Rescued by the Orc Enforcer, page 1
RESCUED BY THE ORC ENFORCER
VILLAINS DO IT BETTER
KATE RUDOLPH
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
What to Read Next
Also by Kate Rudolph
About Kate Rudolph
CHAPTER 1
This one was perfect.
Meda scanned the brochure, making sure it answered every single possible point of contention. Safety? Trusted, vetted guards were supplied by the company. Cost? Not the cheapest option out there, but not extravagant. And extra money meant the company wasn't skimping. Time? Six months. A blink of an eye for a twenty-four-year-old.
"You have to work," she whispered to the brochure, tracing her fingers over the picture of the smiling human looking out over a gorgeous vista on an uninhabited planet.
"What's that?" Nebulon Rossi, Meda's father, walked into the sitting room, and she nearly fell out of her chair in shock. Her dad wasn't supposed to be home for another few hours. He was off on business, whatever that meant, and he'd been clear she had to stay indoors.
As if she'd ever be in danger in Crimson Enclave. Her father basically owned this town.
And that was the problem.
In Crimson Enclave she was as safe as any person could be. She could walk down the grungy streets decked out in gold and no one would touch her. Not that her father allowed her anywhere near the seedier parts of the Enclave. No, she was always stuck in the Silver District with its fancy shops and refined clientele. They kept anyone who couldn't afford to live in the Silver District out, and fighting, violence of any kind, was strictly prohibited. Along with drinking, sex shows, cage fights, cursing, and spitting.
Meda had spent her whole life in the Silver District except for small glimpses she caught of the wider world when her father let them travel to their compound in safe, country territory.
And, of course, the times she'd managed to sneak out. She was twenty-four years old. She wanted a life, not this prison of silver and gold.
Still, Meda was tempted to hide the brochure. A part of her wanted to run and run forever, until she was so far out of her father's reach that she could truly be free.
But that wasn't what she was asking for. Really, all she wanted was something her father had done at her age: a tour around the star system.
If he'd managed it as a young man, why couldn't she?
With fingers she was proud to say didn't tremble, she handed the brochure over to her father. Nebulon Rossi was an imposing man. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with a gaze that could make a the most dedicated lawmen turn and run. He had the same black hair as hers, though his was beginning to go gray at the temples. He let it. But there were no signs of wrinkles, no other hints of age. Her father, she knew, took as many anti-aging treatments as her mother and expected to live well into his hundreds. But the gray made him look distinguished.
Meda had inherited her mother's green eyes and olive skin, and her curly, frizzy hair. Though Meda's mother never let the frizz get to her. Meda sat in the salon chair when she had to, but she'd be there every day for months if she truly wanted to get rid of all her flaws.
She'd rather think about her tour. About freedom.
Her father studied the brochure with a look that turned from curious to stormy.
Meda needed to get ahead of this. "There's plenty of security, all of it vetted. And there are testimonials from several families from the Enclave, so there's not any loyalty issue. And it's six months, so I'd be back before my birthday. You've seen all of these places. Now it's my turn."
Her father didn't glare at her. Meda had never suffered under his angry gaze. But the way he looked at the brochure made her want to shrivel up and die anyway. "Your wedding is next month." He said it like it was a reminder.
It knocked the breath out of Meda's chest. "I already said no. I'm not marrying that man." Kronos Moretti was a business partner of her father's. He'd shown up in the Enclave some time ago and started making a name for himself. A name that was mentioned even in the Silver District. Violent. Cruel. Twisted. He'd be a tyrant over his wife.
Meda wouldn't be that woman.
"Perhaps he will allow you to take this tour as a wedding present," her father said as if she hadn't said a word. "I'll bring it up to him."
She wanted to yank the brochure back and keep it safe. "I'm not marrying Kronos," she repeated. She hated the way her voice went high and desperate, like she needed her father's permission to refuse a marriage.
"Andromeda …" her father sighed. "This isn't up for negotiation. Kronos has been nipping at my heels for the past six years. He controls enough territory bordering mine to be … an issue. And he wants you to make an alliance. It's time you helped your family for once instead of taking my money and spending it on everything in the District that catches your fancy."
He didn't raise his voice, but the words cut deep into her. "Father—"
"I've given you months to come around to this idea. Your mother has set up an appointment for your dress. You will go with her, and you will choose what you want. You can be involved in the wedding planning or not, but you will show up for the ceremony, and you will say I do when the magistrate prompts you." His words were hard, but his face softened. "Kronos wants this alliance too much to risk angering you. I've known him to be reasonable. Once your marriage is secure, he'll allow you to go on this or any other tour you wish, so long as you belong to him."
Belong to him.
Her stomach roiled. She didn't want to belong to anyone but herself.
But that was already a lie, wasn't it? Meda belonged to Nebulon Rossi as long as she lived in his house. And her world would always be as small as the Silver District's borders. Her father could make as many promises as he wanted, but she doubted that Kronos would let her leave the planet.
Would he even let her leave her house?
