Chapter 4
A full minute passed before Bet realized that Riddick was oddly silent.
Lifting her head, she met his eyes.
He arched a brow. "Something funny?"
Riddick couldn't possibly think she was laughing at him, could he? Bet sat up on her knees, worried that her laughter had given unintended offense, but as she studied his wounded expression, guilt gave way to suspicion.
"'Cause I'm a sensitive man," Riddick said with a straight face. "And laughter at such a moment could damage my fragile ego."
That clinched it.
Bet pounced, propelling him backward onto the bed and pinning his hands above his head. "You truly are a shit."
He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "If only there was something you could do to take my mind off my emotional distress."
"You are shameless." She sat up and knelt between Riddick's legs. "Absolutely shameless."
And absolutely magnificent, she silently added, looking down at him. Smooth and flawless toffee colored skin covered his achingly beautiful form, skin that invited an admiring caress. Bet imagined her fingers exploring all the curves and hollows of his body. The dark clefts on his throat and incised pectorals. The shadowed impressions that separated deltoid from biceps, biceps from triceps.
She sighed. Riddick was simply breathtaking. Spectacular. Godlike.
Embarrassed by her own mental effusions, Bet blushed. She was no giddy sixteen-year-old, she reminded herself, raising her eyes to Riddick's face.
Through half closed eyes he watched her ogle him. From his smirk, she suspected that Riddick could read the nature of her thoughts. Too bad. Nothing wrong with a little honest lust. Nothing at all.
Bending over his torso, Bet dropped her head, allowing her long hair to puddle on his chest. She swayed from side to side, dragging her hair over his stomach in an undulating pattern. When her dark blond locks brushed the nest of black curls at his groin, she halted and snapped back her head. For a few fleeting seconds, a golden corona encircled her face.
Bet tilted her head to one side, contemplating what to do next. She tapped a finger to her lips, in no rush to assuage his curiosity about her intentions. Finally, with a sly half-smile, she leaned again over his chest.
Riddick closed his eyes. As she lowered her mouth to his stomach, he spoke. "Just--don't--hurt--me."
Bet rocked back on her heels and glowered in mock rage at Riddick. "You are the most aggravating man."
Bet balled her fists and pummeled his stomach. Indulging her fit of temper, Riddick allowed her to land two punches. In a lightning fast blur, he captured both fists and yanked. Bet landed heavily atop him, her face hovering just above his.
His fingers still wrapped around her clenched fist, he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles. "Play nice," Riddick warned, his voice a shiver inducing growl.
Bet didn't reply. Instead, she lowered her head and kissed his chin with a mouth so soft and yielding that the stubble scraped the delicate tissue of her inner lips. Whisker-burn again. One of her new favorite sensations.
"Mmmm." Bet sighed with pleasure as her mouth kissed a path down his neck to his chest. Her tongue fluttered along the groove separating his pectorals. She pressed open-mouthed kisses over his chest and stomach, occasionally nipping at the sleek skin.
Bet's hands straddled Riddick's ribs and she raised herself slightly, dragging her heavy hair across his flat stomach. She swung her head to one side. Her hair cascaded over his hip. With a movement too unhurried to be anything other than deliberate, Bet swept her locks over his groin, teasing his penis with the hair's feather light touch.
Bet's cheek grazed his belly as her tongue sought his navel. She bit the thin skin on the underside of the puckered dent, catching a short, black hair between her front teeth. She tugged and elicited a grunt of surprise from Riddick.
Smiling against his skin, Bet nibbled down the narrow line of hairs, working her way toward the dark triangle at its base. The hairs tickled her lips as Bet blew a stream of warm, moist air onto the springy curls. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment as she breathed in his scent.
Riddick's fingers brushed over the back of her head and tangled in her hair. Pressing gently, but insistently, his fingers attempted to direct her head in a particular direction.
Bet raised her eyes to Riddick's face. "Unh-unh-unh," she admonished, repeating his earlier warning.
Riddick groaned and flashed a rueful smile. His words come back to haunt him. Point Bet, she thought smugly, rising up on her knees.
