Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Unbroken ❯ Turnabout ( Chapter 2 )

Unbroken

 

Chapter 2 - Turnabout

 

“Ah!” My back arches as I feel his hands against it. “Don't.” I try to step away from him before he can grasp the straps of my top. Not surprisingly, I am too slow.

 

“Calm yourself,” he tells me in his deepest voice. “I will not hurt you.” I cross my arms over my chest and allow him to finish dressing me. He is too slow completing the task. My back tenses as his fingertips continue to slide against my skin. Memories from earlier echo through my psyche, sending chills down my spine, that he must recognize. “I will fight Brolli shortly.”

 

“I know,” I reply quietly.

 

“I will kill him,” he adds.

 

“I am glad you got everything you wanted.” I feel the straps secure and immediately move to step away. He stops me by grabbing my arm.

 

“Look at me,” he orders. Under a power of their own, my eyes lock with his. To my astonishment, he betrays more emotion that I would have expected. “I… I am sorry I allowed Brolli to reach you.” His sincerity impresses me, as well as his sober choice of words. However, at this moment, I am not in a terribly forgiving mood.

 

“I was the bait. Brolli took it. You win.” I jerk my arm from his grasp. “Do not patronize me by acting like you care what it cost me, how it humiliated me. We have a business arrangement. Let's not confuse it with anything else.” My tone must be harsher than I realize because the expression upon his face is now withdrawn.

 

“You have my word; no more physical harm will come to you for as long as you are under my protection.” Anger is burning in his eyes as his fists tighten. Unfortunately, I cannot tell if his anger is directed at himself or me.

 

“You can not promise that,” I am quick to argue. I wish he could, but we both know better.

 

“After the example I will make of Brolli today, I assure you, no man will come near you.” The vehemence in his voice almost makes me want to believe him. But I do not. I know whom I am dealing with.

 

“Does that include you?” I dare to ask. His reaction to my words is strikingly pained, but I forge on regardless. “If you really want to assure my safety, you could just set me free tonight.” I pause. When he does not answer, I nod my head. “Right, I didn't think so.” I turn to walk away from him, but his words stop me before I get far.

 

“You will have your freedom, woman. You have completed one part of our bargain already. I hold little doubt you will succeed in the rest.”

 

My arms wrap around myself as I sigh unbelievingly, “And if you are wrong?”

 

He is behind me. I feel his breath against my neck. “I am not Brolli,” he informs me as his fingertips graze my shoulders. He is waiting for me to push them away. I don't. His movements are slow, cautious. I do not fear them. “I will never force myself on you.” His fingers slowly expand until each of his hands is flat against my shoulders. “I will only have a woman in my bed who comes willingly. I thought my actions today would prove that to you.” He tugs at my shoulders and pulls me back against his chest. His body is hard, warm, safe. Brolli cannot touch me while I am with this man. No one can. “You will have your freedom, one way or another.”

 

I want to believe him. Desperately, I want it all to be true. So I pretend it is. I twist my body around and bury my face in his neck. I wrap my arms around his torso, underneath the warmth of his cape. I feel his hands wrap around my back as he pulls me against him.

 

Comfort.

 

I have not felt it in so long. I barely remember how much it means to simply be held. It might not be real, but it is enough to deceive my senses. “I want to believe you,” I whisper against his throat.

 

His chin shifts toward me. “I am a man of my word,” he promises. I have only his word to believe in. I wish it were more. “I am not Brolli,” he strikes me with a declaration of such vehemence that I gather he is pleading for me to understand something of grave importance. “I am not Brolli,” he insists for a third time. Those few short words are deep with meaning I am not willing to face. I cannot, not now.

 

When he seems satisfied that I have comprehended at least the basis of his avow, he releases me and turns toward the exit. Suddenly I find myself unable to let him part with the last word on the matter. “I hope for both our sakes you prove not to be,” I call after him, “but don't think that will make me forget who you and who your people are.”

