Page 21 of The Quoram Effect

I could see one now, sitting at the bar, nursing a blue cocktail. With the Q thrumming through my veins, I was drawn in by the sparks of neon light shining in his dark hair. He appeared older than most of the other patrons. His clothes were like mine—domestic and boring in comparison. The aura of solemnity and loneliness clung to him, and empathy clutched at my chest, eager to see if his smile was as cute as I imagined it to be.

With a confidence I hadn’t felt in years, I jumped up onto the stool next to him. “Hey. Either that drink is disgusting, or you don’t wanna be here.”

His pretty eyes flashed at me, an amethyst glow twinkling with surprise before he huffed a genuine smile. “If I’m honest, I haven’t wanted to be here for over a year.”

A year?Quoram-born were usually expelled from the planet between the ages of fourteen and twenty. With his sharp jaw and broad shoulders, this guy looked at least twenty-four, maybe older.

“How come you ended up on the Argentum?”

“Wanted to be a soldier and heard the Delta Ring commander is a decent guy.”

A zap of lightning sparked within me at the mention of Torz. Pride swelled the organ inside my chest, and my grin widened. “He really is the best.”

“Well…” Shrugging, he looked despondently at his drink. “It seems most residents here think Quoram-born are only good at one thing.”

“Which is?”

“Farming.” He shook his head. “My father was a law enforcer down on the surface. I grew up defending the Q-fields from the little Orbit shits who tried to pluck the harvest whilst their jets hovered precariously low over the crops.”

I’d heard that was a thing. People desperate to make a quick quin by stealing Q-plants from the sky. Desperate enough to risk detriment to their lungs from repellents in the Quoram air, let alone if their ship crashed and they touched the surface.

Desperate or not, they were suicidal idiots.

“So, you have security experience?” I asked.

“Yeah, I guess that’s what it is.”

“And you’re currently working as a…?”

“Biofarm minion,” he groaned.

“Well, then.” I reached across him and grabbed his drink. “Play your cards right, and I could get you an interview with the Delta Ring security team leader.” I took a long sip, amused at the shock crossingCute Guy’sface. Running my eyes over his dark, curly hair and strong shoulders, I licked the sweet alcohol from my lips. He really was rather scrummy.

“Really? You can do that?”

“Yep.” Inwardly, I chuckled, imagining Arlo’s face if I told him where I’d found this guy. I lifted the glass, gesturing to the barman for another two. “So, Mr Quoram-born, how old are you?”

“Twenty-one.” He grinned, sweeping his eyes over my face, then subtly flicking those long, dark lashes down my body. “I’m not too young, am I?”

Without a care in the universe, or a hesitation in my mind, I smiled back. “No. Not at all.”

Chapter Eleven

Time evaporated into a pulse of techno music, abundant drinks, and heightened senses. Our laughter turned to teasing and flirtation,Cute Guygot cuter, and the next thing I knew, I was on my back, in my bed, with him between my legs.

His rampant-puppy lovemaking confirmed his inexperience, but I didn’t care. It felt good to be worshipped by his lips, his hands and eager body. My limbs tingled with excitement, my mind was free from turmoil, and my core thrummed with an ecstasy I’d long forgotten.

The glow of his eyes turned a vivid shade of violet as we climaxed together, pushing the moment to physical and mental oblivion. Hell, sex whilst on Q was delicious. I remembered why taking it had been so damn addictive. Over the years, the number of guys I’d been intimate with whilst under the influence could’ve been deemed shameful. It had become its own addiction caused by another. At first, the closeness and intimacy were what I’d craved, but years later, after I’d sobered up, I realised the sex was compensation for the loss of my Damson. Subconsciously, the regret had started as far back as when I was eighteen.

I pushed the thought away as the height of rapture eased. Sleep quickly swept in, only for me to wake hours later in purple-tinted darkness. I glanced across my pillow.Cute Guylay beside me deep in slumber, and I tried to get back to sleep.

When a humming voice floated through the silence, I opened my eyes and sat up, wondering if what I was hearing was real. Afamiliar sensation akin to déjà vu washed over me as I registered the softer tint of the night lights trickling in from the lounge; the floral fragrance of lilac wine…

Slipping from my bed, I grabbed a vest top and a pair of knickers and dressed quickly. I knew who was there, who was lounging at my dining table. This was a dream but, somehow, it was playing out a little differently than usual.

As I crossed the threshold into my lounge, the humming stopped, and a tenor voice drawled from the table, “Remi. We need to talk.”

I peered at the silver-haired God who audaciously sipped wine from one ofmywineglasses. Dressed in his dark suit with ornate silver stitching, he wore the same suave expression that relentlessly irritated me.