“So… tell me again why I have to go as your date?” RJ grumbled, just loud enough for the man with a heavily muscled arm looped over his shoulders to hear, while trying to resist the urge to pluck at the pants that were pinching in some very personal areas. Not that anyone looking at him would know that. He’d been presented with a lurid purple shirt and a pair of leather pants as part of his disguise, and by all that was holy, he knew he looked good.

Vayne grinned, sliding him as sideways look from under sinfully long lashes as they headed down a dark corridor towards where this black market auction was supposed to be taking place.

They were somewhere in the bowels of the outpost, well off the beaten track, but RJ had been paying attention. No-one brought up in the Riggs family would ever get caught out unawares in a place like this. He knew each turn and corridor that would get them back to their ride home, and the nasty little surprise he had concealed against his ribcage would ensure he got there.

“Because,” Vayne leaned in to murmur, the words washing over the side of RJ’s neck like a soft carress. “Your boss ain’t as stupid as he looks. Everyone knows the big F will send someone, it’s obligatory. So she’ll play with them, but make no mistake, she’ll be watching the rest of us like we’re under a microscope. So we’re the second distraction. The one she’ll be looking for.”

RJ’s eyebrow winged up slightly. He’d never met anyone brave or insane enough to call Mason stupid. Then his brain caught up.

“She?” He barely got the question out before Vayne nodded at the two big guards at the door. Burly, green skinned, and wearing more leather than he was, they were the absolute stereotype of ‘goon’, no matter what the species.

“Evening gentlemen,” Vayne smiled the most charming smile RJ had ever seen outside his own mirror. “Nice night for it, isn’t it?”

The two moved with split second synchronicity, blocking their way. The one on the left glared at Vayne, while the other looked RJ up and down. His back stiffened slightly at the look, but he grinned and winked. Let them see what they thought they were seeing. Bimbo arm-candy.

“Lady S don’t want the likes of you ‘ere, Vayne,” the one on the left, obviously the talker, snarled. “You ain’t got the funds for this, and she knows it.”

“Well… that would have been correct,” Vayne shrugged. “She did kind of clear me out, but, well, I’ve come into some new funds.” He pulled RJ closer. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

RJ hadn’t a damn clue what was going on, but he rolled with it anyway. Obviously Vayne knew whoever it was running this auction, and he had questions, but for now, he leaned in, his body language totally relaxed even if he wanted to throat punch Righty for that leer he had going on.

“Totally, babe. Whatever you want.” He looked around then drew a little closer to Vayne to grin and shiver. “It’s all so deliciously dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Let ‘em through,” Lefty growled, standing aside.

RJ winked at him as they sauntered past, ignoring the muttered ‘frecking danger tourists’ from the other one.

As soon as they were through the door, he pushed Vayne’s arm off his shoulders. “What on earth was that?” he hissed in a low voice. “Who the hell is ‘Lady S’? and why would she have cleaned you out?”

There was definitely shit going on here that didn’t make sense, and it seemed that Vayne, sexy as he was, hadn’t been entirely honest.

“No need to get your knickers in a twist, handsome. All will be revealed, don’t you worry.”

Vayne grinned, and beckoned him to follow. They emerged from the darkened entrance hall, which RJ assumed had been packed full of sensor equipment to make sure they weren’t packing anything too dangerous, and into a darkened nightclub.

The place was empty, almost. Rather than being packed with dancers bumping and grinding against each other, drunk enough to forget their miserable lives and live life one beat at time, a large table had been set up in the middle of the dance floor, all the spot lights trained on it.

RJ’s gaze darted around it. They were the last to arrive, only two seats left at the table. Murphy and Rennox were on one side, the captain wearing ‘pirate snarl number four’ on his face while Rennox had found a cigar from somewhere and was chewing on it like a rabbit.

Lord have mercy, they were going to get themselves killed.

RJ tried to remember the away team protocols and who got the blame if the Captain got killed on an away mission he’d insisted he come along on. It didn’t matter, he decided. He was going to get the blame if Murphy died. The admiralty would take one look at his record and decide it was his fault, he just knew it.

Mason sat the opposite side of the table, glaring across it at the two disguised Starfleet officers. His pale eyes held a level of hatred that should have truly worried RJ. If he didn’t know the big guy, he’d have been seriously worried for Murphy and Rennox’s chances of survival.

“Vayne…” A soft, melodious voice caught RJ’s attention as the chair at the head of the table turned to reveal the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Long dark hair surrounded a perfect face with bee-stung lips. Sultry blue-green eyes studied him for a moment before she turned her attention to Vayne.

“RJ, my love,” Vayne rumbled in deep voice. “Let me introduce my ex-wife, Lady Sinistra.”

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” he smiled.

All the warmth in her eyes leached away, her expression hardening as she looked between the pair of them, her gaze lingering on the arm across RJ’s shoulders.

There was a word for an expression like that.

Run.