 

“Rushka? Rushka? Are you alright, Rushka Bulma?”

 

I shake my head to push away the haunting memory.

 

My vision clears.

 

Vegeta.

 

My eyes remain trapped on his badly beaten form. He is naked, and on his knees with his broken arms supported by two men. I can barely recognize him. His eyes are swollen shut. Bruises darken his tan skin. Blood, fresh and old, stain his entire body. His tail hangs limply between his legs. If the master of events did not promise Vegeta was still alive, I would have believed the gory vision before me was nothing more than a corpse.

 

My body begins to shake as the sight overwhelms me. It takes all of my willpower to hold back the vomit I feel choking my throat. “I can not believe this is happening.” While I obviously would have preferred Vegeta's side be victorious, I never truly doubted it would be. The elites had the strength, but the lower classes had the numbers plus Vegeta. I was certain his side would eventually win. How could everything have gone so wrong that the powerful Saiya-jin King would be reduced to this broken form?

 

“We have to do something,” I say abruptly, thoughtlessly.

 

“Do something?” Roki repeats confusedly.

 

“Bid on him,” I demand. I hear the announcer declare that the opening bid is five-hundred thousand duros. He immediately receives a bidder at the price. “Please, Roki. Bid on him for me.”

 

“Bid on him?” his voice rises harshly.

 

I grow irritated that my companion seems unable to do anything other than repeat what I say. “Only men are allowed to bid at these things. You must bid for me.”

 

“One million duros!” A man screams.

 

“One and a half!” Another offers.

 

My fists clench in frustration. Since time is of the essence, I am as direct as possible. “Look, Que gave me this,” I show Roki the monetary print Que had forced on me before his departure from lunch, “to buy whatever I wanted. I want that Saiya-jin. Bid on him!”

 

Clearly taken back by my uncommonly impassioned demeanor, Roki pauses for a moment. When I snap at him, once more demanding he bid, he finally seems to realize how important this is to me. “I deplore the buying and selling of life.”

 

“That makes two of us.” Though my admission contradicts what I ask of him, I think he trusts me enough to know that I am being honest. He must also realize my intentions are not evil, because he finally bows to my demand.

 

“Very well, Rushka.” He nods and then turns toward the auctioneer. “Three million duros!” he shouts, bidding one million more than the previous bidder.

 

“Three and a half!” Someone counters.

 

“Four,” Roki declares.

 

“Five.” A new voice joins in.

 

“Six,” Roki then pauses after making the bid and looks at me. “Exactly how much do you have to spend on this acquisition?”

 

“However much it takes.” I have at least ten million with me, and any extra I can get from Que. There is no way I am going to let one of the sick fucks in the room take Vegeta. If my adrenalin was not pumping at the speed of light, I may have stopped to wonder why I am so adamant about saving him from a fate that he had refused to release me from six years ago.

 

“We are at nine million, five-hundred thousand.” After what feels like an eternity of bidding, I hear the auctioneer repeat Roki's final offer.

 

I am relieved when the last man to bid against us grumbles, “too rich for my fucking blood.”

 

“Last call,” the auctioneer announces. I am unable to breathe until that four letter word crosses his lips. “Sold! Congratulations to the large man in the back. You may come pick up your purchase.”

 

I race to the stage. Roki follows quickly behind me. I hand him the monetary print to give to the auctioneer. Roki detours to pay the man, as I go directly to Vegeta's side. The two guards who had been holding him had dropped his unresponsive body to the ground. I immediately check his pulse once I reach him. It is weak, but there. Being this close to his body, I can now see the full extent of his injuries. His once flawless skin is now marred with scars, leading me to believe his torture was not recent, but has been ongoing for sometime.

