Vin's Rules (Outer Settlement Agency) by Lyn Brittan Page B

his nose. “This sucks. Never drinking again.” He winked and smoothed his shirt. “Sorry. I still look good, right?”
    And just like that, her Vin was back.
    Together they ambled down the hallways to their unlocked... and unlockable... room.
    That fourth round of alcohol must have hit him along the way. Vin stumbled, rolling onto the bed, and he had several false tries of toeing off a boot. She took a knee to help him with the other.
    A shaky finger waved in front of her face. “Regulations.”
    “Stop.”
    “I, uh, can’t get my pants off either.”
    “You don’t need to.”
    Vin, the drunkest dramatist on any planet or moon, threw his hands above his head and crashed back down again. “You’re mean. You were mean before too. That’s okay. I like my women strong. When this is over...”
    She kissed him to shut him up.
    Or maybe because she wanted to. If he brought it up tomorrow, she’d tell him it was a fragment of his liquor-induced imagination. It should have been a light peck, but Vin returned her kiss with unexpected strength. His arms tightened around her and his tongue demanded entry into her mouth.
    She gave it.
    Not that anything happened.
    Because not one split instant later, Vin fell back, mouth open and drooling on the pillow. She cupped his almost angelic face and wiped some of the fried fat off his cheek. When the snoring started, she kicked off her own shoes and paced around the floor.
    Every so often, she’d glance at Vin. Still out cold.
    Mostly.
    Whoever said that liquor hurt a man’s ability to perform hadn’t met Vin Dhoma. A very impressive bulge had changed the shape of his trousers. She grabbed a blanket from the table to drape over him, fighting the urge to take a peek.
    The room’s one window was barred, even though it was too small for the slenderest of persons to escape through. She sat on the table for a while to look on the street below, resting her head on the cool wall. Drunken Tans walked the streets, laughingly pushed in the right direction by their sober comrades on duty.
    One of them shouted and pointed to the sky. Allie gave her hidden weapon a reassuring pat as she repositioned herself for a better view.
    She caught it just in time to see something fizzle and spark above in a light so blinding that she shielded her eyes.
    Whatever had just happened didn’t faze the men. They high-fived one another and went about their patrol up and down the street.
    That meant one thing - an electrical security net. So that was how they kept the creatures out of town. What had Mike said? That people could come and go as they pleased?
    Of course they could. They’d have a few hours of freedom before nightfall when mutated freaks of nature did Graham’s handiwork.
    She bent, straining to look upward, but didn’t see any gooey remains. Maybe they didn’t shock to kill them, just to deter them. Good to know.
    It would have also been good to have someone to discuss this with. One look over at the felled giant confirmed that said discussion would be delayed.
    She’d read Vin his rights first thing in the morning. For now, she secured the door with the table and for the pleasure of anyone watching, slid into bed and curled up next to Vin.

Chapter Seven
    V in cringed against the morning sunlight and ran to the sink for the fifth time. He hated life. Hated liquor. Hated everything.
    “You should be ashamed of yourself, Vin Dhoma.”
    And temporarily hated her.
    “I’m dying, Allie. Can it wait?”
    “And whose fault is that?”
    “Seriously? The crazy guy’s.”
    “Yours.”
    He braced himself against the metallic edge of the sink and waited for the world to stop flipping around. Had this been any sort of real quadrant, he could have dragged himself into a cleansing unit, waited a few moments, and walked out not reeking of sweat and vomit. “I need a tab for my mouth.”
    “Doubtful they’d have them.”
    He turned some knobs until water came out and rinsed his mouth as best he