Her fingers trailed idly over his stomach as she debated her next move. Riddick arched his pelvis, flaunting a gloriously erect cock, and making abundantly clear his suggestion for what she could do.
Bet ignored him.
Holding her body well above his straining pelvis, she supported her weight on her hands and rubbed her face over his chest. Her lips found a flat nipple and suckled it, flicking her tongue against the hard nub. As she sucked, Bet brushed her breasts across his belly, their diamond hard tips trumpeting her own arousal.
Self-interest as much as compassion led Bet to relent and to turn her attention, finally, to his penis.
Bet shifted slightly lower on Riddick's body. Leaning forward, she trapped his penis in the valley between her breasts. She rocked back and forth, slapping his cock with her swaying breasts. Perhaps not the act Riddick originally envisioned, but he liked it well enough to groan in protest when she stopped.
Sitting back on her heels, Bet took Riddick's penis in her hand. Some of her friends considered the penis to be a laughable thing, a quirky, funny looking organ that could be taken seriously only when one was in the throes of passion. Bet always maintained a shocked silence during such discussions, for it was unfathomable to her that the penis could be the object of such derision. Recumbent or rigid, Bet found it beautiful. Or at least she did before life with Jeremy dulled her appreciation for such things.
Lord-have-mercy, Bet sighed, gazing with wonder at Riddick's penis. It truly is beautiful. The paper-thin skin stretched shiny taut over the engorged organ. The tracery of veins running just beneath the skin, pliant to the touch but springing defiantly back as soon as she lifted her finger. The acorn shaped head and the sensitive ridge curving beneath it. Hard to believe that an organ with such presence, such potential, could spend most of its existence curled limply against a man's groin. No wonder men found their erections to be such marvels. She would if she were a man.
I'm still me, Bet realized with gratitude. In spite of Jeremy. In spite of everything. She smiled, even as her eyes welled with tears.
"Elisabeth." Riddick's voice pierced her reverie. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Bet said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Hasn't the sight of your penis ever moved anyone to tears before?"
Well, that was the truth, even if it wasn't the entire truth. She lowered her gaze demurely, then peeked to see if he bought her explanation. For once, Riddick was transparent, his face easy to read. Frowning, he ran her words over in his mind. He pursed his lips, tilted his head to one side and shrugged, acknowledging the veracity of it. God's in his heaven, all's right with the world.
Men! Bet dropped her head, lest Riddick see the laughter in her eyes.
Her downcast gaze focused once again on the object in question, a thing at once the source of her awe and the fount of her humor. It twitched. Bet closed her eyes and bit her lips, stifling a giggle.
She inhaled, determined to regain her composure.
Opening her eyes, Bet spread wide her fingers. Each tip pressed hard into Riddick's skin as she dragged her hands across his stomach and over his hips, to his inner thighs. Her splayed fingers revolved in slow circles against the skin, nudging his legs farther apart.
Bet bent forward and rubbed her face the length of his shaft, luxuriating in the sensation of silky skin sliding beneath her cheek. She nuzzled his pubic hair, flooding her open mouth with the taste and scent of his arousal. Her tongue fluttered along the underside of his penis, from base to tip, before swirling over the head.
Bet filled her lungs with air and slid Riddick's penis into her mouth, pausing when the tip struck the back of her mouth. She willed her throat muscles to go slack, then pivoted her head and rippled her tongue, drawing his cock deeper into her throat. It was a skill long disused. Had Jeremy asked, she would have sworn such a thing was impossible, but Bet discovered that she hadn't lost the knack. She gagged once and panicked, but recovered. Little by little, Bet's lips inched toward the base of his penis.
A lack of air brought her effort up short. Lungs bursting, eyes watering, Bet reluctantly pulled back. She leaned her cheek on Riddick's thigh, sucking a breath into her lungs.
"Where the fuck did you learn to do that?"
Bet raised her head and flashed a smile before rolling onto her stomach, her face just decimeters from Riddick's rampant erection.
"Hmmm," she mused, rubbing her mouth over his testicles. She raked her fingernails through his pubic hair, scratching at his skin. Slipping her hand behind his scrotum, Bet scraped her nails lightly over his balls.
