“Turner lost his last cargo ship when fleet caught up with a trade in Jotunheim,” Fran explained, the half-light flittering in her green eyes. “So he’s using warbirds to collect his spoils. He told me that one had our explosives on board.”
We’d stepped into the shadows of a narrow alley between two mud-built buildings, away from the main flow of market-goers. The sounds of traders declaring their wares, bartering, and rattling carts drifted down the backstreet. Squinting through the dust, I recognized the distinctive outlines of a number of ships that would likely be easier to steal than one of the Candes’ most prized possessions.
“I know the flight codes,” she said as though that made it easier.
I arched a brow.
“He blew up Starscream,” she added by way of explaining why we should piss Turner off even more.
My gaze slid back to the street where a patrol of iron guards was making its way toward us. Red sashes, all on the Candes payroll. They’d recognize us.
“We got incoming,” I grumbled.
Fran scowled, spat some Spanish, and then slammed a palm into my shoulder, shoving me back against the mud wall. I had a protest all lined up, the words “what the fuck” on my lips, when she leaned her entire body against me and assaulted me with a bitch of a kiss. She tasted like iron, courtesy of the red dust on her lips. There was nothing questioning about her attack. It was a statement. Take it or leave it. I skewed my gaze sideways and saw the guards amble on by.
Fran’s kiss broke up, became less of a demand and more of a request, probably because I wasn’t kissing her back quite like she’d expected.
I clasped her face in my hands and held her back, smudging dust across her cheek. “You done?”
Her dark eyebrows dug in.
Man, I’m so tired of this shit. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m hard and I’ll take it, but—”
She slid her hand down my hip and cupped my junk. A smile hooked into the corner of her lips.
“We nearly died back there. We lost Starscream. You saved my ass.” She pushed her face against my hands, bringing her so close that her eyes were all I could see. “You aren’t going to say no.”
I have trouble thinking straight at the best of times, but when a woman has her hand on my cock, I stop thinking altogether. She worked the heel of her hand and my stalwart attempt at being sensible stuttered. I slipped my hand into her hair and flipped us around, pinning her hard enough against the wall for bits of mud to fall away. Our hoods blocked the market from my sight.
It wasn’t like we hadn’t danced to this tune before. But when we fucked, it was driven by hate, and fear, and a whole other heap of tangled shit. It was that that I was tired of.
“Cale …” she purred, working her hand in a way that had me arching into her. “You like it quick and dirty.”
Bracing my forearm against the wall beside her head, I breathed into her hair. She smelled good, like lavender, like always. My chin grazed her cheek. She was coiled tight as a spring, her body rigid and littered with fine adrenalin-fuelled tremors. I had no idea what the fuck was going on with her and if she kept jerking me off, I’d stop caring pretty fucking soon.
“You want me,” she whispered.
If she starts with the Spanish, there ain’t no way I’m escaping this. “Wasn’t fucking Turner enough?”
Her hand squeezed, breaching the wrong side of pain, and I made a snap decision to never piss off the woman who had my cock in her fist.
“I didn’t fuck Turner,” she snarled. “Just worked him over.”
“Like you’re doing with me?”
Her eyes narrowed to vengeful slits. “Are we talking about sex or having it?”
She’s my drug. Her hand quickened, my doubts scarpered, and I reckoned something like a groan slipped free before I could stop it.
“We’re about to steal from pirates,” she whispered, low and enticing. “We’ve got nothing left to lose. Turner will kill us if he catches us. Fuck me, Cale. Do it now.”
She caught my free right hand and guided it to the heat between her legs.
“No.” Fuck, what?
“No?” She tugged at my pants and slipped her hand inside, curling her fingers around the part of me that really didn’t give a fuck what my head thought. “This doesn’t feel like a no.”
Her whispers tickled my ear and the effect her words had on me surged a desperate need to fuck her hard and fast against the wall. Fucking Fran would dump a whole load of nonsense out of my head—until it was over, and then all that fucked up shit would rush back in, sink its barbs deep, and I’d need a whole load of whiskey to get myself leveled.
