Ten
Dax Janner and Blythe Sol
Resistance Hideout in Memphis, Tennessee
August 18, 4010
12:45 a.m.
“Are you serious? Wow, what a bunch of lunatics!”
My sentiments exactly. I’d just finished telling Blythe about the Rejects and she’d responded with the appropriate amount of disgust and horror.
“Wait ’til you meet them,” I remark as we walk along one of the long tunnels leading to the back entrance of the hideout, Blythe’s hand in mine once again as she leads the way. “Real charming.”
“Do you think we have anything to be worried about?” she asks as we near the open door leading to the outside. I’m happy to see the two guards here are on the job and not slacking. “The Professor has worked so hard to make this as peaceful a resistance as possible and I don’t appreciate those guys screwing it all up.”
“One problem at a time,” I say with a snort. “If they’re a threat, you’d better believe they’re on Jenica’s radar if no one else’s.”
It’s true. I don’t know exactly what Jenica’s job was before she joined the Resistance, but we know she has roots in Special Forces, FBI, the CIA, and God knows what else. Whatever the case, she’s the best in the business when it comes to covert ops, gathering intel, and keeping a straight face when things go wrong. We talk a lot of shit about her because she’s the hard-ass of the group, but we all respect her.
“You’re right,” Blythe answers as we reach the door. “Let’s just hope they don’t cause any trouble while we’re here. That’s the last thing we need.”
“I’m kind of hoping they accept my invitation to leave.”
“You guys must be talking about the Rejects,” says one of the guards, who heard us coming and has turned to greet us. “Those guys are bad news.”
“That’s what we hear,” I say as Blythe drops out of the conversation to inspect the steel frame of the sliding door Laura told me about. “I met some of them personally and it was a real treat.”
“I’d have thought they’d be gone by now,” the second guard says fiddling with the butt of the gun at his hip. “What’s she doing?”
Blythe has taken off her jacket and is stripping off the flesh-colored, polyurethane glove the Professor designed to conceal her bionic arm. Dropping both onto the ground, she stands on her tiptoes and reaches up to grip the bottom of the sliding metal door, tugging gently to test its weight. Even with the slight pressure she’s put on it, the door is creaking and groaning in the frame. With another slight tug, it slides down a few inches.
“We’re closing off the exits so that we’re less vulnerable,” I answer as Blythe pauses, her hand poised on the bottom of the door, which is bent a bit from the pressure of her titanium hand.
“You guys coming in or what? I can’t hold this door up forever.”
Realizing that she’s trembling a bit under the force of the door’s weight, we all scramble to get back inside. I scoop up her jacket and glove before she slides the tunnel closed. We all link arms and allow Blythe to lead the way. Once we drop the guys back off in the cafeteria—their new assignment being to keep their eyes on the trouble-making Rejects—Blythe and I follow the schematic down two more tunnels and close off the other entrances, sending the guards back to the center of the compound, where everyone is gathering for the hastily prepared meal.
“It’s not much,” says Laura as she ushers us to a table and our waiting ration of genetically engineered roast beef and a side dish that looks like potatoes and gravy, but tastes nothing like the real thing.
“It’s fine, thank you,” Blythe says politely. We eat as much as we can manage because who knows when we’ll get to eat again.
Throughout dinner, we suffer through the inevitable introductions and explanation of what parts we have and why, though I tune out after being introduced to a dude with a bionic set of ears—not the outer shell, but the inner parts are made of top notch machinery. He can hear a fly buzzing in the next room. It’s all very cool, but my mind is on Blythe, who’s stirring her potatoes around silently, her jaw clenched. These moments are always hard for her, and I decide to rescue her before she’s expected to share.
“Hey, Blythe, can I see you in the control room for a minute?” I ask, leaping abruptly to my feet, my chair scraping back noisily from the table.
“Everything okay?” Laura asks, frowning with concern.
“Of course,” I reassure her as Blythe leaves her place at the table. “We just need to make a call in to Headquarters and it’s a bit noisy in here. We’ll just be a few minutes.”
I grasp Blythe’s arm and propel her toward the control room and abruptly yank the blinds shut over the large windows overlooking the cafeteria. As soon as we’re out of sight, she releases a breath I’m sure she’s been holding for about five minutes. She sags against the closed door, her face drawn and pinched with worry, yet also bathed in relief.
“Thanks,” she whispers.