Men in her father's line of work—those who controlled the city, however that worked—didn't stay in power by letting their wives and mistresses do anything they wanted. If he ruled his territory in the city with a cruel hand, there was no reason to think his home would be any different.
Though a small part of Meda wondered if that was true. She heard whispers about her father, too. He'd risen to power before she was born. He'd bathed in the blood of his enemies and killed innocents if the rumors were true. And he loved her as much as any father could. Didn't he?
He still wanted to sell her to a violent man.
"Please, sir, I'm not ready. What if I went on the tour and then married Kronos?" The words were acid on her tongue, but Meda would figure something out later. As long as she could delay the wedding, everything would be okay.
Any softness on her father's face dissolved, and he crushed the brochure in his palm and let it drop. He took two swift steps toward her, and Meda backed up, her heart pounding. Her father had never laid a hand on her, and she knew he never would. But she could see how close he was to losing his temper.
"Now is not the time for tantrums, you spoiled girl." He grabbed her wrist and tugged her towards the door. "Go to your room, right now, and stay there until I summon you. You can consent to this marriage and make it pleasant, or I will drag you there myself, and there will be no talk of Grand Tours for a very long time." He shoved her into the hallway, and Meda stumbled, catching herself before she fell.
Her father slammed the door shut, and Meda stared at the red marks on her wrist. It might bruise, but it wasn't the pain that brought tears to her eyes and made a sob catch in her throat.
If her father, the man who loved her, the man who always said he had her best interests at heart, could say those things to her, what would a brute like Kronos Moretti do?
Meda scrambled to her feet and took the stairs two at a time. Without giving herself much time to think about it, she grabbed a duffel bag out of her overstuffed closet and started pulling clothes off the hangers.
She couldn't marry Kronos. She couldn't let her father break her will.
She had to get out of there.
CHAPTER 2
There was blood on Vorok's knuckles. He looked down and let out a heaving laugh at the asshole on the ground outside of Quantum. Every time the door opened to let one of the dancers out into the alleyway for a break, he heard the pulsing beat of the music and could smell sex and some sweet, smoky drug that gave the whole place a hazy, relaxing feel.
The sign on the main drag of the Red District said Quantum was a place to watch dancers strip down to nothing and where the alcohol was cheap. But on nights like the dancing had a way of turning into sex and, if Vorok was really lucky, the orgy would turn into a brawl. Or the other way around.
Sex and violence—it made the perfect job for an orc.
"You pay," Vorok grunted. And maybe it was a bit of the orc act—all grunts and single syllables, as if he couldn't string together a single sentence. Half the bosses out there hired orcs to bust heads, and they didn't like it when monsters like him mentioned things like working conditions or health care.
Vorok held out a hand, his thick green fingers sticking out of the fingerless leather glove he wore. It was torn a bit, but he could sew that back up himself. He'd have to. Nebulon Rossi paid shit for henchman work.
The man whimpered and ha
The violence did little to settle him. That was happening more and more these days. Vorok had been busting heads in the Crimson Enclave for years now, and as the head bouncer at Quantum, he'd risen higher than most orcs ever managed. Despite the seediness, Quantum was one of Rossi's most profitable businesses, and it needed thugs like Vorok to keep things running smoothly. Sometimes it even felt like honest work.
He grunted out a sour laugh. What use did a coward like him have for honest work? For a moment, his brother's face tried to surface in his mind, but Vorok pushed it down with more force than he'd used against the human. His brother was living a life Vorok never could, happy out in the Ravages with their tribe.
Alive.
Vorok's biggest shame.
He needed a drink. Or to take a drag of whatever the girls smoked when they went out there, anything to take the edge off.
No. What he really needed was a fight and a fuck, something long and hard and deep that would pierce through this weak veil of civility he was forced to wear in the city. The leather of his jacket was too tight just then, and he wanted to rip it off with a roar.
He dragged in deep breaths of dirty air and forced himself to calm down before he went into Rut.
With the credits he'd pocketed, he could pay one of the ladies inside to take care of him after her shift. Was the money supposed to go into the club's coffers? Sure, but he'd taken more than the thief owed, and no one had to know if he was pocketing a little bonus. Everyone did it, and Vorok had never been special.
He was a bit more settled now with the plan in mind and the surety that someone would take care of his dick. He had to get back inside. It would be mayhem if he was gone for too long. But despite the ever-present sour smell in the air, the night was pleasant. It was early spring and still cool enough that someone with thinner skin might have needed a thick jacket. The moon shone brightly overhead, barely dimmed by the glowing neon of the city all around him.
A part of him longed for the open fields of home. He could be running right now, hunting a boar or a bear, something that gave a good fight and died an honorable death. He could have a mate at home, or maybe even hunting beside him. He could satisfy himself in her heat and fall into Rut whenever he wanted.
But none of the women in his village would take him. No, he'd probably be killed on sight.
He deserved it.
With thoughts of the Ravages trying to pull him under, Vorok turned back towards the club. But something made him pause.
