Though Neon Eyes: Zoner by Michael Barnette

Alternative Lifestyles, Futuristic, GLBT, Mystery/Suspense, Science Fiction, Yaoi/Manga

THROUGH NEON EYES - BOOK ONE - ZONER
Michael Barnette
Rated this issue: The Iron Maiden
Rated for series: The Iron Maiden
Length: Sigil
Price: $1.99
SKU: X-60180-002

The door chimed and the EnCoSet's gender-neutral voice spoke. "You have a visitor."

Jessman's heart jumped.

He took a deep breath, hurried to the couch and sat. "You may let him in."

There was a soft click, and the door swung soundlessly open.

He was smaller than Jessman had anticipated, maybe five-seven, and he was dressed all in dully gleaming black leather. His hair was the color of cornsilk and fell in a mass of tight braids over his shoulders, down his chest, almost to the archaic looking gunbelt that rode his slim hips. Fastened in the wild tangle of braids were dozens of tiny silver bells, a riot of feathers and neon bright glass beads the shade of a simvideo summer sky.

"Hello, Mr. Jessman." His voice was a dulcet tenor, bordering on a baritone. Low and sexy.

Jessman stared, his dark eyes widening. This wasn't what he had expected. Not at all.

This gunwhore was supposed to be the best money could buy. Somewhere between a bodyguard and a common prostitute, a gunwhore was supposed to be the ultimate in personal protection and sexual partnership all rolled up in one neat package.

This one was reputed to be the best his agent could locate from out of the morass of crushing poverty that was the Liberty City FreeZone; a lawless part of the city where survival was determined with fists, feet, knives, and guns. He'd expected a ruggedly scarred man, not the beautiful boy who was standing before him now. This wasn't a real FreeZoner. Couldn't be.

The boy was probably just one of the company's many prostitutes, all dressed up to play at being a FreeZoner to keep an employee happy--and safe. Jessman sighed, and tried to hide his disappointment.

Neon-bright eyes the color of summer lightning gazed at him from behind half-closed eyelids. The brilliant color of those eyes left no doubt in Jessman's mind. This boy had probably never even seen the FreeZone, much less lived there. Neon color like that cost plenty of money, more than a FreeZoner would see in a lifetime.

"Come in," he managed to say as he stood to greet his visitor, his momentary lapse in composure quickly replaced with the smooth politeness of a man used to the politics of the corporate ladder. He was still disappointed, but he'd make the best of the situation.

The young man stepped into the apartment, his eyes taking in the luxuriousness of the thick cream-colored carpeting, the dark leather upholstered furniture and the glass and brass tables. Expensive neo-renaissance prints hung on the off-white walls. The neon lighting of the youth's eyes burned over everything as if making permanent digital visual records of the scene, missing nothing of importance.
Jessman held his hand out as though greeting a business associate. The boy's cool gaze caused him to withdraw his offered hand.

Well trained to his role as a Zoner, Jessman thought. Well, two can play the game. Jessman decided they would both play their roles, even if all they were doing was playing.