Naomi Lucas - [Cyborg Shifters 04] - Mutt

by Lucas

  His systems picked up movement. Marsha was in position with Natalie who was made to look like Clara as bait. The two of them waited at the drop-off point, but time continued to pass and no one showed.

  If Santino took the bait, life would be easier, if he didn’t—and Reid knew the criminal wasn’t any other testosterone-fueled imbecile—they’d have to move on to plan B.

  Plan B was both a lot messier and wouldn’t give Marsha and Natalie the delicious satisfaction of revenge.

  He cracked his neck and shifted his canines back and forth, into and out of his gums. Another signal coursed through his sensors, stopping him mid-shift.

  Reid brought the intrusion forward, a message, private and secured to all hell-and-back presented itself; it was encrypted and sent directly to his IP address, the type of network message that skipped the normal servers and channels of regular correspondence.

  Which meant it was Cyborg mail.

  He rescanned his perimeter and checked on the women before decrypting it and downloading the missive into his hardware. No virus was attached, but there never was. That was an easy death sentence to the sender if ever caught.

  He preferred to speak to his brethren one-on-one but his curiosity won out.

  188.151.3.111. The message was from Rose. Rose?

  What the fuck?

  She was a doctor, like him, but lived and worked in Ghost City. They communicated once every three to five years, to share new information and developments, but all that was preplanned. She held up her end when it came to cybernetics run by cybernetic beings, and he kept tabs on, well, human experiments on cybernetics and cybernetic beings.

  His heart thudded against the metal in his chest and his eyes roved through the heavy shadows and patterns of wall art from eras past. He felt a bottom feeder creature of worry suck at the wires in his gut. This was why he didn’t get involved. This was why he remained alone. His need to give all his attention to Marsha and her girlfriend weighed against the abrupt message from a trusted colleague. Reid stepped further into the gloom and made his choice.

  Dr. Reid Canis,

  First, let me apologize for this message and its inopportune appearance. I hope it finds you at an easy time.

  Please delete all traces of it and any sources it’s attached to after you’re finished reading it.

  To get to the point, we have a human female aboard Ghost, attached to a temporary resident, Dommik. She’s pregnant.

  A bubbling sense of anger rose within him. Cyborgs didn’t get females pregnant—ever. The risk was too great. The law of it was well regarded... but in recent years more and more ‘borgs ignored it.

  Even he ignored it, thinking about Clara, and his seed that had already claimed her egg. He let some of his anger simmer down to frustration. He disliked what he couldn’t control.

  Every other Cyborg started their family in the security of deep space... if anyone was risking his species, it was him.

  He read on...

  The fetus is unusual. The pregnancy abnormal. Katalina is well into her second trimester but has shown no signs that she has ever progressed past her first. The child has... Dommik is like you... and with unconventional DNA.

  Kat remains bedridden and attached to medical all cycle long. It’s stabilizing her and slowing down all progression even further. I’m afraid I may miss something...

  Attached is her basic chart—nothing incriminating. They won’t be much help, I believe, but it’s something at least. Some information I can give you.

  My reason for this correspondence should be clear. You should know by now what I want from you. What would benefit our...

  Don’t send your response. You’ll either give me what I want or not.

  Rose.

  Reid deleted everything immediately, having already memorized it, before connecting back to the network. He quickly then sourced out all traces of the message through the network for as far as his signal allowed him and cleaned up the trail. He knew Rose would take care of things on her end.

  When he grounded his consciousness again, his fists were clenched at his sides. He loosed his fingers before he crushed the metal in his hands, straightened the sleeves of his jacket, checked his gun, shifted his canines back and forth once more, and stepped back out into the moonlight.

  Dommik was a shifter, like him, but not. He was a hundred times worse. Even now, after dozens of years since their last meeting, he could see Dommik’s ropes clogging up the Cyborg’s ship, back when they were both commanders. They worked in the same fleet and battlestations as many of the others of their kind—shifters—and no one went into Dommik’s territory. Ever.

  Not because it bothered the Cyborg and his peculiar tendencies, but because it was private.

  Like my den is private. My family. My fucking office and even the damned parking is mine on a good day.

  Reid checked on Marsha and Natalie’s position, finding no movement on their end, and walked headfirst into the street, over the potholes and broken asphalt, until he got into his flyer and was positioning to land beside them mere minutes later.

  The doors shot open and he didn’t say anything, didn’t need to because his face said it all. The women loaded in and he shot up into the air.

  “That sucked,” Marsha snapped the safety of her brand new gun, one Reid replaced before they had left the facility.

  “He’s not an idiot.” Reid really wished Santino was. But the guy left little to no trail after prison and knew how to keep on the down low.

  “Would’ve been too easy. So now what?” Marsha asked.

  He drove them to an open bar, landed, and reopened the doors.

  “Get out.”

  “What? Why? Where are we?”

  “Safe. Now get out.”

  They didn’t move and he made a show of eying Marsha’s new and very expensive gun. His gaze screamed: I’ll break it too if you annoy me. He’d crush it and leave them weaponless before she ever had the chance to fire it.

