She touched Max, then jerked away, her eyes wide.
So much for keeping the fact that Max was Null a secret. “Yes, I am,” Max said in response to the unspoken question. “We’ve been driving all night.”
Curiosity was painted all over the girl’s expression. “Of course. You need your rest. This way.”
She led Max and Taylor past the open doors of the chapel and toward an unmarked door in the shadows.
She pushed into the room on the other side. The rear wall of the closet that must have been there once upon a time, had been knocked out. A large room sat on the other side. To Max, it looked better than Narnia.
Four rows of four cots each lined the room, with privacy curtains and several feet between them. It had been ages since she and Taylor slept on anything but the floor, or since they had this much personal space.
Their host nodded toward a pair of cots in the corner. “Those two are available. When you wake up, I have questions. If that’s all right.”
Most people never met a Null; they were an internet rumor. A mythical creature, like a unicorn. Max had questions too—like why she’d never met another like herself—but she’d had her entire life to ponder them, and didn’t expect answers anytime soon.
“I’ll tell you whatever I can,” Max said.
When their host left, Max tugged a half-conscious Taylor toward the steel frames with the thin mattress pads. He flopped onto the one farthest from the door and tugged her next to him. She barely remembered to kick off her shoes before curling up on her side with her back to his chest.
Max pulled a blanket over them. She needed to sleep, but danger lingered outside and nightmares lived in her head.
“Still wound up?” Taylor’s murmur was more of a hum against the back of her neck, than actual words.
Max nodded. She covered his hand where it rested on her hip, and glided his palm under her shirt to settle on her stomach. She itched to bleed off the adrenaline and lose herself in comfort.
The gliding of his lips over her skin said he understood her meaning and was up for the same.
In classic porn, fucking with someone just on the other side of a thin sheet of a divider was a fetish. For her, there frequently wasn’t another option.
With each kiss along her neck, down to her shoulders, up to her earlobe to nibble, fissures of pleasure cracked open. She couldn’t moan to show her appreciation, so she pressed into him instead. Melting into the heat of his embrace. Grinding against his hard length.
Max urged Taylor’s hand higher, to brush the bottom of her breasts. He teased over her nipples. A whimper swelled in her chest and she swallowed it.
Sex between them was as much about making a connection as getting off. Being wrapped around Taylor, and shrugging off the world for brief moment, while he was buried inside her and blocking out the constant noise that haunted him.
He lavished her with attention, licking and sucking and pinching and teasing, until she was squirming. He knew every button to press to draw her out of her mind, and into the tantalizing physical sensations. Thank God the bed frame didn’t squeak.
When Taylor dipped lower to undo her jeans, her pulse spiked with anticipation. It took a complicated, practiced ballet to slide her clothes off with minimal movement and sound.
His touch fell away. The light jostling behind her said he was shedding clothing as well.
And then Taylor was back, the heat of his bare erection searing into her backside. He traced his fingers up her slit, while he nibbled her shoulder.
Desire built inside with each draw out touch, until her hips rocked against him. He homed in on her clit, and stroked.
Max had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep a squeak from escaping as orgasm swept through her. She arched into Taylor, pressing hard against him and shifting one leg to reach between and wrap her fingers around his shaft.
His groan was muffled by her skin, and rolled over her when he slid inside her.
They fell into a steady, hungry rhythm until nothing existed except them. Each caress, kiss, thrust, and bite was another layer of security and ecstasy that erased the outside world.
The shudder that rolled through Taylor rocked Max as well, and he dug his fingers into her hips when he came.
As the edge of orgasm faded, comfort lingered. She relaxed against him and pulled his arms tight, wrapping herself in the one thing—the one person—she could always count on.
It would be nice if this moment could last forever. This safety and security.
But when they woke up, reality would be waiting.
Chapter Three
Max’s feet pounded against the pavement, but no matter how hard she pushed her legs, she couldn’t run faster. Everything around her was made of molasses. If she looked behind her, she’d see him, following. Never letting up the chase.
She grabbed for a nearby railing, to try to pull herself forward. She needed to move faster. His hot breath fell on her neck, and she whirled. A face stared at her, with hollow, black circles of glass where his eyes should be.
Max’s eyes flew open. The familiar dream had haunted her for more than a decade. But the face... Her pursuer never had a face before.
The dim light in the makeshift hostel burned her dry eyes. Every inch of her brain ached from the less-than-restful sleep. She rolled onto her back, and frowned when she didn’t meet any resistance. Where was Taylor?
She shot into a sitting position and scanned the room. He stood at the far end, talking to the girl from that morning. Max reigned in her worry. He looked up, his smile growing when he met her gaze, and waved her over.
According to the clock on her handheld, she’d only been asleep a few hours. Small talk wasn’t her forte on the best of days, but after last night, she couldn’t handle idle chatter. Still, she’d promised the girl answers, and Max couldn’t be rude to the avatar of their salvation.
Max took her time stretching, and when she couldn’t delay anymore without it looking awkward, she joined Taylor and their host.