Bet pressed open-mouthed kisses along the intersection of Riddick's leg and groin, first licking then blowing on the crease. He lifted his hips and moaned, a sound that reverberated throughout his body.
Cupping his scrotum in her hand, Bet gently lifted it. The tip of her tongue flicked against his perineum, that exquisitely sensitive spot behind his balls. When the surface was wet and slippery, she bent two fingers and rolled the knuckles against the skin. At the same time she drew the flat of her tongue up over his balls to the base of his penis.
"Fuck," Riddick gasped, when her tongue curled once again around his scrotum.
A simple interjection, but Bet chose to misunderstand it. "Soon," she promised, before licking his balls again.
Riddick sat up on his elbows, watching her through lust glazed eyes. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his chest and stomach, and his breath came rapidly between his parted lips. Bet closed her eyes, fixing the picture in her mind, adding it to the treasure chest of images she hoarded in her memory.
Hands gripped her upper arms and hauled Bet over the top of Riddick's body. He grinned up at her. "I'm thinking NOW."
"Were you?" Bet dropped her head and bit his lower lip.
"Yeah." He dragged his lip out from between her teeth and kissed her, gently at first. Deepening the kiss, he pierced her mouth with his tongue, and wrestled Bet over onto her back.
Bet shifted, tremulous with anticipation. Instead of sliding into position between her legs, Riddick rolled off of her and stood by the side of the bed.
"C'm here."
Without waiting for a reply, Riddick slipped his hands under Bet's hips and pulled her pelvis to the edge of the bed. Seizing her ankles, he lifted her feet to his shoulders. His hands gripped her ass and tugged, lifting her crotch toward his ready cock.
He paused, savoring the final moment before consummation. No longer hurried and purposeful, his actions now were deliberate and leisurely. A slight smile touched his lips as Riddick's fingers probed Bet's slick wetness. With exaggerated care, he spread her moisture on the head of his cock, then raised his hand to his mouth and licked the residue from his fingers.
Good God. Her lips silently shaped the words. Amazing how such a simple act could evoke such a visceral response. Riddick and Bet had danced around this moment long enough, teasing and tantalizing each other as they drew closer and closer to sexual culmination. There was no help for it. Either Riddick took her right now or Bet would be reduced to blithering madness.
The world fell away. Nothing existed beyond this place and this moment, a universe bounded by what Bet could see, hear, taste, smell and feel. At the heart of this new universe, the glowing sun, the sine qua non, stood Riddick, whose scorching touch disarranged the old order and usurped the center of her consciousness.
"Elisabeth. Elisabeth."
Riddick leaned forward, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, and captured her face between his hands. "Look at me."
Bet gathered her scattered thoughts and focused her gaze on him.
"Look at me," he repeated. "I want you to know it's me."
Bet nodded and they locked eyes. Riddick slowly withdrew his hands from her face. Bet drew in a deep breath and held it as he pressed the head of his penis against the mouth of her vagina. His hands curled around her hips and he pulled up, positioning her for penetration.
Time froze again for a fraction of a second. The image of Riddick's face --contorted with passion as he drove his penis into her--imprinted onto Bet's memory.
She gasped, rocked by the force of his rapid incursion. With her ankles resting on his shoulders, there was no retreat from the sensation, no safe ground, no shifting back from the pounding of penis against womb. Riddick fucked like a man too long deprived, a monk crazed with lust and longing who abandons his vows in an orgy of carnal indulgence.
After the initial shock, Bet relaxed into the feeling, raising her hips to meet his thrusts. Good. Good. So good that she wanted even more. Her hands scrabbled across his stomach as Bet reached for Riddick, her fingers digging into his skin as she sought to draw his mouth down to her breasts.
Bet slid her legs down his arms until her knees caught in the crooks of his elbows. When she reached for Riddick again, he leaned forward and nibbled lightly at a nipple, then rasped his chin over the tip. Bet pressed his head to her breast, encouraging him to bite, and sobbed with pleasure when his mouth clamped down hard.
No part of her escaped unscathed from this sensual conflagration. Riddick's hands and mouth roved her body, tasting and touching every centimeter of her skin. Bet consumed his with an equal passion, losing all sense of time as they pillaged each other's bodies.