“C’mon, Cale.” She worked my hand between her legs, guiding my fingers, her movements sloppy, her breaths short and fast. “We’re on a shithole of a planet whose entire population wants us dead. You can’t tell me that doesn’t get you up. You live for this shit. You run, you fight, you fuck, and you do it all like it’s your last few hours, because you know what it means to have nothing left. You know it might not last. Live for the now, Cale, and fuck me hard, puto.”
I tore her pants open and sank my fingers inside her damp panties, finding that sweet little nub. Her breath hitched. She snatched at short, ragged gasps, her body twitching beneath the ride of my fingers.
“Been thinking about this a while, huh?” I eased a finger deeper, felt her hips roll, and whatever was left of my common sense unraveled.
She arched, threw her head back, and clamped her hand tight around my cock. We were both fucked up and this wouldn’t help, she’d use it against me, but I needed something—anything. Someone to tell me I was worth something to them. Someone to need me, even if this need was shallow and short-lived.
I yanked her pants down, ran my grit-caked hands roughly over her hips, and cupped her ass, yanking her closer. She growled and fumbled my cock until I gritted my teeth, batted her hand away, picked her up, and pinned her back against the wall. Warm, wet, and ready—I had her exactly where I needed her. Her hips bucked, and I thrust inside so fucking deep I briefly lost my mind and nearly my load. Her fingernails dug into my ass, the pain enough to twist my pleasure back to manageable levels.
“Te echo de menos,” she growled, making whatever that meant sound like a threat. Maybe it was. I just knew it flicked all my remaining switches to raging-on.
A little adjustment—sand and dust burned—some fumbling, and then I found the rhythm.
She clung on, one hand clamped on my ass while her other arm clutched at my back, and held me so damn close I could feel her heart thudding in her chest. Her breath hissed against my cheek. Harder. Faster. Deeper. I forgot about the ship, the explosives, Starscream, revenge, the Nine. But not One. I’d never forget her. Her brilliant eyes, her sharp intelligence, and the sweet innocence hidden inside the killer’s instinct.
The need built, pleasure cresting. I tried to hold it back, to slow it, and pulled out to circle my finger over Fran’s clit before I lost control. She groaned, deep and low, hissing in Spanish. She wasn’t the same Fran I’d heard working over Turner. She was harder, more brutal and raw. Her body locked and arched. She let out a cry. I kissed her fast before we drew too much attention and sank two fingers deep inside her cunt, feeling her clench.
Her hand found my cock crushed between us, slick and ready. She curled her fingers around me. I lasted a monumental three fucking seconds before blowing my load. Hips twitching and pleasure stalling so high it hurt, I slumped against her, grateful for the wall.
Slowly, the sounds of the market filtered back in. Murmurs, rattling carts, the occasional bark of laughter. Reality. This was usually the part where I said the wrong thing, she slapped me, we traded insults, and then she fucked off to plot my imminent death. It might just have been worth it.
“Don’t you feel ready to go steal that harrier now?” Fran asked, green eyes flashing.
I gripped her jaw and kissed her slow, teasing her with my tongue, my mouth. It was a kiss with more emoti
onal weight behind it than I’d have liked. A real kiss, one meant for more than a quick, dirty fuck in a filthy alley. A kiss shared in moments that didn’t get forgotten. A promise, and maybe a piece of my heart. I realized that too late.
She broke first and turned her face away, toward the market, then kept her gaze there, anywhere but on me.
An unexpected jab of rejection spiked in my chest. I shoved off her, wiped my wet hand on my pants and tucked my junk away. By the time I lifted my face, any sign of how her rejection had wormed its way through my defenses had vanished from my face.
I am a pinche idiota if I ever believed she’d feel anything real for me.
Maybe it had never been that she was too good for me. Maybe it had always been that I was worthless, just like Dad had told me with each lash of the belt.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was why I never opened up. Why I never dared to ask for more.
“That’ll be thirty credits.” I pinned a wooden grin to my lips. She wouldn’t know the difference.
She finished straightening her clothes and hood and shrugged. “I’ll pay you in explosives.”