The handful of other cots were empty now. It was a pleasant contrast to the shelter they’d left in Wyoming. It had been their only option, and bunking with a warehouse-sized room of displaced people was more comfortable and safer than sleeping in the car. The farther P-72 spread, the harder it got to find towns they felt safe in.
Hostels like this one—safe houses run by and for Psy sympathizers—were layovers, and stopping at one helped Max and Taylor keep their sanity.
Max grabbed a nearby folding chair and sat close to Taylor.
He nodded at the other girl. “Heather, Max. Max, Heather.” He turned to Max, the dark circles under his eyes obvious in the daylight. “She’s an O-Ee. A-3.”
Organic Empath like Taylor, but not rated as high as his four—the highest the chart went. “Nice to officially meet you. Thank you again for this morning,” Max said.
Heather ducked her head and tucked a strand of pink behind her ear. “Don’t mention it.” She looked at Max and her question spilled out in a single word. “You’re-really-a-Null?”
Though Max expected it, she fumbled for a response. She rubbed her fingertips together, watching the thumb glide over each pad. “Yes.” She braced herself for an onslaught of follow-up questions. Questions she could never answer, because this was all she knew; there was no basis for comparison.
“You’re lucky to have each other,” Heather said.
Max jerked her head up in surprise. “We really are.”
Silence fell between the three, and Max returned her attention to her hands. Heather shifted on the bench and scooted closer to Taylor. Max tried to ignore an unfamiliar possessiveness, but it faded to amusement when he put more space between him and Heather. What kind of emotional clash warred between the two of them?
“Well, then...” Taylor shot to his feet, his voice loud in the empty room. “Thanks for all the info and everything. We need to plan the rest of our trip.”
Which wasn’t true. Max would pla
n and tell Taylor as little as possible. She hated leaving him in the dark, but if he didn’t know, there was nothing for a Psy to pluck from his thoughts. She didn’t argue with his desire to get away, and followed when he tugged her to her feet and toward their cot.
She nudged him with her shoulder the moment they were out of earshot. “She likes you.” That stab of mine surged back, making her thoughts stumble.
Taylor’s scowl grew. With any luck, their kind host wouldn’t pick up that his negative vibes were directed at her. “I noticed.” A growl cut through his quiet response.
“It’s cute.” As long as it wasn’t reciprocated. Wow. What was with her today?
He rolled his eyes, and flopped onto the cot. “It’s emotional suicide. I hope she’s not one of the shields here. She bleeds an endless supply of pink and orange.”
If Max remembered right, those were the colors he associated with lust and cheer.
A shield was someone who kept the guests in the building from being read. It was similar to the trick Taylor used during a raid but didn’t take as much focus, since they blanketed a building and didn’t try to make an emotion feel like it came from an individual.
“Maybe she does have an endless supply.” Max lay next to him, brushing his arm with hers, and resting her feet on the floor.
“And some seriously heavy jealousy,” he added. “Toward you.”
That made Max pause. If Heather was even a little bit skilled, she knew Taylor didn’t see Max as anything more than a buddy. “What’s wrong?” Max asked.
His sigh faded into a grumble. He sat, breaking contact. “What do you think?” It wasn’t like him to get worked up over someone else’s crush. The psychological assault was rough on him, but pissed off was a new response.
She shrugged. “You’re attractive and kind. Of course she likes you. And it’s not like we’re going to be here long enough for it to fester.”
“We almost got caught last night.” The irritation in his voice grew.
Oh. That. So much for taking a break from the stress. But he had a point, and the doctor finding them wasn’t because of a careless mistake. It had to count for something that they got away, though. “We’re still here and free, because you’re amazing. I know it was rough. I wish there had been another way.”
He clenched his jaw. “I wasn’t amazing. I nearly got you killed.”
That was new... or very old. An insecurity she thought he shed years ago. A new flavor of concern wove through Max. How was she supposed to respond to it?
He dropped his head in his hands, muffling his voice. “That doctor? He was like you.”
The phrase didn’t make sense in the context of her world. “Shorter than his peers? Dirty blond? Hiding a lot of secrets?”
“Null.” The single word sank into the space between them.
The bottom of her world vanished, and she grabbed the edge of the cot, for the familiarity of clinging to something. “What do you mean?” she asked. His answer didn’t leave any room for interpretation, but that question was easier to ask than the millions assaulting her. She’d met another Null. She wasn’t alone.
She pushed the creeping fascination aside, to focus on the more serious implications.
“I wanted to tell you last night.”
But he hadn’t been able to. Saying he recognized what the doctor was meant thinking it. Someone could have seen in his mind what Max was.
“It’s okay. I get it,” she said.
Was that a new Church tactic? Intentionally send in a Null, to elicit a reaction from any unregistered Psys? No. She was letting her paranoia run rampant.
The cynical part of her struggled with the belief that she wasn’t alone. “Was he really Null?”
Taylor sighed. “Without a doubt, but he might have been Synth. I didn’t poke around to see if there were any other differences from you. On the surface, he’s a blank slate.”
