Clonely You (Sunrise Cantina #2)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER

TWO

MICHAELA

The red alien man with the black tattoos on his hands finally leaves my house, and when I watch him disappear down the road and out of sight, I can breathe again.

Shit. Fuck. Shit and fuck.

I press a hand to my heart, willing it to stop fluttering in panic. He’s gone. He’s gone. I have time to come up with a plan.

Shit and fuck, I need a plan.

I can’t believe the guy that stole my sister just walked into my house.

I lean against the door, trying to compose my thoughts. It’s been two years since Rafaela was taken from my side. Rafaela and I were cleaning the marble floors in a fancy Homeworld mansion. We had recently been purchased together from the old female mesakkah we’d served for the last three years, and the new master’s wife was not thrilled at our acquisition. We did a lot of cleaning, and I scrubbed extra hard to try and get on her good side. It didn’t work.

Two years have passed and I still remember the face of the cocksucker that stole Rafaela away. I remember the handsome face and the short, strangely shorn black hair capping his head. I remember the bright red skin devoid of tattoos, but hands that were covered in black markings. I remember wide-spaced dark eyes, and the proud cheekbones. The angular jaw and pouty mouth. The way for a moment that he’d been beautiful to me, but all that beauty hid the heart of a true devil.

He’d taken Rafaela away, smirking the entire time as we’d wept and clung to each other. When I’d tried to hold onto her, he’d punched me in the face with those tattooed hands, knocking me to the floor. I’d sworn to get revenge. Instead, the mistress had made me finish cleaning.

Well…that bitch isn’t here for me to get my revenge, but the bastard that stole Rafaela is. He’s pretending to be sweet and innocent, but I know it’s a ruse. I haven’t forgotten the way that prick laughed at our tears.

This is my chance to find out where he took Rafaela. I won’t get another chance.

I was terrified the moment he showed up at my door, but when it was clear he didn’t recognize me, I relaxed a bit. All humans must look the same to an alien like him, and that’s a relief. I changed my manner from unfriendly to sweet, and when he agreed to come back later, I almost cheered.

I need to be ready for his return.

Should I drug him? Do I even have anything to drug him with? Will it take too long to work? Even if I spiked the butter he’d requested, would it work? Maybe aliens don’t get knocked out. Perhaps I should seduce him instead. The thought makes me want to gag, but it’ll get his guard down. Seduction, I decide. It’s the easiest way. Get him in my bed, cuff him, then torture him until he tells me everything he can about Rafaela and where she’s gone.

I press my hands to my mouth, revolted at the surge of excitement I feel over torturing someone. It’s just that…if I can find Rafaela…that changes everything. My sister is the last family I have. We’d been taken from Earth at the same time. Captivity made us grow closer than ever before. I could trust her with my life, and she knew I had her back. If the universe fell apart around us, we had each other.

But with Rafaela taken from me, there’s a cold, permanent fist around my heart at the thought of her being enslaved and suffering while I’m safe here on Risda. I’ve tried to get the local authorities to find her, but every refugee here has missing family. My voice gets drowned out. I throw myself into work here on my farm, because work is the only thing I can do. I work, and I save credits, and I dream of the day I can see Rafaela again.

That afternoon, I go about my regular chores. I check on the cattle’s statistics, then run the milk through the pasteurizer. I take one batch and pour my churns full, then hit the button on the wall. It took a bit of rigging, but I’ve managed to make sixteen butter churns hooked together while the machinery pistons them. After a few hours of this, I’ll have butter to tidy up, along with some buttermilk. Is it the most efficient process? No, it is not. Back home, I imagine that any butter farm would laugh at my small set-up. But it’s a way for me to make a living with my livestock and feel decent about it. My stock aren’t meat cattle, but an alternative kind specially bred to continually produce milk for years after a calf is born, so I’m not constantly having to get them pregnant to keep the milk reserves going. I tend to my cattle and take good care of them, and in turn, they take care of me. They let me hook up the milking machines without kicking me and nuzzle me when I pet their heads. It makes me feel less lonely to have them here on the farm with me. Silly but true.