When Bet felt the first stirrings of impending orgasm, she turned in Riddick's arms and lifted her face to his. "I want to see you when I come," she murmured, clutching at his head and relishing the now familiar scrape of stubble beneath her fingers.
Color suffused Riddick's face and a vein in his forehead stood out prominently. He'd held off his own orgasm until Bet found hers again, but now he pumped ferociously into her, as if trying to beat her to the mark.
"Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God-oh-God," she groaned, the stimulation pushing her to the edge. Bet flushed, her eyes widening. Her body arched and went rigid before convulsing in a spine shattering orgasm. So lost was Bet in her own pleasure, that she was only dimly aware of Riddick crying out and shuddering against her.
Bet collapsed onto the bed. Spots danced before her eyes and a rushing sound filled her ears, but as her pulse slowed and her lungs filled with air, the world spun back into focus. Bet turned her head weakly and glanced at Riddick, who was sprawled out beside her in a similar enfeebled state.
She grinned. "That was good."
Riddick reached over, twined his fingers through hers, and pulled her hand to his lips for a kiss.
Bet sighed happily, fighting back a yawn. She lifted their linked hands into the air, twisting them around as she studied the sight of her small hand engulfed by his huge one.
"You have very good hands, you know. Wonderful, talented hands."
He grunted noncommittally.
She sat up on her knees and looked Riddick in the face. Suddenly, it was very important to Bet that he believe her. "No, I mean it," she insisted. "Good hands."
Leaning over him, Bet seized both wrists and turned the palms up. "Beautiful hands," she said, stroking the long, tapering fingers.
"Wise hands," she breathed, smiling as she remembered what those hands could do. She brushed a cheek over each palm in turn, then kissed the tip of each finger, one after the other.
"A murderer's hands," Riddick said quietly.
Bet met his eyes. There was no point in denying it, although she suspected that the true story of his crimes wouldn't be nearly so damning as Johns had lead her to believe.
"A murderer's hands," she acknowledged, nodding. "Strong and capable. But also a lover's hands. Hands that give pleasure as skillfully as they take life."
She wrapped her fingers around both of his large hands and held them fast. "When we first met, I called you a mad-dog psycho-killer. I was wrong. You killed for reasons I don't understand, but I want to believe that they were just reasons. Killing is what you did; it's not what you are. You're no more simply a killer than I'm simply a Company wife. So if you don't object, or even if you do, I'm going to stick with my original contention. These are good hands."
Riddick extracted his hands from hers and pulled her head to his chest. Bet sighed sleepily and snuggled against him. He was silent for a long time, and her eyes grew heavy waiting for him to respond. At last, Riddick pressed a kiss on her forehead.
"Thank you," he said. "Now go to sleep."
Chapter 5/5
For the first time in weeks, Bet slipped easily from sleep to wakefulness.
No panic, no disorientation marked her transition from one state of
consciousness to another. Instead, slumber gently released its grip
on her as one by one her senses awoke.
Bet rolled over. The sensation of rough sheets scratching her cheek filtered into her awareness. She stretched and burrowed into the warm concave her body had pressed into the mattress. Yawning, she wrinkled her nose. The bed smelled like sex. The unmistakable odor of sweat and semen clung to the sheets and wafted to her nose as she stirred.
Bet smiled and slid her fingers across the sheets to the other side of the bed. Empty. Cold. Her eyes flew open and she sat up, twisting around to see if Riddick might be in the bathroom. Through the open door she saw only the vacant shower stall.
"Okay," Bet whispered, hugging her knees. That's that. Riddick's gone. She shouldn't be surprised, really. For a fleeting moment their paths crossed, their needs converged, but now it was time to get back to the business of their real lives. Honestly, what did she expect?
She expected him to say goodbye, she thought furiously, and not to slink out like some shame-faced one-night stand. Damn it, she expected some kind of closure. She wanted to see if even a hint of regret clouded his eyes when they parted ways. She wanted--she wanted--
"Shit!" Bet threw the pillow across the room. Never mind what she wanted. Resisting the urge to flop back down and to pull the sheets over her head, Bet swung her legs out of bed and took a step toward the bathroom.