"This isn't where I told you to take me," a woman's voice cut through the night. Awareness shot up his spine, his cock twitched, and he sucked in a harsh breath. There was something familiar about that voice.
He heard a taxi door slam and then an outraged cry. "F … f … forget you!" she yelled.
Vorok had to bite back a laugh. Anyone who stumbled over a simple fuck had no place in the Red District. He knew he should leave her be. Someone would come along before long and rob her of every last cent. She was probably some spoiled Silver District lady trying and failing to slum it.
But Vorok's mood was shifting into something almost kindly. He could get her a ride back home and call it his good deed for the … he wasn't actually sure when he'd done his last good deed.
He lumbered out of the alley and froze.
That wasn't any Silver District princess. It was the Silver District princess. Andromeda Rossi. Nebulon Rossi's treasured child.
And the object of more than one of Vorok's dirtier fantasies.
She had no idea who he was, he was certain. He'd been tapped to do perimeter security the last time the family had taken to their compound on the border between the city and the Ravages. That was the first time, the only time actually, that he'd seen Meda Rossi. And one look at her had speared him like a boar's tusk. If a boar's tusk could make need thunder through him.
Dark curls had haloed an expressive pale face as she tilted her head up to soak in the clear sunlight. A tight, black swimsuit hugged her ample curves, and a rainbow-colored, shimmery sarong had hung off her hips, tempted him to march over and strip it off. Or wrap her up so no one but him could see. Vorok had seen beautiful women before, women who knew how to use it like a weapon, but none of it had affected him the way Meda Rossi had.
Then she'd noticed him looking and offered him a kind smile, rather than the "haul off, orc scum," he expected from rich humans like her. No, not like her. No one was quite like her.
She'd become his quiet obsession in the months since.
He didn't see her often. Nebulon Rossi kept her locked up tight in the Silver District. But there were always whispers about the boss's daughter. And when there weren't whispers, Vorok had his fantasies.
In none of them was she standing at the mouth of a dingy alley in the Red District waiting to get robbed … or worse.
This was no place for an innocent girl like her.
Meda's gaze landed on him, and her expression shifted from frustration to recognition, and for a moment, she smiled. Then that recognition turned to fear, and she ran.
Vorok chanced a glance down the alley to see who she might have been smiling at, but there was only him. No way she would have recognized him after one pleasant exchange. It didn't matter anyway.
He took off running after her, leaving the club to its own devices. Rossi would kill him if anything happened to his daughter. Vorok chased Meda through the streets, her duffel bag bouncing against her hip as she ran. She was surprisingly fast for a pampered Silver District princess.
Three turns of three corners, and Vorok lost sight of her, but he had the advantage of orc speed and endurance. His senses would have been heightened out in the Ravages, but the city overwhelmed him with the smell of piss and worse. Still, he picked up her trail.
Meda Rossi was clever; he'd give her that. She zigzagged through the streets, ducked into alleys and behind buildings like she actually knew the Red District, and Vorok was almost impressed.
But orcs were hunters, and she was his prey.
He cornered her in a dead-end alley, and Meda's eyes widened, her gaze darting around wildly for some sort of escape. There was none. This alley was one of the Red District's traps, made so bad guys like him could catch good girls like her and do whatever they wished.
Lucky for her, all he wanted to do was send her home.
No, that wasn't all he wanted. But it was what he was going to do. In his dreams, this chase could end some other way, but tonight, he had to do the right thing. He snorted out a sour laugh. Since when did he care about what was right?
Meda turned her gaze to him, seemingly resigned to the fact that she was trapped. "I know you," she said.
"I'm not going to hurt you." His words came out more like a grunt from between his tusks. When his blood ran hot and the hunt was on, they extended farther from his jaw than usual. Normally they were barely noticeable. Right then he might have looked like a monster. He didn't want her running again. "I saw you get out of the taxi. Let's get you home."
Meda's hand slipped from where it was clutching the duffel bag, and she had to reposition. She must be nervous. "I'm not going back there." Her voice was steady, even if the hand he could see shook.
Ah, a bit of rebellion. How old was the girl? Twenty? A bit older? Orcs grew to adulthood faster than humans, a necessity for survival in the Ravages, but he knew Meda was all woman and fighting against the reins of her father's control. Lying would be his best option here. Tell her he'd help and lure her back. Rossi might even reward him if he found out.
Instead, Vorok hesitated. "Did he hurt you?" He'd seen Rossi flay a man once. The asshole had almost deserved it, but that kind of refined bloodshed made Vorok's stomach turn. Give him a brawl any day; he wasn't a surgeon of violence.
"No!" Meda shrank back and then straightened. "He's never hit me." Her eyes flicked down to her wrist, but it was covered by her dark jacket. She gulped, her throat working against the words. "He's forcing me to marry Kronos Moretti."
Vorok couldn't have stopped the curse that came out of his mouth if he tried. "He'll kill you." He'd seen what Kronos did to the whores he bought. A delicate wife wouldn't stand a chance.