As I move about the barn, getting the last batch of butter cleaned and put away, I examine my tools. I need something that will tie down the stranger. I need something that can act as a torture device. I pick up metal implements and put them down again, eventually deciding on a utility knife instead. I sharpen it and pull some heavy fiber rope from the barn and take it into the house. I don’t have cuffs, but maybe I can make tying him up into a sex game. I’m shaking with nervousness at the thought, but what are my options?

There’s a hiss in the barn as the milking clamps release and the cows dutifully step away, now free. I stare at the milking clamps—just like tiny cuffs, really—and I get an idea.

I watch the road for his return, my hands shaking with anxiety. Everything is ready. I’ve changed into my tightest-fitting tunic and cut the neckline to show a little cleavage. I fluff my curls and bite my lips to give them a little color. At the kitchen table, I’ve draped the chairs in fabric to hide the fact that I’ve tied all kinds of implements to the arms of one. All I have to do is push the fabric aside to grab the pneumatic milkers and snag them on his fingers. I know from working with the cows that once they’re on, they’re impossible to get off without the release button. They need to distract him long enough for me to tie his wrists down with the leg clamps I have for cattle that get a little unruly when being medicated…and then I can torture him for information.

It’s going to be awful, but if it gets me information on Rafaela, I have no choice. I take a deep breath, watching as he approaches my door, and steel myself. Think sexy. Think seductive. Think killer.

I can do this. I can. I can. I can. He wouldn’t think twice about destroying me, so I must harden myself and think along the same lines.

I can do this.

Opening the door before he can knock, I pin my sultriest smile to my face and give him a coy look. “Welcome back, stranger.”

“My name is Aithar,” he tells me with a bright smile. He smells like fresh soap, as if he showered before coming over, and his eyes are eager as he looks me over. “You are more beautiful than I remember.”

“Flatterer.” I step aside and indicate he should enter, a calm sweeping over me. “You’re here for the butter?”

“I am.” He comes inside, looking around with interest.

“Just the butter?” I tease, walking behind him and letting my fingertips snake down his back.

That makes him turn. He gazes at me thoughtfully, and for a moment, he looks really, really young. No, not young, I decide, because he could be twenty, or he could be thirty. His features are fully adult, but there’s a strange naivete in his expressions.

He’s an excellent actor. I remember how hard his laugh was when he separated Rafaela from me. How he’d kicked me in the gut and left me behind in the slave pens. There was no warmth in his gaze then, and it’s deceiving to see it now.

“If butter is all you are comfortable with, then yes, I am here solely for butter.” Aithar smiles again. “I am happy to let you lead the way.”

“Is that so?” I practically purr at him. I take his hand and lead him toward one of the prepared chairs. There are no calluses on his palm despite the scrawl of tattoos that cover his knuckles and the back of his hand. It’s a strange contrast. “Come have a seat, and let me get a good look at you.”

He’s got no clue of what I plan, I think, because he immediately thumps into the seat I steer him toward, and his gaze remains locked on me. Those bright eyes devour me with fascination, watching my every move. I take his hand again and he lets me.

Playing with one finger, I lick my lips. “How were you hoping tonight would go, sweetheart?”

He tilts his head, thinking. “I was hoping you would have a great deal of butter. And that you would talk to me. Tell me about yourself. Mostly I am hoping to hear you talk more. You have the most attractive voice.”

It’s a compliment I’ve never heard before. Most men that want to get laid lavish attention on my thick curls (which are fantastic), my full lips (pouty and sexy) or my tits and ass (both equally incredible). My voice is not something that’s normally called out. “You say the sweetest things.” I toy with another finger. “What do you want me to tell you? What I’d do to you?”

He swallows visibly. “If you like. Or you can tell me about you.”

I’m not interested in telling him anything about me that he can turn into a weapon. I continue to smile, easing his hand down near the arm of the chair even as I play with his fingers. “Well…I make butter…and…”

I flick the fabric aside and grab one of the udder clamps and slip it onto his finger.

“And I use a lot of these things.”