The possibility he might be Synth left dread in its wake.
Once upon a time, The Church was like any other religious organization—worshiping, sharing the word, following their faith in their god. When news of Psys and Ees became public knowledge, every other religion, including hundreds of new ones, declared either their love for or hatred of these new people.
The Church stepped forward, to help control the riots and act as liaison between Psys and Normals who misunderstood. Over time, The Church’s influence and money left them in a position where they might as well be a government branch. That also meant they had their pick of top Synths when they recruited, because they had the money and influence.
If Nulls could be manufactured too... This was a game changer. A Psy—Synth or Organic—who was searching, testing, or raiding, gave off a signature Taylor had trained himself to passively identify. But if he couldn’t see the threat coming...
It explained how the doctor and his companions got the drop on them at the gas station. Max would need to step up her digital surveillance game. She could do it, but evading detection if she went all in would be difficult.
“He was the only one in the group.” Taylor’s comment jarred her to the now.
Which would be reassuring, except— “They just happened to send that one doctor to test us?”
“Kind of weird, right?”
She and Taylor needed answers, and speculating wouldn’t provide them. Conspiracy theories would only keep them safe if it was tempered with the truth.
Despite what Taylor said about failing them, he’d shone the night before. Now it was her turn. She grabbed her handheld.
“I’ll leave you alone, so you can focus.” He stood, and the mattress shifted, almost knocking her off balance.
“What are you going to do in the meantime?” Leaving her alone usually meant he watched movies on his handheld. Where was he going?
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “See the town.”
She stared at him in disbelief. He hated wandering through crowds. One brush with the wrong person would throw his head out of whack.
“Fine.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not looking at her. “Heather says, if I talk to Frank—the guy who owns the local market—I can pick up temporary stocker work that pays under the table. He’s got a soft spot for Ees.”
Max had the impression Taylor wasn’t telling her everything, but his destination sounded innocent. “We’re not hurting for money.” She should let him go. They were actually struggling to keep from dipping into their savings, but lingering fear from last night and the new revelations had her so on edge, she didn’t like this deviation.
“You know we’re not doing okay.” He squeezed her fingers. “Work your magic. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
She frowned and bit her tongue, to keep from calling him back as he disappeared out the front door of the hostel. Her paranoia was nearing irrational levels. If she didn’t rein it in soon, she’d get careless. She clicked the key on her handheld that projected the infrared keyboard, and slipped her earpiece in. The one bummer about the public location was that she couldn’t use the holoscreen, for fear of anyone around her seeing what she was working on.
She closed her eyes and ran through the list of what she knew. Compartmentalizing it helped her feel better, even with the limited information. There was another Null. And he worked for The Church. Yup. Short list.
She tugged the two elastics off her fingers, where they doubled as rings, and pulled her short hair into twin pigtails. She closed her eyes, and visualized blue sparks flowing through her veins. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, knowing what to type without feeling or seeing a single letter. This was her meditation. Falling into a skill she used to believe was magic, but now knew was far more valuable than a spell.
It only took a few seconds to bounce her encrypted signal from one open hotspot to another and another, until she was hitting hundreds of spots globally to reach her destination. It didn’t make her location impossible to find, but with the tracers she had in place, she’d kno
w if someone decided to followed her trail. None of the techniques were groundbreaking, but the twists she put on them were revolutionary. She’d posted instructions in the underground forums she frequented, to the tune of much awe and gratitude.
The task didn’t take a lot of thought, so her mind tripped over their current situation. Another Null. Who had found them twice in less than twelve hours. It couldn’t be a coincidence, but why wasn’t anyone talking about this?
Forum time. There were millions of sympathizer sites around the web—some dead, some Church traps. Only a handful were legitimate. The trick was locating the latter.
This took more focus—scanning threads, looking at the source of the original poster, actually paying attention to the data—and she was grateful for the distraction. Within moments, she was lost in the search, tracing trail after trail to its dead end to find out if anyone knew anything about Nulls in The Church’s employ.
Rumors—that was all she found. Someone had heard from a source that there was a group of Nulls running The Church and trying to destroy all Psys. Someone else heard from a cousin, who heard from a pet, that Nulls were a Church rumor, to keep Psys from getting cocky. Which didn’t make any sense at all, since The Church was publicly and vocally pro-Psy. And someone else claimed they had a contact in the Center for Disease Control, who said P-72 wasn’t real.
Same old conspiracy shit. She rubbed her dry eyes and started down another inevitable rabbit hole.
She was vaguely aware of people filtering into the room around her, but they didn’t pull her from her search-induced daze. A chime sounded in her ear, drawing her attention to a spider she kept running in the background. A potential job. She stretched her shoulders, to work some feeling into them, and clicked the alert.
It wasn’t what she was looking for, but it was useful. Now wasn’t the time to be searching for work, especially in regions they hadn’t scouted. But if Taylor was so worried about money he was stocking grocery-store shelves, she couldn’t ignore the opportunity.
Over Exposed Page 3