Rock (BBW Secret Baby Bear Shifter Romance) (Secret Baby Bears Book 2) (32 page)

“Do you remember what you said to me the first time we met?” Custer asked quietly. “You were drugged to the gills and also tied to a chair, so I won’t hold it against you if you don’t.”

“I suppose you mean the rant about you not doing anything, followed by you doing something?”

“That’s the one. Just remember, I excel at changing destinies. I’ll get you through this,” he said, finally looking at her. She could have drowned in the look in his eyes.
 

“As long as I don’t have to change my name,” she said in an attempt to force the conversation back onto more comfortable ground. “Tell me, were you a Civil War enthusiast or were you just a fan of Strathmore?”

Custer groaned, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Neither, I promise. It was a very, very old song my mom used to sing to me as a kid. I don’t know why, it was incredibly depressing. It’s about a man who doesn’t want to die. After she died, I was tired of being Anthony and it was the first name I could think of when I was getting fake papers. I didn’t even know who he was until people started making jokes.”
 

Delphine laughed softly. “So, what now?”

“Now,” Custer said, pushing back from the table, “we go back to my room and you get some serious rest. You both need and deserve it. Also, we get the collar off.”

Delphine’s hand flew to her neck in surprise. She’d forgotten about it. Custer lead her out of the kitchen and to the hallway containing the rooms, punching in the code for his and walking inside.

The inside was a standard bedroom for smaller ships. There was clothing and the like pushed into piles on the floor. It was an almost controlled mess, which Delphine supposed was a pretty good metaphor for Custer himself.

“Come here,” Custer told her, pulling a small device out of his pocket. Delphine obeyed and Custer leaned forward and cupped her neck with his free hand. Her heart stuttered as he leaned in, his warmth seeping into her. There was a click and the collar dropped away. Custer kicked and it skidded under his bed.

“Better?” he asked, not leaning away or removing his hand.

“Much,” she said more quietly than she meant to.

The seconds ticked past as they stood there, staring into each other’s eyes. The only point of contact was his hand on her neck, but it felt…intimate. Delphine was so tempted to just lean forward and press their lips together. It would be so easy. It was also, she knew, a tremendously bad idea. After a moment of perfect stillness, Custer pulled back.

“Alright, so, do you need something to sleep in?” he asked, walking to his desk and shoving few papers aside.

“No, I’m good,” Delphine said, hovering. She wasn’t sure what she should be doing, exactly.

Custer turned to look at her. “Sheets are clean. I’ll try to be quiet.”

“Thank you,” she said, and walked stiffly to the bed. She sat on it, trying to convince herself that getting under the blankets wouldn’t be horrifically awkward. It was anyways, but at least Custer wasn’t looking.

“Lights to fifteen percent,” he said, and the lights immediately lowered. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” Delphine said.

She meant to stay awake and think what had happened over, but her body had other plans. Her carefully monitored sleep cycle had been thrown completely out of whack and her tiredness was catching up to her. Being on an actual mattress didn’t help. She decided that she’d sleep now and wake up early to process then. Instead, she slept for what appeared to be twelve hours and spent the day so groggy and tired she was a bit suspicious she’d been drugged again. She ate and talked with Custer and did nothing productive, like nothing had changed from two days ago. The next day was no better. The others seemed to be trying their hardest to keep her away from their planning, which was fair but meant there was nothing for her to do. She ended up, once again, trailing after Custer like a puppy. The experience was neither as boring or as frustrating as it should have been.

Finally, they reached Saltos. All members of the crew met in the cargo bay.

“Alright,” the captain said, all other chatter fading away. “Here’s what we’re going to do: Hyde, you need to go meet the man whose info I sent you. Make sure he knows exactly what happens if he tells tales out of school. Rick, Zosha, we need to stock up on supplies as long as we’re planet-side. Having an extra person means food disappears faster. Shocking, I know. A list has been forwarded to you. Custer, Delphine, you’re trawling for information. It should be easy, they were apparently pretty infamous around here. Me, Annie, and Dom are going to stay with the ship. We all have work we can do while we’re waiting. Everyone got it?”

“I’m sorry,” Hyde said, “did you just say we’re sending Delphine out of the ship? Without the collar?”

“She knows what to look out for, Custer isn’t one of her main targets, she’s pretty sure we’re all going to get killed by her coworkers anyways, and she deserves it after the week she’s had,” Ingram said in the tone of a man who’d been on the receiving end of those very arguments. “That okay with you?”

Hyde snorted. “Whatever. Just don’t come crying to me when Custer gets his ass killed.”

“Noted,” Ingram said. “Any other complaints?”

“Here’s hoping I don’t regret this horribly,” Ingram said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just know, if we end up swarmed by security, mercenaries, or angry small business owners, I will shoot both of you.”

“Duly noted,” Custer, giving a half-hearted salute. He turned to Delphine. “You ready to go?”

“Of course,” she answered.

“Great. Remember: everyone needs to be back to the ship in two hours. If, for whatever reason, you can’t make it in time comm one of us. Now, get out.” The captain turned and started talking to Annie in a low voice. She flipped her hair back and smirked at him. Delphine doubted they’d get much research done.

“So I was thinking,” Custer said, drawing her attention back to him, “that we could hit the square. There’s usually an outdoor market on weekdays, and the stalls have some interesting stuff. After that, there’s a pretty decent bar around here. I doubt you’ve ever gone bar crawling during a mission, which is practically a crime. Plus, information.”

“That sounds…” Delphine paused searching for a word to capture the warm, fluttery feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t find one that could properly convey it. “…fun.”

Custer smiled, the same manic grin as always but with a soft light in his eyes. “Off we go, then.”