That's when she saw it, "The Collected Poems of Edna St.Vincent Millay," sitting on the bedside table. Riddick must have taken it from the satchel while she was sleeping. And protruding from its pages, her antique Waterman's pen. The pen fell out when she opened the book. There, on the blank front page, a note from Riddick, saying simply "Back soon with breakfast."
Bet read it twice before its meaning sunk in. Riddick hadn't simply snuck off while she was sleeping. He was coming back. With food. She closed her eyes for a moment and thanked whatever gods had decided to smile upon her this day.
Bet reached for a shower token before she remembered that they were all gone. Too bad, but she could make do with the trickle of warm water the bathroom faucet dispensed. She'd brush her teeth and rinse off at the sink. A "spit bath," that's what her grandmother used to call it, although technically, she supposed that she'd already had a spit bath. She sighed, remembering Riddick's mouth and tongue exploring every surface of her body.
A soft rapping at the door stopped Bet in her tracks. Damn! Five more minutes and she'd feel much more presentable, but the timing couldn't be helped. Smiling with anticipation, Bet crossed the room, flung open the door, and froze in place.
Johns. His blue eyes widened in mock horror as his gaze swept her naked form.
"Why Lizzie Villiers," he drawled. "Didn't your mother teach you to cover yourself when you got company?"
Johns spread his arms across the doorframe, gallantly blocking the sight of Bet from the party of men standing in the hall behind him.
Bet stared blankly at Johns, a strange lethargy stealing over her. He knew her name. Game over. Jeremy won. She'd dreaded this moment since fleeing her husband, lived with the fear of being caught, and now that it happened she felt oddly calm. Disconnected. Her thoughts shuffled themselves neatly into individual compartments in her mind. Sadness here. Fear here. Disappointment here. Horror at the prospect of seeing Jeremy over there. All arranged so that Bet could take them out and examine them one by one; almost as if her mind understood that to face them all at once would utterly undo her.
"Go on now, put some clothes on," Johns urged, nodding solicitously.
Bet glanced down at her naked body. Get dressed. Yes. Easiest to focus on the immediate, the concrete. She picked her pants and shirt up off the floor and pulled them over her stiff limbs.
Johns stepped aside and signaled the three other men to enter the room. They filed in, the first two looking decidedly uncomfortable, the third, aggrieved.
Johns looked around the room, shaking his head in bemusement. "Not exactly the life style you're accustomed to, is it Lizzie?" He paused, and sniffed the air, his face registering disgust. "And it smells like a whore house." He smiled. "You really are slumming, aren't you?"
What a contemptible bastard! And a good thing that he was, for the flash of anger he provoked put the first crack in her shocked stupor.
Johns strolled around the room, trailing his fingers over its meager furnishings. He halted at her satchel, pawed through it, but found nothing to hold his interest. He turned his attention to the rumpled bed.
"So Lizzie got lucky last night."
"I thought I did when I blew you off," Bet said, finding her voice.
His eyes narrowed, but the infuriating smirk lingered on his face. "Your boyfriend still around?"
Riddick! Shit! Riddick was on his way back to the room!
"He took off after I fell asleep," she said with a shrug. Did Johns know it was Riddick, or was he just fishing? She glanced at the table. Thank God she'd closed the book before putting it down. Unlikely that Johns would thumb through a volume of poetry and stumble across Riddick's note.
Whatever else happened, she didn't want an unsuspecting Riddick walking into a trap. Four to one, bad odds, even for Riddick.
"So what now, Johns?" Bet asked, attempting to move things along.
"Now I introduce you to these gentlemen." He gestured toward the three silent men. "Mr. Jasper and Mr. Pym represent the Company's mining operations on this planet." The two men nodded uneasily. Team players, Bet guessed, loyal Company men, but way out of their element dealing with a situation like this.
"Mr. Lee is contract employee for the Company, helping out with some of their more delicate matters. He made your acquaintance last night."
Bet studied the third man, puzzled. He looked vaguely familiar. The pieces fell together. The "drunk" in the alley. No wonder he looked so pissed off. "Hey," she smiled. "How's the head?"
Lee scowled and took a step in her direction. Johns halted him with a warning hand.