She doesn’t have to explain why she’s thanking me and I don’t have to ask. We know each other that way and it’s one of the reasons I can’t understand why she doesn’t see how much I love her. Part of me has always wondered if maybe she just doesn’t want to see it. It’s not easy for her to be close to anyone and even I get held at arm’s length a bit. Loving her is like holding the stem of a rose tightly in your fist. The thorns might prick and tear my skin, but I can’t let go because the beauty of the bud has me entranced.
I use the opportunity gifted to me by seclusion and take a few steps closer, stopping once the toes of my boots nearly touch hers. She looks up at me, her eyes filled with worry and pain and I want nothing more than to crush her against my chest and tell her that everything will be okay and I’ll protect her from it all. Instead, I settle for resting my hand on her shoulder and kneading the tense muscle gently.
“Come on, B, just make it through a few more hours and we’re outta here,” I say gently.
“I’m worried that we haven’t heard from Jenica yet,” she answers. “That can’t be good.”
“She’s got her hands full with all the refugees from this hideout. There were over a hundred of them that needed to be signed in and placed in rooms. I’m sure Bravo team is back by now and both Gage and Jenica are debriefing the Professor on each mission. Don’t worry. No news is good news.”
“I guess you’re right. I can’t wait to get out of here, it’s too quiet. It makes no sense to me that the MPs haven’t showed up yet.”
“You’re right, but we’ve got half our security team at the entrance watching for signs of trouble and everyone has a COMM device and knows the plan of action for when they come. Stop worrying.” I say this with a smile, which causes her to grin back. Light floods my insides because of that simple gesture and my free hand comes up to her other shoulder of its own will.
“I know I worry too much,” she says, her last word trailing off on a groan as I hit a particularly tender spot on her shoulders. “Damn it, Dax, that feels good.”
I have to swallow hard to breathe past the lump in my throat as blood surges away from my brain and toward other parts of my anatomy. I can think of about a hundred other things I could do to her that would feel good, and right now there isn’t much between us to stop me. Just space and opportunity. And, of course, the mental wall that Blythe erects between herself and everyone she knows. Even I—her closest friend—stand just on the outside of that wall, looking over the top and waiting for her to throw me a bone.
She leans her head forward, resting it on the center of my chest as I work my fingers over her loosening muscles. She breathes heavily against my t-shirt, her warm breath seeping through the fabric and tickling across my skin. I groan and push her away a bit, my arms straining against the impulse to push her against the wall and kiss her senseless.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, genuinely oblivious to the pain I’m feeling below the belt.
“Blythe, there’s only so much of a warm
, soft body against him that a guy can take before nature kicks in.”
She raises her eyebrows and laughs. “Dax, you’re such a man-whore.”
All I can do is stare, my mouth hanging open a bit. No, I’m not a boy scout. I’m a guy, and when I’m itching I scratch; when I’m horny … well, I handle it. Most of the time with Olivia, but always safely and never with someone who is looking for attachment.
“Is that what you think of me?”
Her amusement melts away and horror replaces it, her eyes going wide as if she suddenly realizes what she just said. “Come on, Dax,” she says softly, “I didn’t mean it that way.”
I can’t help feeling hurt, and I’m not as good as Jenica at hiding my emotions. I place a little distance between us before the anger makes me do something I’d regret.
“It’s cool. At least I know how you feel. Maybe you should stay out of my bed when you can’t sleep. I wouldn’t want you to have to worry about guarding your virtue around the ‘man-whore’.”
“Dax, wait!”
Her voice causes me to pause in the doorway, just as I’m about to leave. I’m not usually so sensitive, but for some reason knowing that she feels that way about me leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
I turn on her, gripping her shoulders and forcing her to look at me … and I mean really look at me and not just through me as she tends to do.
“Have I given you any reason to doubt my intentions toward you?” I ask, my voice coming out rougher than I intend it to.
Shocked, she lets out a sound that sounds faintly like a squeak and shakes her head ‘no’.
“And have I done anything other than protect you and care for you above anyone else?”
This time, she actually answers me. “No, you haven’t.”
“But it’s just not good enough, is it?” I’m rambling, I know, but I can’t help myself. When it comes to Blythe, I’ve kept quiet for so long. “Maybe what you really want is for me to stop playing the gentleman with you. I mean, it hasn’t exactly gotten me anywhere all this time.”
