that's what you're after these days, there are a lot of girls who can do that for you. I'm not one of them. Don't come back."

It was okay with him. He no longer needed what he'd once sought from her. Jack had laid the real Carolyn's spirit to rest. Now it was his own restless spirit that needed soothing, and no Carolyn surrogate held the key to that.

What he really wanted was off-limits, but he might be able to purchase a credible illusion of it. That's what he was here to find out.

Barbour had relaxed slightly beside him. The man was probably relieved that Riddick wasn't going to make a scene. "Ah. So how can I help you, Mr. Fry?"

"I need something -- someone -- else," he said slowly. After a moment he began to describe the criteria. He felt an odd, burning shame within him as he did so.

Barbour listened, a faint smile on his face. He'd probably heard it all on numerous occasions, seen a thousand men come in looking for a stand-in for a woman they dared not touch and were ashamed of wanting.

"Yes," he said slowly when Riddick was done. "I can help you. The price will be much more reasonable, actually, than 'Carolyn's' price was. But there is a slight catch."

"Oh?"

"This one cannot be kissed on the mouth. Ever. At any price. It is not negotiable with her."

Riddick took another long sip of his drink, contemplating.

"I think I can live with that."

Barbour stood. "In that case, I will begin the arrangements. You understand that you and the lady in question will need to conduct the final negotiations between you, yes?"

He nodded.

"How often do you intend to visit her?"

"Probably every night for a while. I'm gonna want to stay 'til about three in the morning." He'd need time to shower and change before his breakfasts with Jack, after all.

"What shall she call you?"

"Riddick."

Barbour nodded, unsurprised. It was, after all, the same thing he'd had "Carolyn" call him. Aliases, even ones in poor taste, were common coin in establishments like this.

"And what shall you be calling her?"

Riddick sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Here I go, he thought, wondering which step, exactly, this one was on his path to Hell. "Jack."

 

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