He eyes his clamped finger thoughtfully as I quickly lash his other arm to the chair. Either his reflexes are slow, or he’s more distracted than I thought, because he doesn’t fight back. He simply wiggles his trapped finger as I tighten his other arm to the chair, and move back to the one he’s got the clamp on. I move with haste, holding my breath as I lash him down. When both of his arms are trapped, I allow the tiniest, freaked-out laugh to bubble up in my throat.

That was too easy. Way too easy. I…can’t believe I did it. Incredible.

I pace away a step, pressing a hand to my brow, and take what feels like the first breath in the last ten minutes. I’ve got him trapped. Now the real work can begin.

I look over at Aithar—my enemy. He eyes the thing attached to his finger and looks up at me. His gaze remains bright. Interested. “What are we doing?”

Moving forward, I lean over the chair, pressing against the hoof clamps that now hold his arms trapped. “You’re my captive now. You have to do what I say.”

“I would do what you said anyhow.” His eyes go wide. “Is this a sex game, Michaela? If so, I am excited to play.”

“No, it’s not a fucking sex game!” I recoil, horrified at the thought.

Aithar looks confused. He wiggles the finger with the udder milker on it. “But this is sucking on my finger.”

“It’s a nipple clamp…and it won’t come off until I hit the release. And I’m not hitting the release.”

His expression turns dubious. “…and this is not a sex game?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t use them on your dick,” I snarl at him.

Instead of looking appalled or frightened, he looks intrigued. Aithar wiggles his finger again. “You think they would suck?”

Why isn’t he afraid? It’s making me angry—and a little scared. I scan my kitchen and grab a knife. “You should take me seriously. I mean business.”

“Should I have a word? A safe word? I have heard such things are a good idea if the sex games are rougher than expected. I am, of course, open to anything?—”

“ It’s not a fucking sex game !” I practically scream the words out, marching over to him and placing the blade against his throat. “Tell me where Rafaela is!”

He stares up at me for a long moment, and now, I think, now he will give me answers.

Aithar’s lips part. “Who?”

I bite back frustration. Humans probably all look the same to him. “You were trafficking for your boss two years ago on Haal Ui station. You were buying him a slave. You grabbed my sister from one of the pens and when I held onto her, you kicked me in the stomach and broke two of my ribs. And you laughed at the sound it made. Said humans were too fragile.”

Aithar flinches.

Good. I press the tip of the knife against that thick throat. “But I’m the one that’s laughing now, alien, because I have you and I’m going to get answers for once and for all.”

The excitement in his expression has faded. He looks oddly disappointed. “My name is Aithar, Michaela. And I was nowhere near Haal Ui two years ago.”

“Liar—”

“It is not me.” He says the words gently, almost reluctantly. “I am Aithar.”

“I don’t care what name you’re calling yourself. Just tell me what you did with her!”

He sighs, deflated. “I was so hopeful this was a sex game.”

I shriek with anger, digging the knife into his throat so hard that surely, surely now he’ll be afraid. “Stop pretending! I remember your face! Tell me what you did with her or I’m going to torture you!”

“I regret I have nothing to tell. My apologies.” He sounds sad…for me. He tilts his throat back, as if welcoming my attack.

This fucking asshole. I grit my teeth and press the knife harder. A bead of deep red wells up against his crimson skin, dark and unpleasant. It rolls down his throat…and I can’t do it. Aren’t I keeping milking cows because I didn’t like the thought of sending my helpless cattle to slaughter? No matter how I was treated by aliens, I can’t inflict pain on another. I can’t torture this stranger no matter how badly I want Rafaela back.

I recoil, staggering backward, and run into the kitchen counter. I set the knife down and wipe his blood off my hands, pacing. I rub my hands on my face, miserable. What do I do now? I hadn’t thought ahead, hadn’t thought of more than getting answers about my sister.

I was so certain I could do whatever was necessary, harden my heart…

There’s a clink, and I look over and see Aithar has one wrist free from the cuff and just unlocked the other one. He lifts his finger, eyeing the milking clamp, and gives it a wiggle.

“What the fuck?” I blurt out. “You could have gotten free this entire time?”

He looks over at me, his grin sheepish. “A former slave always knows how to get rid of a basic cuff. Just a couple of twists of the wrists, a few bones flexed and…” He shrugs.

Former…slave?

