---
He didn't try to speak to her the remainder of the night, and that made her nervous. He seemed to be taking his imprisonment with amusement. As though he didn't really think that she would do anything to him.
She pulled a knife out of the boot she had rested on control panel, and began picking her nails with it, her back to Riddick, but he could see if he was looking. She stretched in the chair, dancing the blade over her fingers without any regard. She hoped he was watching, she was putting on the show for him.
Suddenly she turned the chair and flung the knife. It embedded itself in the back seat close enough to Riddick's arm to draw blood. She put on a predatory smile and leaned back in the chair, gauging his reaction.
His head was turned toward the blade and he brought his gaze back to her, slowly, dangerously. He didn't like this game. Well too bad, it was what they were playing.
He didn't say anything, as she expected him to, he just sat back and watched her, an angry glint to those iridescent eyes. But he wasn't angry enough yet. Not nearly.
She rose from the chair and moved toward him a sensuous animal, leaning over him, breathing him in again, hands roaming over his chest.
"Don't you like the game?" She whispered seductively into his ear and he tensed, pulling back away from her with a growl. She grinned. That's what she wanted. Real anger, frustration, impotence in that chair.
She plucked her knife from the chair and backed up to look him over admiringly, her pouted lips parted, her tongue snaked out to treat him like what he was, an animal.
She ran the flat side of the knife over his shoulder, his bicep, a little prick on the inside of his elbow, and back to his chest, running over the hard curves. He growled warningly, but she just put on a feigned expression of confusion. Wide eyes alluringly innocent as she let the tip of the knife nick a spot near his collarbone. Just little hurts, nothing like what was to come.
She backed away from him. Enough for now. And reached for a ration bar, tearing the wrapper with her teeth and chewing it thoughtfully. His gaze didn't waver from her face. He was warning her, he dared to warn her, when she had him in her thrall.
Going back to the pilot's seat she leaned into the soft leather and dropped her knife onto the dash with disinterest. She had only started to play with him. Where the game would go she wasn't sure. Would she really kill Riddick? She'd better if she didn't want him coming after her, but she wasn't sure if she could really bring herself to kill him.
She'd killed many men to get where she was, to get to the one man who she wanted alive…but suffering. She leaned back into the seat. She could still smell him. So alive. Warm blood that she'd begun to spill.
---
She woke, not realizing she'd fallen asleep, the cabin dark, only illuminated by those far off heavenly balls of gas and fire. She yawned, and reached for the knife she'd left on the dash to return it to the place in her boot.
It wasn't there.
She hadn't turned the lights off.
She spun the chair to become face to face with an angry looking Riddick. She brought up a leg to kick him, but he grabbed her by the ankle, yanking her onto the floor. She went to throw herself to the side, away from him, but he was faster than she was.
A strong hand shot out to trap her wrists above her head with bruising force. A knee, slamming painfully between her legs, her own knife held at her throat. He leaned over her, iridescent eyes flashing.
"You made a mistake Jack."
Panicking, she fought against him, but the knife was pressed enough to sink into the skin and she froze, breathing hard. He pulled it back, trailing it over her jaw down her neck to her collarbone, between her breasts.
"You gonna go for the sweet spot?" She whispered.
"What the Fuck did you think you were doing, Jackie?"
"Jack's dead, she was weak. It's Kyra now."
He raised an eyebrow, amused, but still angry. In one fluid motion he was off the floor and banging her against the wall, his body pressing against the length of her, his hand on her face, squeezing her jaw. The knife had disappeared, probably into one of his many pockets.
"Blade," he demanded.
She held her head back from him against the wall, but he pressed harder against her.
"Now Jack."
She held it between her lips and he took it, disappearing into a pocket. Now he trailed a hand over her ribs, leaning into her.
"Playin an awful grown up game, little girl."
She wrestled against him, and he smiled apparently enjoying the struggle. He brushed his lips along her jaw to rest right beneath her ear.
"You like the way I smell, Jack?"
Her breath was caught in her throat, her own game turned horribly against her. How dare he, after all she'd worked so hard for. His hand was at her jaw again and he smiled brightly.
"Nighty night, Jack."
He bounced her head against the wall and she was suddenly immersed in black.
---
When she came to she couldn't move. He had her strapped down on the floor on her back, tied with thick leather straps. The back of her head hurt like hell and her mouth tasted like cotton. She squinted in the darkness but all she could see were two pinpricks of light that she assumed were Riddick's eyes. He'd shut the blinders so that not even the light of the stars illuminated the little ship.
She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his smirk as she tested the bonds to find them secure. She had no idea what he had in mind, but she was afraid that he hadn't just killed her.