  “We’re not moving until you tell us what’s happening. We could’ve waited longer, the night has barely begun, there’s hours left to go! You made us fucking leave and owe us something for standing there lamely for nothing. What the hell, Cyborg? Do you even know how to deal with humans?”

  Reid sighed, holding back his annoyance. “Plan B doesn’t involve you.”

  “Like hell it does! Santino takes Natalie,” her hand came down on her girlfriend’s shoulder, “and it’s not personal for us because you say so? What has he done to you?” she hissed. “A woman’s revenge is one of the only things she has left in this god-forsaken universe.”

  He held back the flinch her words spurred, hitting home where his thoughts had previously been. His palms ran down his thighs as his body caught up to his tech to stop the pounding that built in his temples. When he commanded people, they listened; when he ordered, questions weren’t asked. When problems like Clara arose, like Marsha and Natalie, it made him annoyingly vulnerable.

  “Look. Cop. Get a drink. Get several on me.” He searched for the right words. “But what’s about to happen—with me—won’t be pretty or safe.”

  “I’m trained, Reid. Back up. Ever heard of it? I’ll be back-up,” Marsha’s voice lowered and he knew she noticed the change in him.

  The pounding in his head intensified. His canines unlocked in his jaw, demanding to be released.

  “I’ve killed before, I’ll kill again. And for a lot less,” Marsha said.

  “You can’t die!”

  The silence after his admonishment only ratcheted up the tension coursing through him. The aroma of berries clawed at the back of his senses. The whistle of wind flowing through his flyer, only to escape again, hounded a barely buried need to shift and join its journey. The berries left him and were replaced by the smells of the two women in his vehicle.

  “Why?” Natalie broke the silence quietly at his side.

  “Because...” Reid glanced at her then at Marsha through the mirror. “Because I
know you now.” He didn’t know how to explain it. How to relay what the canine inside him demanded, what it wanted, what it needed. How to put into words how hard it was to know someone then lose them during war.

  The silence was deafening again until Natalie turned away from him, his knuckles turning white over his knee. He watched as she stepped out, as Marsha glared at him through the front window’s reflection while she followed her girlfriend. The doors closed and he could breathe again. A knock sounded on the glass next to his head.

  Reid lowered it. “What?”

  “Money? Drinks are on you, right?” Natalie asked.

  For the first time that night, Reid smiled.

  Chapter Twelve

  Clara woke up sore and stretched her limbs out, fighting the endless pile of blankets to catalog her aches. Even so, everything was perfect. Almost. Nothing was ever perfect, but sometimes it got close and right now she was close enough. She sat up and looked for Reid, her hand emerging from the sheets to investigate his side of the bed.

  She frowned when her hand came across nothing but more blankets. Her gaze lifted to find the room empty, the bathroom panel open, and the room beyond dark and empty as well.

  She dropped back into the pillows and huffed, reaching one hand back over to his side, finding it cold.

  He’s not here and hasn’t been here for some time.

  She shuffled the fabric away and stood up, groaning from the tight pain that flooded through her calves, thighs, and even her lower back. Clara looked down at her body, expecting the worst. Red marks lined her skin in stark contrast to her pale body, perfectly sized and shaped to Reid’s fingers. She was marked from toe to shoulder by him.

  A whimper escaped and if she hadn’t felt well and truly fucked, she sure looked like it. The spot between her legs hurt, but it was a satisfying type of pain.

  Clara trailed her fingers over her scars and felt little—not sadness nor anger—for once, it was the only part of her that was numb. For once, she had them but they didn’t have her.

  Her thoughts shifted. She had his seed.

  An anxiety-riddled shock of excitement shot through her. Reid told her it only took once. Once. That with him it was a one and done kind of deal. It didn’t make sense to her why the facility was even open if that were true—open and with a zero-percent success rate.

  Maybe because the sperm the cybernetic doctors stole was useless?

  Karma?

  Thinking about it made her head hurt. She’d only come here for the surgery anyway. The baby—if there happened to be one—was a bonus.

  He said it only took once... She tried not to dwell on it as she stared down at herself but it wouldn’t go away. Does it even matter? If there were secrets to the facility and between Reid and the rest of the world, did she really care? It didn’t sit well with her. The elation she felt was marred by it.

  Clara ran her fingers through her mussed-up hair and headed to the bathroom, took her time showering—hoping Reid would join her but didn’t—then got dressed.

  The panel to his room didn’t open when she approached it. She stepped back and tried again and it failed to open the second time. She jiggled the handle.

  She jiggled it harder. Nothing.

  What?

  She called out for Reid, loudly, hoping it was a mistake but as the minutes ticked by and there was no answer, she gave up.

  Clara refused to think the worst. It wasn’t her room after all. Maybe it wasn’t coded for her to access. Maybe he was in the lab and didn’t realize she was stuck? Maybe he was getting them food? She looked around her for a clock. How long was I asleep?

  I’ve been up for an hour...ish? If he stepped out for something quick... he’d be back by now?

  The security screen beside the panel didn’t respond to her touch or her voice. With defeat wafting off her in waves, she left the door behind to explore.