He continues, expression thoughtful. “It’s not a stun cuff and it’s not a tracker, so it’s easy enough to get free. This one puzzled me for a moment, but I figure that was the plan, right?” He eyes the udder clamp on his finger and rips the cord free from where it’s wrapped around the chair.

Aithar is completely free. I take a step back, glancing toward the nearby knife.

He puts his hands up. “Don’t panic. You’re not in danger. I’m just disappointed you didn’t want to get to know me better after all, though I suppose I’m not surprised.”

Does he look slightly defeated at that? Depressed? “You…you really thought this was a fucking date?”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I had my hopes.”

I gesture at the chair. “Even after the cuffs and the nipple clamp?”

He rubs his hand over his shorn hair. “I would not judge anyone on their turn-ons. I wanted to see what you were going to do with me. I do like a strong female, and for you to survive so capably, you are very strong indeed.”

Why is he so likable despite everything? It’s making me crazy. I’d prefer if he went back to the hard, sneering man I remember that pulled Rafaela away from me. I hold out a shaking hand. “Please. Please just tell me what you did with my sister? I know it means nothing to you, but it’s everything to me. It’s killing me that I don’t know what’s happened to her?—”

“You still don’t understand?” His voice is gentle. “Do you know what race I am, Michaela?”

I shake my head. “You’re an alien. That’s all I know. But I remember your face. I see it in my nightmares.”

He flinches ever so slightly, but the smile on his lips remains. “I am a’ani.” His tone remains solicitous and kind. “We are an extinct people that are cloned for labor. We are no longer born, but created to be slaves. You recognize my face because I will look the same as everyone that came from the same lab that I did. In fact, there is another here that shares very similar features to me, because we were created in the same place. His name is Dopekh, but he is not your kidnapper, either. Dopekh would not harm a female. I am sorry, but I am not the man you seek.”

I stare at him, wordless. A…clone?

Aithar rubs his knuckles. “A’ani are very fond of tattoos because it is the best way we can individualize ourselves when we share the same appearance with others. Do you remember his tattoos?”

“Hands,” I manage to choke out. “He had tattoos on his hands.”

“A great many of us do,” Aithar says with a nod. “Especially when we work with our hands. Perhaps he was in labor of some kind before he was enlisted to help his master with acquiring humans. I wish I could help you more, but I cannot. I do know a few bounty hunters that might be interested in hunting down a missing human female.”

He’s…offering to help me.

After I tied him up and threatened to cut his throat.

I’m so confused. Is he who he claims to be? A freaking clone that happens to look like the same evil bastard that I can’t forget? I search his face and see nothing but kindness in his gaze. There’s no cruelty to his features, no hardness to his mouth. Maybe…maybe he’s telling the truth. He’s certainly been confused by my accusations. I thought it was all an act.

And he could have escaped at any time and opted not to, just because he wanted to talk to me.

I’m suddenly exhausted. I drop to a crouch, hugging my knees and wanting nothing more than to curl up into a protective ball. To my horror, tears are beginning and they seep into my voice. “I…I just want to find my sister.”

He remains where he is but drops into a crouch as well. “I’m so sorry, Michaela. I almost wish I was him. If you like, you can torture me a little to be sure.”

I glance over at him, swiping at my face with my hand. His expression is earnest, his eyes full of sympathy. He clasps his hands in front of him, posture easy as he crouches. “You’re not him,” I finally concede. “You’re far too nice. I doubt you’d ever kick me in the ribs.”

“I would never,” he agrees solemnly. “And I am afraid I am always told I am too nice.”

My nose is running and I wipe it with the corner of my tunic, like a child. “You—you really know bounty hunters? You think they could help me?”

Aithar grimaces. “Well, the one I’m thinking of isn’t my favorite person, but she’s really good at locating missing things. If anyone can find someone missing, it’s Zebah. If she’s not available, we can always ask Bethiah, but she’s not very predictable.”

Names. I have names. Zebah. Bethiah. Bounty hunters. It’s a start, and it’s more than I had. “I’m…sorry I kidnapped you and tried to cut your throat.”