Then she turned away and headed out into the market.
I watched her go. Her hips swayed, she’d thrown her shoulders back, and she held her head up. I’d just been used and thrown away. And I felt it too. When had all this shit started meaning something? When had it started hurting? I dragged a hand down my face to shake off the unclean sinking feeling and winced at the smell of sex on my fingers. Focus. Get back to the Nine. Forget this ever happened.
Worthless.
Without Starscream, I was nothing, just another fucking loser with nothing and nobody.
Nah, I was worth at least thirty credits.
I lifted my hood and trailed after Fran.
Chapter Six: One
A cool breeze whispered across my naked body. Sterile surfaces. Clean. Sharp. Bright, cutting lights. Chitec.
My processes skipped. Fear lashed through me in a way I’d later study.
“One?”
Brendan. Friend. He looks worried. Armed: electric pulser pistol. Threat level: moderate.
Why was he in a Chitec facility?
“I did everything I could. If she’s not there, then we’ve lost her …” I slid my gaze to Doctor James Lloyd, his voice fading beneath the drumming in my head. He continued to speak quickly, hands flitting and fluttering. When he looked at Bren, pride bloomed on his face, but Bren was watching me, not Doctor Lloyd. Heat throbbed through my chest. Doctor James Lloyd had smothered me inside of myself. He’d killed me, or tried to. But he wasn’t a threat now. It would almost be too easy to kill Doctor Lloyd. There were many ways I could end his life.
I waited for the errors to burst inside my vision, to tell me this wasn’t right, but none came.
Bren’s eyes—so like Caleb’s—narrowed, and he saw the intention on my face. “Don’t!”
I lunged, found Bren in my path, snatched hold of his arm and twisted it, and him, around, forcing him aside. He barked a cry at the same time as something jolted in his arm.
Bren was a good person. I wasn’t.
I slammed into Lloyd and drove him back against the wall. Thrusting my hand under his chin, I held him still, eye to eye. “You are my enemy, Doctor Lloyd.”
“One!” Bren yelled.
Doctor Lloyd stuttered and clawed at my fingers. He wouldn’t get free. He’d never be free again. I placed my other hand over his mouth and nose and pushed.
“You killed me.” Removing my hand from his neck, I roamed it lower and settled it against his chest. His heart beat hard, throbbing warm blood through his vulnerable body. I spread my fingers and pushed into him, compressing his lungs. “In approximately three minutes, you will die.”
He shook his head. Red veins fractured the whites of his eyes. Color flushed his cheeks. I could break his neck and make it quick, but he hadn’t offered me the same courtesy. No, Doctor Lloyd would suffer the way I had. He would see death stalking him.
“You will die, James Lloyd,” I said. “And you will not come back.”
“One …” Bren’s warm hand rested on my bare shoulder. Warmth seeped through my new skin and delivered a sense of comfort. “Look at me.”
If I look at him, he will stop me. I am One and I will not be stopped.
“One, we need him. He’s an asset.”
“I do not care.”
“He remade you. He brought you back. He knows what he did was wrong. Please, One. You aren’t like the others, remember? You have a choice. You can choose not to be a killer.”
Pain quivered through Bren’s words. I tilted my head to appraise him. So like his brother, but prouder, harder, more refined. Brendan Shepperd had his strengths as Caleb had his, but the commander’s were subtle and poised.
I’d broken his arm.
Threat level: nominal.
His eyes pleaded with me.
Lloyd’s heart was failing. It wouldn’t be long now.
“I choose to kill this man.” I smiled at the doctor and loosened my grip enough to allow him to gasp. “What are your last words, Doctor Lloyd?”
His trembles travelled down my arm and tickled my senses. Bren wasn’t entirely correct. I was like the others. I was made to kill.
“I-I brought you back,” Lloyd stammered. “I made you again.”
I blinked and leaned in close against the young doctor. “No, I brought me back. The synthetic Chen Hung made me.”
The synthetic Chen Hung made me: truth.
The doctor’s racing heart skipped. Bren stepped closer.
“One, explain,” he ordered.