 

“What have they done to you?” I whisper remorsefully as I stroke his bloodied brow. My mind still reels from the thought of Vegeta's defeat. How could he have been beaten like this? No Saiya-jin was even close to him in strength. It would have taken a large group of them to do this much damage. And then why let him live? As he recovered, he would be even stronger than he was before, not to mention enraged. Something was not adding up.

 

My eyes suddenly drift to an unnatural discoloration on the side of his neck, just below his jaw bone. “What the hell is this?” I wonder quietly as I touch the bright green triangular marking. It almost looked like a tatoo.

 

“That, pretty little lady, is the insurance that comes with your purchase.” I lift my head as the auctioneer comes to my side. Roki is next to him. “It's a KD. The most advanced strain of it I've ever seen. So don't you worry now, when he wake's up, he'll be no more dangerous than an Ojlk baby.”

 

“KD?” I vaguely recall reading about it during one of my many study sessions. Konpai-Dokuso, or KD, is a dangerous toxin that contaminates the entire body, completely neutralizing a person's strength. If I recall correctly, a discoloration of the skin at the place of infection is a side effect. That had to be how they defeated him. The bastards cheated. They used a version of the toxin to obliterate the strength differential between Vegeta and his enemies.

 

“Is there a cure?” I cannot recall reading about one, but it has been a long time since I went through the literature.

 

“A cure?” The auctioneer laughs at me. “Why the hell would you want that? You fix him and he'll run a rampage like this universe has never seen. Don't even suggest it.”

 

“I didn't ask for your advice,” I snap. “Is there or is there not a known cure?”

 

Narrowing his eyes, as if he is no longer amused by me, he answers coldly, “No. No cure.”

 

Turning back to Vegeta, I nearly scratch the marking on his neck. No. I cannot believe the bastard auctioneer. There has to be a way to help him. Now is just not the time and place to worry about it. First, Vegeta needs to be tended to. Restoring his strength and seeking revenge comes sec—revenge? When did I decide on seeking revenge?

 

“Rushka, are you ready to go?” I immediately nod my head, grateful that Roki saved me from having to explore the dangerous place my mind had just drifted.

 

“Roki, give me your cape.” I stop him before he picks Vegeta up. I cannot forget the times when Vegeta afforded me the dignity of physical covers whenever the situation allowed it. If nothing else, I owed him the same courtesy. Silently complying with my request, Roki removes his cape and hands it to me. I wrap the garment as best I can around Vegeta before Roki picks him up, and throws him over his shoulder.

 

“Let's hurry back to the ship,” I advise as Roki follows closely behind me. “I want to get him into a regeneration tank as soon as possible.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

I flinch as my senses return to me. I feel a pair of soft hands on my tail. With a jolt of strength I did not anticipate having, I sit up. I grab the creature that is touching me. My bicep locks under its neck. When my eyes open, I fail to recognize my surroundings, so I become highly alert. My eyes dart around the room, my body shrinks into a defensive posture.

 

What was the last thing that bastard Paragus had said?

 

“Do enjoy the rest of your life of degradation, Vegeta. I promise to enjoy the rest of my life as the new Saiya-jin king.”

 

Sell me into slavery? Is that where I am? I pity the poor fuck who thought to purchase the Saiya-jin King. The true Saiya-jin King. Paragus will only have the throne over my dead body. And since at the moment I am far from dead, his chances are nonexistent.

 

The being I hold gasps, having at hard time breathing. I intend to snap the insignificant creature's neck just to shut it up, when a scent touches my nose. I take in a deep breath, and then another. Almost instantly, I realize two things. First, the aroma is coming from the being in my arms. Second, I know it—very well.

 

It was a nearly addicting scent that had called to me even through the barriers of servant's garb and the foul whorish stench of my enemy's home. I knew the scent even before I knew the woman infused with it. She was the only woman who ever managed to get under my skin. She had me constantly thinking about her, wanting her, and needing her to the point where I was willing to forsake my word just to have her. She was my obsession.

 

And then she ran from me.