“I know it sounds strange, but I truly did not mind.” He continues to regard me for a moment longer, then gets to his feet and crosses the house over to my bathroom. Returning with a hand towel, he offers it to me. “Will you be all right? I know old memories can still be traumatizing. I did not mean to make you think of those you lost.”

“It’s not your fault.” I mop my face. He’s really being kind. First the offer of names and now a tissue (of sorts) for my weeping. “I really am sorry. I didn’t know. How can I make it up to you? More butter?”

Aithar pauses. “I would rather take you out on a date.”

Wait, what? I stare up at him in surprise. Five minutes ago I tried to cut this man’s throat and he’s still thinking romance? “Are you serious?”

His face falls, and it’s like I kicked a puppy. “You do not like me, do you? It’s because of my face.”

I gesture at him. “I literally just tried to torture you!”

“You didn’t mean it.”

I kinda did, I just didn’t have the guts to go through with it. But it’s nice of him to give me the benefit of the doubt, I suppose. “Why would you want to date me? After all this?”

“Because you are clever and determined. Because you have a beautiful voice. Because I find you appealing and I am extremely, extremely disappointed you did not wish to use me for sex.” He gives me a shy smile.

Oh. Jeez. Is he joking? I don’t think he’s joking. “Are all clones as weird as you?”

Aithar’s shoulders slump.

Shit. “That was mean and thoughtless of me. I’m sorry. I’m just shocked. Shocked, and I find the idea of going out on a date with the guy I kidnapped a little strange.” I study his face, and other than the warmth in his gaze and the softness of his mouth, he really could be that asshole from two years ago. “That, and you have the face of the man who kidnapped my sister and I’m struggling with that part.”

He’s not offended by my excuses. “Would you like to meet some other a’ani so you can confirm my words? There are several of us building a cantina in town. I am surprised you have not seen them before.”

“I don’t go into town much.” Just the store, and to deliver my dairy. I stay busy on my farm, because if I’m busy and exhausted, then my brain doesn’t focus on other things, things that make me sad or anxious. So I make butter and I clean house…obsessively. Because if I can control my environment, I can control something at least.

Aithar’s expression turns cheerful again. “Then allow me to escort you into town. It would bring me great pleasure, and you can meet my crew mates and see for yourself that a’ani are clones and I am not pulling on legs. It will be fun.”

He has a weird idea of fun. But I feel so guilty about kidnapping him…and I really want him to contact those bounty hunters on my behalf. Do I keep pretending interest even though he looks like the man I despise? If it gets me one step closer to finding Rafaela again, it’s worth it. “When did you want to do this date?”

“I am free tomorrow.” Aithar tries to compose himself, but it’s clear he’s excited at the prospect of going out with me.

“Tomorrow,” I echo, still finding the entire thing surreal. “Sure.”

He beams at me. “I will return at noon so we can walk into town together. You will like the others. I am the least interesting of our crew. They are all vastly more exciting and cleverer than I am. And you can meet Lady Ruth, Ruthie, and Ruth-Ann. They are our humans.”

My brows go up, alarm swirling. “You have enslaved humans?”

“No, no. They are the humans on our crew. None of us are enslaved anymore, thanks to Lord Straik and his benevolence. He freed me several years ago. And his wife would be furious if he kept humans as slaves. He is very fair, Lord Straik. You will see.” He bows at me and heads for the door.

“Um, bye?”

Almost immediately, he turns around again, that sheepish, almost too-sweet expression on his face. “I almost forgot! The butter. May I purchase some from you? Lady Ruth will be deeply disappointed if I do not bring more home.”

“I thought you said her name was Ruth-Ann?”

“No, we have three humans in our crew. They are all Ruth in some way.” He smiles as if this makes perfect sense.

“Right. Sure.”

“I will introduce you to everyone tomorrow and it will make sense. I promise.”

I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m already in this deep. “Tomorrow it is. Let me get you some butter. You can pay me later.”

He needs to leave so I can process everything I’m feeling right now. Because…it’s a lot. I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry or curl up under a blanket somewhere and not come out for weeks.

Actually I’ll probably just clean something.

Aithar’s gaze flicks to the milking clamp one more time, and his face flushes. “I shall see you tomorrow, Michaela.”