I wet my lips and pulled the truth forward. It came easily and balanced on my tongue, waiting to be freed. “Chen Hung is a synthetic.”
A flush of relief washed over me, so potent and so freeing that I dropped the doctor and stumbled back.
“Chen Hung isn’t real.” I swung my gaze to Bren and saw the surprise on his face. Yes, hear my words. Hear my curse. Hear me. “He’s a synthetic. At his heart, a power core fuels him. He made me. He controls Chitec. He controls the synthetics. They will attack. This is the truth I couldn’t speak.”
Relief—so pure, so exquisite—lifted off my mind. The truth is free.
“He’s a s-synthetic?” Lloyd spluttered. “He has control of the entire nine systems?”
I curled my fingers into a fist and leveled my sights on Doctor Lloyd. A single punch to the throat would be enough to kill him. His strength was in his mind, not his body.
“Chen Hung created me. I am not like the others. I do have a choice. And I choose to kill you, Doctor Lloyd.” I made it a step before Bren fired the pulser, plunging me into an icy void.
Trust. I couldn’t trust any of them. I didn’t even trust myself.
Killing is never a viable option, James had told me. He’d lied. They’d all lied. These people weren’t my friends.
I am not like them. I am One.
Chapter Seven: Caleb
“Do you think they’ll fire on us?” Fran asked.
We approached the storm that wasn’t a storm, but an enormous ship the size of a city hidden inside Mimir’s churning clouds. I’d tapped in the secure code that should tell the Nine we were friendly, but they weren’t likely to appreciate a Cande harrier knocking on their door.
“We’ll find out,” I replied, shifting in the overly padded flight chair and adjusting the harrier’s trajectory. I didn’t want to come in too aggressively.
My pirate disguise had started to chafe in all the wrong places, not helped by the stench of iron dust and sweat. My only consolation was that Fran looked as uncomfortable as I felt. We’d jumped a patrol back on KP92, stripped them of their pirate gear so we could slip by the dock guards, and stolen the Candes’ ship. Fran’s codes had been good. She’d smiled all the way into the black.
A chime sounded. The harrier’s unfamiliar flightdash was aglow with touch displays, blinking lights, readouts, and all manner of s
parkly tech. The modern harrier made Starscream look like a trashcan, and while I could just about fly her, all the extra bells and whistles made me feel hopelessly inadequate.
The chime sounded again.
“It’s nothing,” Fran said, flicking one of the many switches to silence the warning. “The Nine are scanning us. Not hostile. They’re taking a peek is all.”
“You can tell that from one alert?”
Her lips quirked. “These birds are a lot easier to fly than Starscream, Captain. You just gotta speak her language.”
All the fancy shit worked too. Nothing bitched or flagged warnings. There was even a smooth female voice telling me when I’d tapped in an error or fucked up some other instruction. Just what I needed: another mouthy female telling me what to do. I missed Starscream.
“She doesn’t have Starscream’s heart though,” Fran added softly, clearly thinking along the same lines as me.
My ship. Fuck. Turner wasn’t wrong. Losing her had been like losing a part of me. I couldn’t think too hard about it or the walls started closing in. No ship. No future.
I turned my gaze toward the storm as it swallowed us down. Lightning bloomed inside the churning gray clouds. The harrier rode it without a glitch, and a few minutes later, the storm spat us free, revealing the sparkling mass of a ship so vast it blotted out the sky and stretched toward the horizon. From what they’d told me during my first visit, the Island was comprised of seven vast craft carriers, interlocked and operated as one supership. I’d have said it was impossible if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
Besides that, the Nine hadn’t told me much of anything—yet. But they would. Especially after we’d doubled the required amount of explosives, filling the harrier’s hold, without paying a single credit for it.
Shuttles buzzed about the Island like flies. Below, the downwash stirred up the ocean, lifting water vapor into the air. The ship’s electrical field turned the vapor into a never-ending lightning storm.
“Unidentified Harrier One-Three-Five, we’ve received secure codes, but please confirm personal identities,” a deep male voice demanded.
Girl From Above #4: Trust Page 3