 

“After all of my shitty luck, I could not possibly be this fortunate,” I hiss. Slowly my eyes lower to see the top the being's head.

 

Blue hair.

 

I cannot help but lean in once more to take in an aroma I never again expected to inhale.

 

It truly is she.

 

I release her. She falls helplessly onto the floor, clutching her now brushed throat, coughing violently. I push myself to my feet and take a step toward her; she crawls away.

 

“Still running from me, I see.” I grit the words through my teeth. Though my physical injuries seem to be healed, my mind is far from it. I feel my rage pushing me to the brink of insanity.

 

Slowly she twists her body around and I can finally see her face. Her crystal blue eyes shine brighter than I recall. Her skin is a shade tanner, though still pale by any normal standards. Her hair is no longer as wild as it was. While still long, it now has a slight wave to it, as well as a shinny appearance that makes me think its consistency is even softer than before.

 

I cannot wait to dig my fingers into those luscious strands.

 

She is dressed in a style of clothing I do not recognize. Around her waist, she wears a green and black floor length skirt. The rest of her torso is covered in a matching fitted top that accents her curves agreeably; curves that seem to have appropriately filled out over the years when she has no doubt been better fed.

 

I will enjoy exploring those new curves.

 

Carefully she returns to her feet, massaging the now tender pink flesh around her throat as she does so. “Hello, Vegeta.”

 

Ah, there it is—the voice that she hid for so many years before it became my almost exclusive privilege.

 

I eagerly anticipate the sound of that voice crying my name as I shove myself inside of her.

 

“I was washing your tail,” she admits quietly. She anxiously strokes her palms. Good. She is nervous, uncomfortable. She should be. In the state I am in, who knows what I am capable of? I certainly do not. “The regeneration tank you were placed in was not calibrated for the sensitivity of a Saiya-jin's tail. I thought it would burn less when you awoke if it was cleaned.”

 

“How considerate.” My tone implies the opposite. I take a step closer to her, my eyes running up and down her body. I memorize it. I make plans for it. My expression must reflect the delicious things my mind is conjuring because she snaps at me.

 

“It was very thoughtful of me considering I was violated by that thing more times than I can count.” She catches my attention. My eyes snap toward hers. She is taking deep breaths. A mixture of fear and anger overwhelms her. Oddly, the scent displeases me.

 

“Not by my tail.” I am compelled to defend myself. I hate that after six years, I am again forced to remind her that I am not her former master.

 

“At least, not yet.”

 

“Bitch,” I growl at her implication. She jumps back as I advance on her. She is a fool to push me. She has no idea what I have been through. “You know, I have half a mind to give you exactly what you want. I should prove myself the bastard you always attributed me with being.” I grab her shoulders, shoving her against a workstation behind her. “I never laid a damn finger on you when I had every right to do whatever I fucking well pleased. But that wasn't good enough. You still had to hate me. Well, guess what? I am so fucking far beyond giving a shit what you think, that I might as well give you a real reason to hate me.”

 

I shove her onto the counter behind her, and crawl on top of her. I am somewhat startled when she makes no move to fight me. In fact, her scent has changed. She's not even as frightened as she was before. “No struggling, not even a whimper? You must be nearly as hard-up as I am.” I slide my hands under her shirt. They rest on her ribs. Fuck, she's soft. Softer than I remember. Her bare skin feels so damn good against my calloused fingers.

 

“Maybe I am,” she startles me with her declaration. “Maybe that's why you're here.” She hikes up her long skirt and then wraps one leg at a time around my waist. She lifts her hips off the counter. Her arms lock under mine, as her hands grip my shoulders and her nails dig into my skin. “Maybe I need you to fix that part of me that refuses to heal.” She thrusts her head forward, and her lips meet mine. She is rough and demanding as she shoves her tongue in my mouth.

 

As soon my shock wears off, I return her advances with equal passion. I wrap my arms around her torso, pressing her so tightly against me that my skin will be drenched in her scent long after this day passes. My tail waves back and forth, vigorously anticipating what is to come—what I have waited for so long.