"Now Lizzie," Johns said pleasantly. "Since Mr. Lee will be escorting you back to husband, you might want to avoid aggravating his already foul temper."
"I'm curious," she said, slipping on her jacket. "Were you looking for me all the time, Johns? Was that story about tracking down some serial killer just a cover-up?"
"No, I wasn't looking for you. I stumbled across Lee in the alley this morning. Got to talking. Discovered we shared some professional interests. He offered me a percentage of his take if I helped reel you in."
Johns carried a retractable baton at his
hip. With a flick of his wrist, it snapped open. He pointed at the satchel.
"Mr. Jasper, will you pack Mrs. Villiers' things?" The tip
of the baton nudged Bet's jacket pocket. "And Lizzie, will you
be so good as to take that knife out of your pocket and give it--carefully--to
Mr. Pym?"
He nodded his approval when she complied. "A Company ship has docked
and is waiting to take you back home. We're all going to walk quietly
and quickly to the ship. Do you understand?" Although his tone
was perfectly congenial, the baton tapping against his leg provided
an unspoken threat.
"Yeah, I understand," Bet said. "Let's get it over with."
One thing at a time, she thought, following Lee, Jasper and Pym out the door. Push everything else out of her mind, and handle things one at a time. At least now Riddick wouldn't walk into the room and accidentally hand himself over to Johns.
Halfway down the stairs Bet's foot brushed against something. She gripped the rickety railing to catch her balance, and glanced down to see a round, red object roll to the bottom of the steps. An apple. Johns almost bumped into her when she paused, stopped short by the memory of Riddick polishing her last apple against his black tank top.
"Hey," Lee called from the bottom of the stairs. "Look what some idiot dropped! You know what these things cost?" As he stooped to pick up the apple, a figure emerged from behind the dumpster.
"Oh fuck," Johns roared, drawing his gun from his holster.
In the instant it took Bet to spin her head from Johns back to Lee, Riddick snapped Lee's neck and snatched his gun. Rough hands jerked Bet backwards and a gun barrel jabbed beneath her chin. Riddick and Johns faced each other, while Jasper and Pym hovered uselessly in the background.
"What's it gonna be, Riddick?" Johns called. "You gonna put down the gun or watch me waste her?"
"Don't do it!" Bet shrieked, horrified. From the moment Johns had found her she'd known that she was dead, an animated corpse just biding her time until the end. The certainty of death was a lot less terrifying than the possibility of it. She'd hoped for a better life. Nothing could hurt more than that hope's destruction, nothing except bringing Riddick down with her.
The muzzle dug into her throat, but she continued. "Please. I'm dead either way. Don't do it."
Not even a flicker of a response came from Riddick.
"Time's up, Riddick--Choose."
Bet's heart sank as Riddick lowered his gun. "Mr. Jasper," Johns said. "Will you get off your ass and take Riddick's weapon." With his left hand Johns took a pair of cuffs from his vest and tossed them to Pym. "And Mr. Pym, if you'll place these on Riddick's wrists"
That done, Johns lowered his gun from Bet's chin. He kept a hand on her shoulder as they descended the stairs and stopped a few paces from Riddick.
"Whatever got into you, boy?" Johns demanded, his blue eyes dancing with glee. "She can't be that good!"
A grin split Riddick's face. "You're one sorry mother-fucker, Johns."
Johns nudged Lee with the toe of his boot. "And with Lee dead, my percentage of the commission just went way up. Guess I should thank you, huh Riddick?"
"Later. You'll make it up to me later."
"We'll just see about that." Johns gestured for Riddick to start walking.
They walked in silence to the docking port,
a very nervous Pym in the lead, followed by Riddick, Johns, Bet and
Jasper. Their passage stirred surprisingly little interest, dashing
any faint hope Bet had that someone might intervene.
Johns spoke to a steward, who directed them to a small, private waiting
room. At Johns' command, Bet and Riddick sat on a narrow bench. While
Jasper held a gun on Riddick, Johns shackled his ankle to a leg of the
bench.
"That'll hold you while I make arrangements," he said cheerfully.
