It’s Donner. He’s a mile away, engaged in conversation with a woman whose back is to me. I break into a sprint, gaining speed and covering ground at peak pace. It’s not enough to blindside the son-of-a-bitch, though. He must hear my steps because when he catches sight of my metal-fist, he bristles and launches in the opposite direction.
So much for the element of surprise. Now that the target knows he has a bounty hunter on his trail, it’ll only be that much more of a shitshow to apprehend him.
The pursuit leads me to a restaurant. Donner ducks inside. I follow him but weaving through tables and patrons is a challenge I hadn’t anticipated.
A few gasp in horror at the sight of me, and one woman even screams.
To them, seeing a tinman is horrifying. At this kind of establishment, with their gourmet meals sourced from the freshest synthetic plants and their whimsical kaleidoscope drinks, you can expect sheltered individuals who are in Temis on vacation. It’s a double whammy of an out-of-touch clientele. Most of them probably think I’m artificial intelligence, and if they’re the stereotypical bunch, they’ve all been fed lies and misinformation as propagated through the tabloids.
I’m not AI, and even if I were, those reports contain less than one-third of the truth about them.
Needless to say, it’s not the first time I’ve encountered this shit. This time, however, I do not have the luxury of making them comfortable. Because so many on this goddamn station value their safety and comfort above all else, the best thing for me to do is to not lose sight of the reason I’m here. Ridding Temis of that fucking scum, Donner, will do us all a favor.
I scour the floor, searching for any indication that he might be there, but I come up short. The droids on staff don’t stop me when I barge through the kitchen doors and comb through every nook and cranny with my retinal scanners. The kitchen workers aren’t much help, even when I flash my registered bounty-agent badge. The end result is frustrating no matter how you slice it: the prick is nowhere to be found.
How in the fuck did I let him get out from under my thumb?
I replay the sequence of events, watching for the precise moment when he slipped my grasp. My sensors flash back on the details, and I freeze on the frame of the young woman who was with him when he first heard me.
She’ll know where he’s gone. If not the precise coordinates, she will have some information that I can use to put the screws to the guy.
I double back and retrace my steps, ending up right where I started. She’s long gone, of course, but I anticipated that. I track her scent, the sweet smell suspended in the air leading me to her like a trail of breadcrumbs. A quick peek at the ground shows the condensation prints of her weighted station-shoes. In a matter of minutes, I am in front of the door that I suspect leads to her rental. I raise my hand, balled up into a fist to knock, and spot her approaching the rental from the opposite direction.
She freezes in place when she sees me. Before she can get any funny ideas, I’m there, stepping in to block her path. She stares at me, eyes wide, and then tries to walk around me, as if she’s fooling anyone. I waltz with her, obstructing her every move until she ceases the charade.
“Stop with the bullshit.” I snare her arm with my own and hold. A pulse of magnetism courses between us as our bare skin makes contact. I haven’t felt living warmth of flesh against my flesh in a very long time. It’s like a sweet memory of years past, but I push it aside. My stare drills into her. “I have some questions for you.” My tone is cut and dried.
She knows I mean business. The fire in her eyes is intense—striking, even. She’s seething. A firecracker, but a controlled one, it would appear. She doesn’t fight against my grasp on her.
Good. It means she might listen to what I have to say and help me. It’s in her interest to do so.
On the flipside, I know her type. A time bomb. I wouldn’t put it past her to double-cross me. She’s the kind that startles when she’s backed into a corner. She’ll claw my eyes out and spit in my face if it means freedom.
It occurs to me by the fierce look in her eye that she’s not the typical Temis station resident. She’s not pampered or oblivious. An automaton by any other name. She’s scared, and she’s aware. Someone’s shattered her psyche. No matter how much you try to stitch up old wounds from the inside, the needle still pokes out and jabs innocent bystanders.
I’m curious to know what happened to her. Almost as curious as I am to find out where that asshole, Donner, ran off to.