 

It occurs to me that I am experiencing a dream, or some kind of psychological break from reality. It is possible my mind has finally snapped after so many months of torture and I am now envisioning my deepest darkest fantasy—the woman found, with me, wanting me, accepting me, even after all that has happened.

 

This must be a dream.

 

“Maybe then I can finally move on, and find companionship with a man who actually loves me.”

 

This is definitely not a dream.

 

I pull my head away and look at her. Son of a bitch. She means to use me. I am not certain why the idea appalls me so much, considering I have every intention of using her for my own selfish purposes, but it does. A lot, in fact.

 

I push her away from me, and throw her legs off of my waist. I spring from the table as if the feel of her disgusts me. Perhaps it's the idea of her using me as a stepping stone to get to another male. Or perhaps it's her devotion to that promise she leveled at me six years ago—the last time I saw her—that she would never want me, never return to me, never settle for me. The bitch has some nerve, treating me like some second rate life form. I am the fucking King of all Saiya-jins. There is no one greater than me in the universe. She should be honored I even remembered her.

 

I begin to pace in front of her, my tail now lashing violently back and forth behind me, my anger is apparent.

 

“What the hell is wrong?” She sits up, her breathing still uneven.

 

“I am not your plaything.” I hiss at her. “I am not some remedy you purchase to cure all your ailments. I am—”

 

“Nothing,” she cuts me off, maliciousness entrenched in her tone. I almost attack her again. “You are nothing now, Vegeta.” She pushes herself off the table and takes a step close to me. When she speaks again, her voice has calmed. “You're just like me. A remnant of a conquered people, sold to the highest bidder.”

 

The likening of our circumstances does nothing to quell my temper toward her. Conversely, it only serves to expand my fury. “Who purchased me?” I grasp her biceps, jerking her body a little as I demand, “Where is the bastard who thinks he can own the Saiya-jin King!?”

 

“Calm down, Vegeta. I purchased you.” She pauses, a lusciously devious smile spreading across her lips. “I am your new owner.”

 

I huff, scoffing at the absurd idea. Yet, her expression remains constant. “Where would you get the money for something like this?”

 

Her amusement falters, and I suddenly do not want to hear the answer. “I have made fortunate friends.”

 

“You mean bed partners?” I shove her away from me. She responds by lifting her hand to slap me. My speed is not what it should be, and I fail to catch her wrist in time. Her hand slams hard across my face—very hard. To my surprise blood drips from my lip.

 

The pair of us both freeze, the reality of what this meant striking us both. However, for her, the shock is only momentary. “I should expect no less from you than to assume my body is my only asset,” she accuses. It was a low blow to make, but considering my circumstances, she is lucky I am restricting myself to attacking her with words.

 

“We are finished here,” I turn to leave. Fighting with her will solve nothing. Just as before, the woman has only served to distract me from my true purpose in life—seeking vengeance against my enemies. I move toward the exit, but she has the gall to block my path.

 

“We are not even close to finished,” Bulma announces as she touches a hand to my waist as if the gesture could stop me. “First, of all, you don't have any clothes on. Second, you don't know where the hell you are. And third, you need me.” I am even less pleased by the idea than her being my owner. “Look, do you know why you are so weak?” I narrow my eyes, irritated that she must see me in this state. “Your body has been tainted by a toxin called KD. Now if you ever want to get your strength back, I am you best chance.”

 

“You have the antidote?”

 

“No.” I find I am disappointed when she admits this. “However, I have made a career for myself curing the incurable, and you, my friend, are suffering from a poison that has no known cure.”

 

Fuck.

 

I lash out, throwing objects nearest to me around the room. I knew Paragus had used some dishonorable kind of technology to defeat me, but to hear that this condition may be permanent is unthinkable. What reason do I have to live if I can never fight again, if I can never avenge myself?