  The giant bed held nothing but a couple hundred blankets (she guessed) and the only piece of furniture was a table beside it with a single drawer. Inside she found a square contraption she’d never seen before and various bits of hardware she assumed was for Reid’s internal cybersuit. Touching the pieces did nothing, so she moved on.

  There was nothing under the bed except another blanket that had been kicked underneath.

  The bathroom was standard. Clara was eventually left standing in front of another panel door that didn’t open at her approach but when she tried the manual handle, it opened and slid into the wall.

  Reid’s smell engulfed her even before the door was all the way open. Her nostrils twitched at the worn metal smell of him, which was not as pleasant as when it was coming from its source. Inside were suits, at least a dozen, alone and behind plexiglass. There were no other clothes lining the small space—nothing to get a better read on her Cyborg—nothing but several pairs of matching shoes, ties, and other tech-gear.

  On one shelf was a worn dog-collar, with a worn military tag attached to it.

  Clara stretched out her fingers, wishing her dog companion was with her, pretending she could feel the strange suede of its skin under her palms. She hadn’t seen her friend since everything exploded with Reid, which was odd since it was never far from her side.

  Stepping further into the closet revealed nothing else, and it filled her with melancholy. I have more than he does. I have more and I’m a homeless nomad.

  She had things to her name, items she’d collected throughout her years that she couldn’t part ways with and Reid had nothing but the essentials: clothing, toiletries, and a place to sleep. Her fingers slipped down one of the ties, the silk leading their way, and she wondered why Reid was the way he was.

  Why did he choose to stay in such a bleak, dead place like this when he had the universe at his disposal? Clara stared at the sleek cloth. He was ageless, powerful, beyond human and yet... she’d never heard of him before. And if he died—would anyone mourn him or care?

  I would. She tugged the material once before letting it go and placing her hand on her stomach. We’d care.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and turned full-circle, taking in everything at once but mostly taking stock of the lack of everything. One spin was all she could handle and she moved to leave the closet when a thin indentation—lined into a small square door, almost impossible to discern within the metal framework of the wall—caught her eye. It was cubby-sized, big enough to be the entrance of a crawlspace—or a doggy door—and her hope alighted that it might be another exit if the android dog was Reid’s.

  She checked behind her and eyed the lit entryway to the bathroom for a full minute—waiting to be stopped—but when Reid didn’t magically appear and nothing happened, she kneeled in front of the square and traced the edges with her fingers.

  Hmm...

  With a slight bit of pressure, the panel swung inward. Clara tapped it and it swung harder, revealing another space. She lifted the barrier as far as it would go and peered in, her eyes adjusting from the bright closet space to the darkness beyond. Past the gloom was the intermittent LED light of technology and it grew brighter as she moved her hand inside.

  She crawled through the door and let the swinging panel rest behind her and at first perusal, she thought she found a hidden server room. Screens appeared and flickered, sensors quietly went off, and the light increased as she moved further in.

  The first thing her eyes settled on were the screens, numerous screens, disjointed and placed all over.

  She curled her limbs into her body, half afraid that if she touched anything, an alarm would go off or it’d break.

  Numbers and codes came next, flooding every surface within her immediate view. She quickly lost interest and stood up, winding her way toward the back and the one large screen that took up the entire wall. Images moved in squares across it as she made her way closer.

  Clara recognized it all immediately—the rooms and hallways of the facility. They were from the security feeds all over the building, but as her gaze went
from one feed to the next, she discovered they were all feeds of places she frequently visited in the building.

  My room. Clara frowned. From several different angles. Her throat tightened. She knew what she signed up for and allowed her stomach to settle. She knew she hadn’t gone into the situation blindly.

  Her eyes moved to some of the other squares that were of the medical labs, the habitable zones, hallways, and the last several, the parking lot. Her eyes roamed over it all again, rubbing her neck. Half the feeds were aimed at her space.

  Because I’m the only one here.

  Wait.

  She scanned all of it again—everything—looking for anything, any movement, but here was no sign of life anywhere in the whole building. No Reid. No Marsha. No androids. And no dog.

  Clara tentatively swiped her finger across the glass and it switched the feeds to new angles and new locations. To more nothing.

  Where did he go? She leaned back on her heels feeling a little betrayed, watching a whole bunch of nothing for no reason, and feeling guilty because she was spying. A little spinning disc at the corner of the glass caught her eye and she touched it, minimizing the security and bringing up a network desktop that was littered with labeled folders in a series of numbers that also meant nothing to her.

  She knew she should stop. Something in her gut screamed at her that how the facility was run was none of her business, but her curiosity won out and she looked back at the hidden wall crawl space door one last time, waiting for something to stop her. For him to stop her.

  Santino eroded her ability to trust blindly long ago.

  And with that thought, she started on the first folder.

  STILL SOURCING FOR Santino’s whereabouts, he found himself at the end of his rope parked back in the empty vestiges of old Dallas again. His spine molded and stiff against the seatback and while his body was in stasis, his mind traveled the network, clinging onto anything that would give him a lead.

  The red flags came first—always. The pieces of information that were public knowledge that any quick search could find. Santino’s imprisonment, his crimes, and the news generated by both.