5 Lily
Of all the hellish luck I’ve seen in my life, getting ambushed by a freaking tinman takes the cake. Really, fate? I reserve my spit in my mouth, though I would love to hurl it at him. He stares at me for far too long, trying to come to some grand conclusion about me, and then nods to himself as if he’s just made a breakthrough assessment.
Then we’re on the move. He manhandles me, escorting me back to his rig. The vessel is enormous, and the holding bay it’s located in could use a fresh coat of paint to hide the bloodstains in the cells. Deep down, though, I know that it sends a stronger message to not do a damn thing to conceal the spatter. When this big, thuggish “being” needs to conduct any interrogations, having his intended subjects see this spray-painted mural of cruelty is a wake-up call.
He is unusually good-looking for a tinman, though. That observation catches me off guard, though I can’t deny it even in the privacy of my own consciousness. He is gorgeous. That doesn’t negate his brutish nature or his awful bedside manner. The part-metal prick.
Finally, we arrive at a barren, dank room in the back of the ship. He lets go of me with a push and leans against the wall.
“How do you know the man you were speaking to?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you mean.” I cross my arms in front of me and cock an eyebrow at him. Zero fucks given about how unconvincing I am.
“The man. In the crimson jacket.”
Crimson jacket. His words echo in my mind, and I can’t help but chuckle. Of all possible complications I imagined might’ve arisen in this freaking plan of mine, being hauled off to some black site by an avenging tinman appeared nowhere on the list.
“The red blazer, you mean,” I correct him. “And no, I cannot say that I know him.”
The tinman doesn’t accept it. “So you wouldn’t be able to tell me where he might’ve gone?”
“No. Why would I? He’s a complete stranger.” My voice wavers during the last part, though, and I know that the jig is up. Any plausible deniability I had dissipates. Whatever this tinman wants with Donner, I don’t wish to be a part of it.
I didn’t expect to see the tinman clench the fist of his one biological hand until his knuckles were white. What’s getting him so riled up? It dawns on me that he’s part machine. Never have I been so grateful to be a neurapath as I am now, while I try to find an access point and get a read on him.
And, surprise of all surprises, I feel his meager scanning-tech attempt to do the same. It’s far less versatile than my neuratelepathy is. I guard my thoughts, shielding my beta-mind from any kind of extraction that would make him privy to my innermost feelings. Quiet reigns while our own little version of the battle of the minds proceeds, but it’s not totally useless. I do learn more about him: he’s definitely a wanderer, a wayward member of a loosely organized association of bounty hunters, and his name is Cole.
Cole.
Despite the tension and the fact we’re on polar opposite sides, and completely disregarding his part-metal makeup, there’s something smoldering behind those penetrating eyes of his. I never break eye contact during our stare-off, but the longer it goes on, the faster my heart beats. My entire being gets hot all of a sudden; my wound throbs and burns underneath its bandage. It takes a conscious effort on my part to stand my ground. Unlike with the other bozos I’ve met, there’s this electricity crackling between us.
Not to mention the faint familiarity that surges in me when he’s around. It happened the fi
rst time we saw each other on the day I arrived, and it happened again when he grabbed my arm and dragged me to this place.
He seems to reach the end of his patience though, because he huffs and starts in on me from another angle. “You don’t come across as someone who is morally bankrupt.”
“Interesting,” I shoot back. “How do I come across to you? Considering we just met and you felt at liberty to overpower me, and against my own will, shove me into this—what is this? A dungeon? An oubliette?”
“Did we come in through a trapdoor?” he asks with an air of condescension.
“Uh...”
“Then it’s not an oubliette,” he concludes, not a hint of humor in his tone.
“Wow, do tinmen eat a steady diet of encyclopedias and dictionaries?” I roll my eyes and adjust my wig, with any luck doing it discreetly enough that he can’t tell I’m wearing one.