 

“Vegeta, calm down!” The woman's screaming finally pulls me back from my madness. “I've become very good at what I do. Stay with me a little while. Tell me exactly how they infected you, and let me runs some tests. In a few months—”

 

“Months!” I scream, turning back around to face her once more. “The war might not last a few more months. For all I know, the elites are on the verge of winning, if they have not already! They could be using this weapon on the lower classes!”

 

“No,” she tries to convince me. “Vegeta, the elites still have a reputation in the universe to uphold. If word ever got out that the elites stooped to these tactics to win, no one would respect or fear them again. Not to mention, if you are susceptible to this drug, the rest of your people are. They would be handing the key to your entire species extinction to anyone willing to listen to gossip. Not to mention their egos. How could they face each other knowing they couldn't defeat the lower classes without a scientific aid?”

 

Though there is a strong logic to what she says, I am not appeased. She must be able to see that, because she continues to speak. “Look, I'll try to find out everything I can about the status of the war. You can decide what you want to do after that. But for the time being, there is no reason to get worked up over what you have no immediate control over.”

 

Except that was the problem. I don't do `lack of control.' I am always in control. Frustrated, I run my hands through my hair. By the time I look up, I realize she is closer to me. She reaches out to touch me, but quickly pulls her hands back, clearly thinking better of her actions. “Vegeta, I don't—”

 

“What the hell is going on?” A voice I do not recognize charges into the room. Bulma immediately steps in front of me, grabbing the biceps of the intruder before he foolishly attacks a Saiya-jin elite. He is an older man, based on average interplanetary longevity I would say he is in his fifties or sixties. His hair is a solid shade of white, his skin a very pale shade of tan, almost as light as the woman's. He has an average build, though not a muscular one. This man is clearly no warrior.

 

“Que, calm down.”

 

“Calm down?!” He nearly screams as Bulma forces him to take a step back. “When I left you an account full of duros to purchase yourself something, I did not mean a pleasure slave.” The title causes me to grind my teeth once more. I am a fucking Saiya-jin warrior. Not some woman's sexual toy! “I could not believe it once I finally pried the truth from Roki. Now to see it is true!”

 

“Que, you don't know what's going on here.” She tries to explain, but the old man does not want to listen.

“Don't understand? No, Bulma, I don't understand what is going on here. You are one of the most levelheaded people I know, and then you do something like this. I mean, do you have any idea how dangerous one of those things are?” He looks past the woman and gestures toward me. “And why is he not restrained?”

 

“He does not need to be,” she insists.

 

“The hell he doesn't. That man is a mass murderer, and no doubt has committed a host of other atrocities throughout his life. What he should be is put down like a rabid rekfee, but for now I will settle for having him manacled.” He turns from Bulma and then walks over to the table where laser bonds rest. There is no way in hell those are going on me.

 

“Que, that is not necessary. He is not going to—” I stifle the woman's statement as I twist her around so her back is tightly tucked against my chest. I lock one arm around waist, while my other hand wraps around her throat. “Vegeta, don—”

 

“Que, is it?” I look across the room at the man who dared to insult me and then suggest I be shackled. I shall have to remember his name so I can add it to my list of people I must kill before I leave this miserable life. “Put those down, or I'll snap her fragile little neck.”

 

“Vegeta!” The woman screams indignantly at me as she tries to twist out of my grip. With a surprising amount of effort I manage to continue restraining her. Damn my cowardly enemies. The simple restraint of a former slave is now a full-blown effort!

 

“All right,” the Que fellow complies, releasing the restraints. “Just let her go.”

 

“Hm,” I mutter next to the woman's ear. “You have him well trained. But that is your track record, isn't it? Brolli died for you, I killed for you, and now this man is willing to do anything I say to save you. I think maybe Nappa was right. You are some kind of witch.” I snap my teeth together. She shivers against me. She is frightened.