I’ve released her from my hold, but she hasn’t moved from her spot against the wall. I don’t need a bionic eye to know that her heart rate is climbing and her temperature right along with it. Heat emanates from her, and the sound of her breath sawing in and out of her lungs is the only sound between us until she finds her voice again.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she murmurs.
Those damn walls are back up again, because Blythe can’t stand to let someone see her vulnerable. But I know better than anybody how to get to her.
I take the last step separating us, until my hands are braced on either side of her against the wall and our bodies are touching. My blood is at the boiling point, and every fiber of my being has come alive like it always does when I’m close to her. Through her thin tank top and cargo pants, I can feel just about every inch of her underneath; soft, warm, feminine … mine! Possessiveness grips me and I know—now that she’s within my grasp, I can’t let her go. I can’t stop now.
“Liar,” I whisper, my breath teasing the loose tendrils of hair coming undone from her ponytail. “You know. You’ve always known. But I’ve let you go on pretending that you don’t see what’s right in front of your face. Maybe what you really need is for me to stop letting you off the hook. I’ve never been one to beat around the bush, Blythe. I only do that with you. But I’m done. You want the truth? Here it is.”
When I finally touch her lips with mine, the moment is not sweet and my touch is not gentle. It’s an outright assault. I’ve waited too long to even think about going slow with her. I need her to feel what I haven’t been able to say with words. She stiffens against me for a fraction of a second, but I’m not having that. By the time my hands come up to her waist in a brutal caress, my fingers digging into her skin as I skim them upwards toward her ribs, she’s melting into me in submission.
She might as well have laid out a goddamn welcome mat.
Blythe gasps when I jerk her closer, my hands roaming down to her hips, kneading, caressing, feeling—fulfilling every desire I’ve had since the first time I held Blythe in my arms. A sound like a primal growl comes from between us, and I’m faintly aware of the fact that it is me, but I’m too far gone to care. I want her to hear my sounds of possession as I slide my tongue into her mouth, finding hers and tasting it for the first time, drunk from the feeling of pleasure that the simple act gives me.
Blythe responds in a way I never expected, her hands coming up to the back of my neck and her fingernails making tiny half-moons in my skin as she digs in and holds on for dear life. It hurts, but I welcome the pain as it mingles with the pleasure, racing down my spine in a combination that leaves me weak in the knees.
When I lift her, she wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation. Within seconds, I’ve got her laid across a gleaming, steel table. COMM devices, batteries and various other odds and ends find a new home on the floor. I lean down to kiss her again, suckling her lower lip between mine before biting down on it gently. She gasps as if surprised and then moans when my hands find their way beneath her shirt. The feel of her bare skin against my fingertips has me so cranked up, I hardly notice the sound of the door opening behind us.
The shocked gasp of the person who catches us registers, though, and Blythe and I leap away from each other as if we’ve been burned.
“I’m so sorry,” Laura says softly. “I need to speak with you when you have a moment,” she adds before the sound of her boots and the closing of the door tells me she is gone.
Blythe is still on the edge of the table, though she’s scooted as far away from me as she can get. I’m not far from where I was a moment ago, my hands braced on the table’s edge as I fight to catch my breath.
Kissing Blythe was like drowning in an ocean of sensations. My senses are in overdrive, and I swear I can practically smell her from across the room. I can’t even look at her, because I know her face is flushed and her lips are swelling from my less-than-gentle kiss. The sight of her alone is enough to set me off right now.
Once I’m sure I’ve gotten my impulses under control, I force myself to look at her. She slides off the edge of the table and turns to face me, though her eyes aren’t really reaching mine. She’s staring at some point over my shoulder.
She clears her throat. “You should go see what it is they want,” she says hoarsely.
I nod. “Yeah, but I—”
“Now’s not the time,” she interjects.
Damn, I hate when she’s right. We’re in the middle of a situation that could turn dangerous at any moment. We don’t know where the reinforcements are, but we’ve dealt with the MPs enough to know that they’re coming and that they are pissed. We need to be on our toes and this other stuff—no matter how important it might feel to me—can wait.
“You’re right. Talk later?” I ask.
She finally looks up at me and tries to smile, though I can see through it to her uncertainty. She’s nervous now, and maybe even a bit frightened of me. Good. I’m sick of being dependable ole Dax, loyal and faithful friend. I have always wanted to be more to her and now she knows. She can’t hide from me any longer.
The Bionics Page 19