“No, but we do deal with captives.” There’s an undercurrent of sorrow—or pain?—to his words. He softens his posture and his eyes. “Which is why I want to find that man. Donner. He’s done a lot of terrible shit.”
You don’t know the half of it, tinman.
I inhale sharply. “If you think I’m important or savvy enough to know anything that could potentially lead you back to him, how in the vast, blue galaxy do you suppose I wouldn’t know about the things that he’s done?”
“Then I don’t understand why you won’t help me.”
I blink several times and shake my head. “Because I don’t know you and, again, going by your own logic, if this ‘Donner’ is such bad news, why would I want to get involved in any of it? You have this whole agenda I know nothing about and you want to put me in harm’s way to settle a personal score or to pave the way for you to exact some vendetta you have against him?”
“If you know something about him, then you have a duty as a citizen of this galaxy to help put a stop to it.” He looks at me like all of this is obvious. Like he can’t believe that I don’t jump at the chance to aid him in whatever the hell his goal here is. “To do nothing when you have the opportunity to stop a man like that is immoral.”
Lofty ambitions if you have the time and resources. Most of us are just trying to survive this galaxy without getting torn to pieces in a senseless war or starving to death in a widespread famine.
My gaze is fixed on him and, very coolly, I reply, “I’m in the business of saving my own ass, thanks. Are we done now?”
Anger creases his face, transforming his expression into a raging frown. “Not nearly. I have the authority of the patrols to hold you as a potential accomplice to a crime.”
I scoff. “Is that so? And what crime have I committed?”
“The one you’re going to tell me about.”
At that, I only award him a groan with a side of impatience.
His eyes start to glow. I do a double take to make sure I’m seeing things clearly. The glimmer wears off, and he snaps back to focus on me with a chill-inducing smile.
“What brought you to the bank… Lily?” His cadence is syrupy sweet, tantalizing to the maximum degree a half-metal thug can manage.
How does he know my name? Is he trying to compel me to do something? Are there any hypnotist tinmen out there?
“Let me see your personal comm,” he adds with brazen satisfaction.
Fuck. The prick actually does have something on me. Is it possible that he pulled the video records from the Nivron database or backup system? Is it conceivable that he might know my identity? My head swims with endless questions as I try to piece together how he had pieced these things together.
And then I remember the personal comm I lifted. Shit. It’s still on me. There hadn’t been any time to dispose of it between running into Donner and fleeing the scene of the unfortunate encounter.
The cyborg steps forward, closing the distance between us, and buries his hand in my jacket pocket without asking for permission. He fishes for the comm, pulling it out with a smug, triumphant smile. Shit shit shit.
After giving it a cursory look, he glances up at me again and nods. “A-ha. So all of this stonewalling you’re doing... Were you at the bank to pull a heist, Lily?”
“I was returning it to the lost and found,” I muttered.
“So you want me to buy that you just happened to be loitering outside a bank while a known criminal like Donner, who has never set foot in Temis, just happened to cross paths with you.” He nodded again, his every gesture reeking of cynicism. “And when I ask you about it, you evade and redirect and refuse to give me any answers. Almost like you’re protecting him.”
Panic rises in me. “You’re digging in the wrong grave.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
“There’s nothing for you to find here, metal-man,” I spit back. “No treasure trove for you to collect at the end of this line of questioning. I am not the person you’re interested in, and you’re making wild leaps, and mixing things up, and imagining connections that don’t exist.”
He stares at me blankly. “I’ll give you some time to think about your next answers.”
With that, he steps out, leaving me alone in the cold, empty vastness of the chamber or cell or whatever the fuck this place is. Suddenly, I long for the crude comfort of men I know how to handle, like the Aarons of the galaxy or even the Blakes—though maybe it’s wrong for me to think that, seeing as Blake blindsided me. I have the stomach to remain calm even in the presence of bloody walls. What does not sit well with me are claustrophobic dwellings.