"Riddick," She hissed between clenched teeth, and she winced at the clang of heavy work boots on the metal floor as he approached her. She felt him kneel beside her, looking down at her prone figure.
"What, you don't like the game, Jack?"
"Stop calling me that," her voice rose an octave with panic as she struggled harder.
The booming laugh that she'd heard every night in her dreams echoed off the thick walls.
"I think you have bigger problems to worry about," His hands on her face, trailing over her chin as he watched her thoughtfully.
"Why don't you just ghost me?"
"I didn't come all this way just to ghost you, Jack."
"Why did you come?"
He was silent, strong calloused fingers running over her collarbone.
"The old man said you were in Slam."
"That's what I wanted him to think."
"You knew he'd come looking for me." It wasn't a question and she didn't feel inclined to answer even if it was. He paused for a moment, running those fingers over her skin, caressing the scars he found there. "And you knew I'd come after you. So then, what I want to know is, why all the hostility?"
"You left me," she hissed, the pain tangible. The moment still clear in her memory. A twelve-year old girl, running along the streets to stop the ship that just flew away, leaving her alone, all alone. No protector in the dark.
"I had mercs on my neck, I'll always have mercs on my neck. I spent the last five years on a frozen heap to keep them away from you"
"Don't play like you had my ass covered from half-way across a galaxy, Riddick, you left me."
"And you signed on with them, you signed with mercs," He spat it, like it left a bad taste in his mouth.
"They slaved me out Riddick, do you know what that can do to a kid at that age?"
His hand went to her throat but he didn't squeeze, just felt her vitality running through it, before shifting to her shoulder and running down her body to her waist.
"So, you blame me for that? You should have stayed with Iman, like I told you to."
"You should have taken me with you," she protested, the breath hitching in her throat. This was supposed to be her show, her game. And now he owned it, like Riddick always owned everything in the room.
"And now, what? You think you grown up, Jack B. Badd? You think you'll catch me and torture me and that'll make everything all better?"
She didn't answer, setting her face resolutely, shifting her weight so that his hands weren't on her any more. She wanted him to suffer. Wanted him to want her and never get her, want him to pine and plead and beg.
He caught her chin and lifted her face to study it.
"Kyra, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Kyra, you really fucked Jack over," He unstrapped her from the floor and threw her over his shoulder, where she struggled against him. She'd taken down dozens of men, but against him, she was always powerless.
He shoved her into the back seat, reaching for the chains that had held him to tether her down. He kicked at him.
"No," She wailed, "No."
"Don't like the game, Kyra?" He said her name, sing-song, as if thoroughly amused by the whole thing, "I have to figure out what I'm going to do with you, until then, you sit tight."
He pat her on the head once she was tethered, like a dog, and she could hear him move to get water and food rations from her supplies. He ignored her scathing looks and went about his business, ending up at the captain's chair.
He didn't speak to her or feed her for all of the next day.
Her bladder felt like it was going to burst, her face contorted in agony at holding it for so long. She yanked fruitlessly on her chains, bringing his attention to her. Still pitch black, living in his element, no concern for her own needs.
"Somethin you want Jack?"
"Piss," she grunted at him, angrily.
He smiled, "Did you just tell me to piss off, or that you needed to piss?"
"I need to."
"Hold it."
"I have been."
Heavy boots on the floor approaching her again, and she felt the snaps of her bindings loosen, and then tighten as he wrapped her wrists together. He marched her toward the tiny bathroom, shoving her inside.
"So go." He leaned on the doorframe watching her fumble with her fly and fall on the toilet seat, too desperate to care that he watched her. At least she couldn't see his face.
When she was finished she barely had time to rebutton her fly before he grabbed her, and was dragging her back toward the chair. She thrashed about, kicking at him and getting loose to dash to the other side of the ship, where she slammed her knee hard against a crate she couldn't see.
She paused, listening, waiting for his approach. He laughed.
"Where you gonna go, Kyra?" He made fun of her name again.
She was breathing hard, fingers working quickly to remove the straps on her wrists. She could hear him approach, but she was backed into the wall. There was nowhere else to go.
His arm slammed next to her head, boxing her in, muscular figure pressing against her.
"Where you gonna go Kyra?" He repeated, no fun in his voice now.
"Ghost me, don't ghost me, I don't care, just stop fucking with me."
"But I thought that's what you wanted, Kyra, I thought you wanted to Fuck, with me."
He touched her face and she flinched away. He reached for her wrists and slowly untied them., feeling her breasts rise and fall to meet his well-built chest with every breath.
"If you try fucking with me again, I'm gonna hurt you," His voice was soft in her ear, but deadly serious, "Don't make me hurt you, Jack."