 

About damn time.

 

“I am trying to help you, Vegeta.” She tries to look back at me. “Que will not do the same if he thinks you are dangerous. You need to let me go.”

 

“I am dangerous.” I continue to keep my voice low, caring only that she be able to hear me. “But I was too kind to you, so you forgot that. I won't make that mistake twice.”

 

“Vegeta, I am warning you. Stop this now—”

 

“Or else what?” I mock whatever worthless threat she plans to make.

 

“This,” she lifts her left boated heel and jams in down onto my naked foot. I lurch forward. Before I can stop her, she is out of my arms. When I step forward to grab her again, I am too late to see her swing some medical instrument at me. It must be heavier than it looks, because after she hits me across my head with it, I fall to the ground and sink once more into blackness.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“Are you alright?” Que asks after racing to my side.

 

“Yes,” I stare down at Vegeta's unconscious form. I would be lying if hitting him didn't bring me some sort of perverse pleasure. But amusement aside, I kneel down to make certain he is all right.

 

“Bulma, put these on him before he wakes up.” Que shoves the manacles into my hands, and then pulls out his communication device. “I'll call Roki to get rid of this thing.” He glares down at Vegeta disdainfully.

 

“No, you won't.” I drop the manacles and then grab the communicator from him. “Vegeta is staying with me.”

 

“What?” Que throws his arms up in exasperation. “You can not keep a Saiya-jin, even one that is clearly suffering from some kind of ki deficiency.”

 

“Yes, exactly. Something has neutralized his ki. I need to help him recover from it.”

 

“Help him? Why would you want to do that?” He clearly cannot understand my behavior. I cannot blame him. I can barely understand it myself.

 

As I lift Vegeta's head to rest it on my lap, I notice blood dripping from his left temple. I use the sleeve of my top to wipe away the small red droplets. There is a slightly pained expression that flashes across his handsome face as I do so. I begin to regret hurting him. His comments earlier affirm that he has suffered greatly. I regret having to inflict more pain.

 

As my eyes continue to wander over his now unbeaten form, I cannot help but notice how little he has changed in the last few years. He is a touch more muscular in physique and his skin now bears scars—both clearly a result of the war—but his gravity defying hair, cinnamon skin, and ebony eyes are still the same entrancing features that had my stomach tied in knots when last I saw him.

 

That still ties my stomach in knots.

 

I have no idea how things got away from me so quickly. One minute I had this twisted need to see an all-powerful Saiya-jin subjugated before a meager creature like myself. Then suddenly that need disappeared once I realized the Saiya-jin being humbled was Vegeta. The man who, whether he intended to or not, helped free me was going to suffer the same fate I had. He was going to be bought by some despicable life form that would no doubt take great pleasure in bringing him pain. The sight of his broken body, the idea of what further tortures he would face, was too much to bear. I quickly realized I had to do something.

 

So I bought him. Without a second thought, I had Vegeta paid for, on my ship, and headed back to my home—the home I created after my life on Vegeta-sei. The new life I have tried desperately to keep untainted by my past. That would now be impossible. Of course, if I am being completely honest with myself, that was never possible. I believed for a long time that the harder I pushed my past out of my mind, the easier it would be for me to move on.

 

But it could not have been clearer to me than the moment I laid eyes on Vegeta that hiding from my past would solve nothing. I must face it, and as I realized when my skin came in contact with his for the first time in six passionless years—on top of five years of sexual pain—that he is the key to my closure. The one man I was immune to, the one man who slipped past my fears and hatred to remind me what arousal and comfort could be, was now here with me. It is a twist of fate, but one I finally believe is in my favor.

 

The raw passion between us has not vanished even after our long separation. Despite everything that happened, and didn't happen between us on Vegeta-sei, I want him. My reaction to him when he pressed me to the workstation, evoking arousal instead of fear proved as much. For some reason my body is comfortable with him, fearless of him. I knew the moment our lips touched, and our bodies intertwined that he was the cure. Being with him could end my torment once and for all.