And off they went. The crowd at the market stalls appeared to be thinning out and a few stalls had started to pack. Delphine wandered around the stalls, eyes roving over carvings, hand-made jewelry, and other pretty baubles that held no use. Custer, content to let her take the lead, trailed behind her.

There was a stall that sold knives. Delphine found herself disappointed in the wares; the few that weren’t purely ornamental were poorly made and dull. She passed over the stall, nodding at the owner, and found herself looking at a stall that sold metal jewelry. The pieces were beautiful, the few that were left. Delphine was ready to move on to the next booth when one of the bracelets caught her eye.

She couldn’t say why, exactly. It was a fairly simple gold number, broad, with a geometric pattern carved into it. The glittering bracelet was really more charming than beautiful, and certainly not useful at all. There was no reason to want it, and yet she couldn’t take her eyes off of it.

“Would you like to buy it, miss?” the vendor asked in heavily accented Standard.

Delphine forced herself to smile. “No thank you.”

“Are you sure?” The woman cocked her head, purple eyes unblinking. “I can give you a good bargain on it.”

Delphine was about to refuse her again when Custer cut her off.

“What kind of deal are we talking about here?” he asked with a smirk.

The wrinkled old woman put a hand over her heart and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “For you, handsome, eight chits.”

“Can you take credits?” he asked over Delphine trying to make eye contact with him in the hopes of communicating something along the lines of
‘please stop.’

The woman nodded and Custer handed over his card.

“What are you doing?” Delphine hissed. “I don’t need that!”

“But you wanted it,” Custer said amiably as the woman handed the card back and began to wrap the bracelet. “Oh, that won’t be necessary.”

“As you wish,” she said, handing the bracelet over.

Custer took it in one hand and held the other out towards Delphine.
 

“Your arm, please,” he said.

Hesitantly, she reached out to him. Gently, he took her arm and slid the gold band over it, her skin strangely warm under the cool metal. It complemented her dark skin, catching the low, artificial lights of the marketplace. Delphine stared. Suddenly, her arm was something beautiful.

Custer thanked the vendor and tugged her along.

“So, I say we hit the bar. We still have a little over an hour, which means we have just enough time to stop in, get you a drink, and scrounge for whatever information these people might have.”

“I defer to your expertise,” Delphine responded. “Custer…”

“Yes?” Custer asked, sounding far too amused.

“Why did you do that? You just wasted credits on me.”

Custer snorted. “I did no such thing.”

“Then what do you call it? This doesn’t have any use. You can’t fight with it, or eat. It’s just pretty.”

“It makes you happy, though. That’s not nothing.”

“Yes, it is,” she said, frustrated. “Happiness isn’t a sustaining force. It’s just as useless as the bracelet.”

“What’s the point of living if you aren’t ever happy?” Custer asked. “Happiness, and that bracelet, are useful because once you’re done with all the fighting and running, you still have something. One way or another, Delphine, you aren’t going back to work for Mason Corporation, so you may as well give in and learn how to be happy.”

Delphine’s tongue felt thick and she wasn’t sure she could speak around it. It didn’t matter; she didn’t know what to say to that.
 

They arrived at the bar after a few minutes of walking silently, but still hand in hand. It was dingy with neon lights and creaking floors that could barely be heard over the thrumming music. There were a few drunken patrons crammed into a corner playing some card game, the obligatory passed-out drunk leaning on the bar, and several flirting couples. Custer sauntered over to the bar, Delphine at his heels.

“Hello, there,” he said to the bartender. “Can I please get two Daltorian Sunrises, please?”

“Coming right up,” the bartender grunted. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Actually, yes. Do you, perchance, have any information on how any of the smugglers working in the crew of the
Rabblerouser
could be contacted?”

“Might. Might not.”

Custer smiled. “Well, if you could decide which one it is, my friend and I are with the
Breakwater
crew and we sort of need to talk to them.”

The bartender stilled. “You ain’t with the
Breakwater
crew. They don’t trade in this part of the system anymore.”

“I assure you, I am.”

“Prove it, then.” The man folded his arms and glared, although it came across as more of a belligerent squint.

“You couldn’t afford the property damage of him proving it,” Delphine said softly. The bartender looked from her, unnervingly still, to Custer, who certainly looked like a maniac. He squinted a bit harder, then sighed.

“Alright, you didn’t hear this from me, but they’re running blasters for Dunin at the moment.”

“Thank you kindly, sir. Now, about our drinks,” Custer said, his smile relaxing into something less nightmarish.

“Coming right up, your highness,” the bartender muttered.

Delphine leaned towards Custer. “Is it always that easy?”

“Sometimes, sometimes not. The
Rabblerouser’s
crew lost a lot of respect when they lost Lytos, so at the moment it’s smarter to bet on us than them. Our reputation precedes us, which is a tricky thing in our line of work. At the moment, it benefits us. Hopefully when that changes we’ll be able to overpower whatever comes after us.”

The bartender set their drinks in front of them. The glasses were simple, orange and pink and yellow liquids layered inside. Delphine looked at one curiously as Custer picked one up and took a long sip.

“When they were teaching us about information gathering,” she told him, “they said one of the easiest ways to get information was to get the person drunk. They made sure we knew not to get men colorful drinks, though. They said it would make them angry.”

Custer snorted. “I turn into a bear, I’m an apparently notorious smuggler, and I’ve killed more people than some of these backwater shits have seen in their lives. If they want to start shit with me because of what color my drink is, it’s on their head. Try it, it’s good.”

She did, and was pleasantly surprised to note that she agreed. It was tangy and a bit sweet, the sharp taste of the alcohol almost nonexistent, though she suspected there was more in the drink than the taste implied.

“What is this called?” she asked.