“You all feel the same way?” There were mumbles and words said by everyone, but the general consensus was a resounding yes. “All right, then. Let’s get moving.”
Chapter Thirty-One
When Ryan awoke early the next morning, Krysty was still sleeping comfortably in his arms.
“What is it, lover?” she said.
“Time for work.”
“But you won,” Krysty said. “You don’t have to work in the orchards for a week if you don’t want to.”
“Don’t want to,” Ryan said. “Have to.”
“Why?”
“One of us has to be out in the orchards to look out for J.B. and the others. He’s had time to get organized and come up with a plan. If he’s got one, he might want to give us a message about when and where he’s going to hit the farm. Someone needs to be out in the field to receive his message.”
“What if you don’t hear from him today?”
“Then we’ll start making our own plans to get out of here.”
“Good,” Krysty said. “I’m starting to have some bad feelings about this place.”
“Anything specific?”
“Not really. But I am worried about you, lover. You might be in danger somehow.”
“I’ve been up to my knees in it since I got here.”
“No, this is something else. Different.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
Krysty was silent a moment, then said, “What do you want me to do while you’re out in the orchards?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and getting dressed.
“Talk to Mildred. Find out more about where our blasters are being stored and see if we can get them out without anyone noticing. See if you can talk to some of the slaves and let them know something might be happening soon and that they should be ready.” He paused a moment, thinking. “And mebbe the two of you could come up with a plan for a diversion. We’ll need one whether we break out of here ourselves or J.B. comes to get us.”
“Anything else, lover?” Krysty asked, her hands on her hips and a smile on her face.
Ryan looked at her a moment, then crawled slowly back onto the bed, where he made love to her one more time before starting the day.
BARON FOX HAD HAD trouble sleeping all through the night. He’d called for a nonbreeder before getting into bed, but the usual sense of peace and tranquility he enjoyed after a good rutting had eluded him.
Even now, hours later, he was still too tense to rest and his mind was far from being at peace.
There was something on his mind.
It was the outlander with one eye.
He’d been magnificent in the circle, chilling his opponents with as much cunning as brute strength. He’d chilled Mog as easily as he might a dog. It had been a good show, but there was still something wrong about the one-eye, something not right.
Mog had been a monster, but he could always be easily controlled. A few breeders and he was happy, producing offspring that netted top jack. But this one, he was a rogue, a renegade, a rebel. He wasn’t the type to be happy just working and rutting his life away on the farm.
He was wild.
Untamable.
And he was an outlander. Soon he’d be looking at the fence surrounding the farm as a prison wall, and he’d want out. Worse still was the possibility that he would spend his time on the farm convincing the other slaves to rebel. The slaves outnumbered the sec force ten to one, and any organized rebellion stood a good chance of succeeding.
And if that happened, Baron Fox knew he’d be chilled for sure, but only after a very long and painful torture session.
All it would take is the right man.
And that man was the one-eyed outlander. The baron was sure of it.
Earlier in the night, when the baron had first tried to get some rest, he’d drifted into a light sleep and dreamed of the door to his chambers bursting inward and the one-eyed outlander charging inside, blaster in hand, cutting him to ribbons with a burst of automatic fire.