 

I would have to use him, of course. I would take his body selfishly to teach my own how to accept instead of fear a male. The irony was not lost on me that I want to do to him exactly what I hated him for wanting to do to me. What I had always resented most about him was his desire for my body and nothing else. Though intuitively I know Saiya-jins, especially the elites, are incapable of anything deeper than a physical relationship, being reduced to nothing more than a body was—emptying.

 

Only now we are truly on the same page of this horror story we are calling life. He has suffered. I have suffered. And now we both need to heal. It will be a mutually beneficial arrangement, with the added bonus that I do intend to help him recover. I will find a cure, and then he can return to his war. I suppose I should be concerned that he may come back for me once he has avenged himself, but I have no reason to overestimate my appeal. I am sure he will tire of me quickly, and I will be long forgotten by the time his war finally ends.

 

I hope I will have forgotten him by that time as well. I have lost too much of my life already. It is long past time for me to settle down, and begin a family of my own.

 

The idea brings a light smile to my face. I have had too few of those over the last decade of my life.

 

“Bulma!” The sound of Que calling my name finally causes my smile to erase as I lift my gaze from Vegeta. “Did you listen to a word I said?”

 

I sigh, knowing how bizarre this must all look to a man who knows nothing of my past. Actually, I suppose this would still look incredibly bizarre even if he did know of my past. “I understand that you think I am crazy for claiming this man, but I have my reasons. I need you to respect and trust me on this.”

 

“I am sorry Bulma, but right now, keeping you alive in more important to me than respecting this foolish decision. He must go.” He takes the communicator back from me, and speaks into it. “Roki, come to the medical facility immediately.”

 

“Que!” I say his name as if it were a curse.

 

“I am only doing what is best for you.” He is firm in his resolve. “You will thank me eventually.”

 

I growl, anger consuming me. I have spent too much of my life living under the will of others. I will not capitulate now. “Que, you will not have the final word on this matter.”

 

Roki interrupts us as he enters the medical room. Que then immediately ignores my demands as he turns to my guard. “Take that,” Que throws a disgusted hand toward Vegeta, “to—”

 

“My chambers,” I interrupt as I lift Vegeta's head from my lap and gently lay it back on the floor. I push myself to my feet and lift my chin so that I am as close to eye level with Que as possible. “Que, I am not Nallia. Perhaps she allows you to dictate what men are in her life, but you will not with me. You gave me that money, no strings attached. I purchased this man, and I will keep him, and do with him as I please. You will not interfere.”

 

“But Nallia's cure—”

 

“Will be discovered, by me. I told you, once we are home, I will go straight to my lab and work on it. But right now, we have a three day trip back to Wotja, and if I want to spend those three days with that man,” I point stiffly at Vegeta's unconscious body, “I will, and you will leave me the hell alone.”

 

“But…But… He is dangerous!” Que cries.

 

“Not when his ki is depleted,” I counter, more self-assured than I have been in a long time.

 

“He will be restrained, regardless.” Que argues. I try once more to tell him he is not in control of my decisions, but he will still not listen. “I may not have any right to govern your personal decisions, but this is still my ship. I don't want that thing running a muck on it. You keep him restrained or I'll have Roki put him in a cell. Are we clear?”

 

Begrudgingly I agree after arguing the point for a futile fifteen minutes. Satisfied with my minimal acquiescence, Que allows Roki to take Vegeta to my chambers. When my guard is also instructed to restrain Vegeta, I take advantage of the security measure.

 

“If he must be bound, I want it to be to my bed,” I demand.

 

The declaration causes both of my male companions to frown, but neither refuses me. Roki simply picks up Vegeta's unconscious form, and exits. Que follows quietly behind, pausing to offer a few words of warning. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

 

With a forced chuckle, I nod. “That makes two of us.”

 

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