Johns took Jasper aside. "You and Pym will have to accompany Mrs. Villiers back to her husband."
"But--"
"Priority Company business," Johns reminded him, ignoring any protest. "Riddick and I will be heading out the other direction, back to the Tangiers system. That overdue merchant ship that docked this morning, what's its name?"
"The Hunter-Gratzner."
"Right, the Hunter-Gratzner. It's en route to the Tangiers system. I'm going to go book passage for Riddick and me on the Hunter-Gratzner and I'll inform the Company that it'll be three instead of two for their ship. You two," he pointed at Jasper and Pym, "watch the prisoners."
He winked at Bet and saluted as he left the room. Jasper and Pym exchanged agonized glances and took up positions outside the door.
Only after Johns disappeared did Bet allow herself to look at Riddick She'd hoped for a chance to say good-bye, but never in a million years would she have elected to do so under these circumstances.
Guilt twisted in her belly like a knife and tears filled Bet's eyes when she tried to speak. "Why?" She swallowed. "Why'd you do it, damn it? Now we're both screwed."
"Don't you worry about me," Riddick said easily. " Ain't the first time I've been caught. I'll get away again. This is just one battle, not the war. That's what you have to believe for yourself too."
"I hope to God you're right. That you'll escape again. But this is the end of the line for me. Jeremy--" Bet paused, closing her eyes. Saying his name aloud was like invoking a demon, unwrapping the most tightly guarded of all her fears and dragging it into the light of day. She forced open her eyes and continued resolutely. "When I left Jeremy it was an all or nothing proposition. I win; I'm free. I lose, I die."
Bet shrugged. "I lost and he's going to kill me." She reached out and wrapped her fingers around Riddick's bound right hand. "But I'm not sorry that I tried."
Riddick twisted to face her. He leaned forward, his voice low and urgent. "Elisabeth, there isn't much time. I want you to listen to me very carefully. You can't truly know what Villiers plans to do when he gets you back. Could be he hasn't made up his mind."
Bet opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "Listen! Remember why he married you, how proud he is of his connection to a Company founder. You're his fucking trophy: Elisabeth Stanhope Villiers. The confirmation that he's one of the big boys. You're worth more to Villiers alive than dead. He wants you scared shitless and willing to do whatever he says. And that's exactly what you're going to give him."
"What!" Bet recoiled, staggered by the suggestion.
"You do whatever you have to do to stay alive, to placate Villiers. Act contrite. Make nice, just like you did before."
"No," Bet cried. "Even if you're right, even if it would work, I could never, never go back to my life with Jeremy. It'd be easier if he kills me."
"Dead is forever," Riddick said quietly. "Sides, I'm not talking about going back to your old life. I'm talking about fucking with his head. Conning him. Making Villiers believe that he got you beat. And all the while you'll be biding your time, waiting--"
"Waiting for another opportunity to escape?" Bet interrupted. "Another chance to spend the rest of my life hiding out from Company thugs? No thanks, the price is too high."
"Just listen," Riddick hissed. "Villiers doesn't know it, but he's a walking ghost. His time is running out." He met her eyes and nodded, assuring Bet that she understood correctly. "You'll be waiting to hear that you're a widow. It's the only way you'll ever be free."
"You?" Bet mouthed the question.
"Top of my list. I promise. You just have to hang on 'til then. Can you do that?"
The world rearranged itself inside of Bet's head. Could she do it? Could she play the game one more time, knowing in advance what it would cost her? Ten minutes ago she would have declared it impossible. But now, with the prospect of genuine freedom dangling in front of her, could she summon the strength to endure God-knows how many more months with Jeremy?
"Yeah," Bet said slowly, scarcely believing that she dared once again to hope. "Yeah, I can do that."
"I know you can." Riddick pressed a kiss against her forehead. He slipped his bound wrists over her shoulders and drew her head to his chest.
One thing at a time, Bet reminded herself. She'd think about Jeremy later, during the journey back to him. For now, nothing existed beyond the circle of Riddick's arms. Beneath her fingers, his heart beat a strong and steady rhythm. Rocking gently back and forth, in time with that rhythm, Riddick and Bet held on to each other, while the world slipped away.
THE END