I run my hands along the walls, hoping to find an escape route or hidden crevice. After the fourth lap around my room, the frightening realization sinks in: there is no way out of this place save for the one he used, and he is probably keeping watch over it. It’s a real stronghold. Much like the talking hulk of muscle and metal who somehow concluded that I’d signed onto the heist. Willingly. With fucking Donner, no less.
My former employer wields an unmatched power to fuck me over no matter the circumstances.
After what feels like eons have passed, the metal menace returns, brandishing a hot lunch. He assumes the same position he took the last time he was here and makes a big show of ravishing his food, moaning with pleasure as he plows through the meal. He practically inhales it.
No matter how hard I try, I fail miserably at pretending that I’m not salivating.
This is not how I imagined this day going.
The moment the cyborg showed up was an act of divine intervention, and I’m not ungrateful. It’s just that I wouldn’t mind if the same divine force interceded on my behalf again and made him vanish from my life.
Even if by some miracle this cyborg were to disappear in a puff of smoke, my prospects aren’t looking so great. Donner showing up in Temis means the employment I took as a given is now dead on arrival. I can’t very well go back to Blake. That bridge is burned.
Instead of watching the cyborg lick his organic fingers, I decide to go over my options while there’s still time. Staying in Temis doesn’t seem doable, and none of my options outside of this station are ideal if I want to get to Verna in the next few months or half-year at the most. The dire situation I find myself in dawns on me, rousing another wave of panic.
Forcing myself to be brave, I lift my head up and jut my chin out in a fake display of... I don’t even know. My eyes burn holes in the side of Cole’s head. Words can’t express how disappointed I am that for all my unusual powers, those holes are one hundred percent figurative and not literal.
What a damn shame.
6 Cole
It is hard to reconcile the first impression I had of Lily and the actions of this woman standing in front of me. She looks famished and tries to disguise her furtive glances at me as I devour the typical Temis fare that I had leftover in the cold storage. This position she’s hedging makes no sense to me, but I’m not stupid enough to actually believe the accusations I hurled at her. They’re strategic, and on anyone with a weaker backbone, they mig
ht have even worked—but it’s clear to me that Lily is anything but weak.
I’m not thrilled with how she has elected to show her strength. To make matters worse, she does not appear to be susceptible to all my normal channels of information gathering. I can’t trip her neural paths, and her biological imperative might as well be written in the native language of the bounty I hauled in days ago.
It’s unusual and unsettling, to say the least.
My conscience does not allow me to watch her blatant discomfort and weakening state for long. I sigh, retreating from the room for a second to heat up some soup for her in my kitchenette. It’s a few days old and worse for the wear, but not inedible. I won’t go out of my way to trot out a red carpet for her and a full range of amenities, but replenishing her strength is common courtesy. That, too, is a strategic necessity—there’s no covering new ground if she crumbles while I question her. I grab a last-minute vitamin-cocktail for myself.
I bring the meager meal to her, pairing the soup with an icy beverage that will jolt her system. She doesn’t move an inch when I enter the room again even though the smell wafts and expands inside, filling the air with its questionable aroma. Finally, Lily casts a side glance at the tray of food and pretends to snub it, quickly averting her gaze.
She’s not fooling anyone—not even herself, I wager.
“Are you just going to stand there?” she blurts out. “And if so, could you do it without staring at me? It’s weird.”
“I brought you food,” I announce and immediately feel ridiculous for doing so.
“Yeah,” she murmured.
“Eating something isn’t admitting defeat.” I hold the tray out for her to take, but she resists.
“I don’t want it.”
“Yes, you do. Here, take the spoon and—” The ridiculousness of the situation dawns on me. In seconds, it slips beneath my skin. I’m trying to be kind and help her, but she’s just throwing it in my face. “Damn it, woman, why are you making this so bloody difficult?”
The Cyborg Bounty Hunter: In the Stars Romance Page 3