The Cyborg Bounty Hunter: In the Stars Romance

by Miranda Martin

  “I’m not the one who’s—what do you mean, ‘making this so bloody difficult’? I was minding my own goddamn business when you showed up and took it upon yourself to act like the defender of the people.” Lily storms up to me and wags her finger in my face. Her angry gestures fade away and a role reversal occurs. Suddenly it’s she, with her fiery temper and her flushed face, who holds me captive. “And now you’ve all but—actually, no, you are absolutely holding me like I’m one of your bounties. Threatening me, trying to intimidate me. Who the hell does that?”

  That magnetic pull that draws me to her stirs again, sparked to life by her proximity. My ancestors sing out her praises from within my bones. I blink and try to determine whether the husky tone in her voice is pent-up anger or something else.

  “Would you just eat?” I finally ask her.

  She doesn’t back away. “Are you going to rally your cohort and unleash them on me on those baseless accusations you made earlier?”

  How does she summon that strength? Just moments ago, her eyes seemed to sink in their sockets, accentuating her pallor. Now, her spirits soar. I scramble to make contact with her neural pathways once more, but I arrive at the same dead end as before.

  “One step at a time.” I offer her the tray.

  She eyes the food with a mixture of trepidation and surrender before reaching to grab the tray. “This isn’t obedience or compliance. It’s survival.”

  “Got it.”

  With my free hand, I crack open the vitamin-cocktail. In one gulp, I wolf it down and exhale a contended, “Ah.”

  “Those things will kill you, you know,” she said, staring at the empty can with disdain.

  “Part of the job.” I shrug, taking a seat in front of her. I bend the can at the middle, compacting it for disposal later, and toss it to the side. “We always have to be ready to spring into action. Peak performance is strongly encouraged.”

  Lily says nothing, wallowing in her silence as she takes tiny sips of soup. The stark quiet allows for the prescient sensation to engulf me, and I’m suddenly overtaken by the feeling that she’s not okay. I have already considered the very real chance that she’s as much a victim in all of this as the countless others who suffered the grim consequences of crossing Donner’s path.

  I can’t let this rush of sympathy take away from my role on the broader scale, though. Even if Lily is not nearly as prickly as she comes off, anything less than my total dedication to my task might mean losing the bounty I have waited forever to face.

  She’s in need of help.

  It’s the most ridiculous thing, a cyborg bounty hunter like me being saddled with a conscience. My instinct tugs at me, though, muddying my perspective.

  While I’m lost in my thoughts, Lily stands up, wincing, and walks around the perimeter of the closed-off room. I watch her, tethering myself to the present so I don’t go down the death spiral of conflicting views I have regarding the entire situation. When she turns a corner, I spot a red stain on her shirt. The splotch expands, slow and haunting.

  Blood.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  Following my gaze, she looks down and stiffens for a moment. I jump to my feet in anticipation of a massive freak-out, but Lily doesn’t move a muscle except to look up again. Cool as ice, she shrugs and waves her hand at me as if to swat my concern away with a casual, Yeah, but whatcha gonna do?

  I hesitate to step closer to her. “Do you need medical attention?”

  “What I need is to get out of here,” she says flatly, her eyes narrowing.

  I dash to her and make like I want to examine the wound. Lily flinches in response and blocks me with her hand.

  “Lily,” I say softly, a tone I’m not accustomed to using with anyone, let alone a perfect stranger. “Let me take a look.”

  Swallowing deeply, Lily allows her arms to drop to her sides. I take that to mean I have her permission to approach, and so I do. Tentatively, I lift her shirt a couple of inches upward. Waves of warmth roll off her skin, arresting me in the process. I press my lips together and fight the mounting tension inside me. As an official agent, I’m bound by oath and duty to execute my activities in good faith. Be above reproach. Unimpeachable. Honorable, even.

  There’s nothing honorable about the blood rushing to my cock, nor is it appropriate of me to —

  A drop of blood rolls down the side of her stomach.

  Forgetting all pretenses and formalities, I pull up her shirt around her ribcage and stare at an angry-looking bandage that’s soaked through with flowing blood.

  Immediately, my training kicks into gear. I let go of her and rush out of the room to retrieve my first-aid kit from the nav panel. As I dart back, I remember I left the entrance open. I quicken my pace, anxious that she might have used her wound as a ruse to hightail out of the vessel. I cross the threshold, heart nearly jumping out of my throat, the maelstrom of dread comes to a screeching halt when I verify that Lily is still there.

  Right. Time to get to it.

  I scan the dark corners of the room, looking for some kind of surface I can put to use. There’s an old, somewhat rusty table turned over along with the rest of the mess and clutter. I march to it, flip it upright, and carry it back to where Lily is. I don’t give her a chance to ask any questions or resist as I lift her onto the table.

  “Hey!” she yells, squirming in my arms.

  She tries to wiggle loose and get back down, but I pin her down and wait for her to stop writhing. “Please let me tend the wound, Lily.”

  Her previous glares pale in comparison to the one she’s giving me now. I level her gaze and wait for her to calm down.

  “No drugs,” she finally says, relenting.

  It’s a curious request. I furrow my brow and open my mouth to say something, but the serious expression on her face stops me.

  “No drugs,” she repeats.

  I glance at her abdomen again and peel the bandage off. I grimace, queasy not so much for the horrific appearance of the wound—which I suspect may be infected—but for the agony she’ll go through if she doesn’t take something to kill the pain.

  “Trust me, Lily, you’ll want a pain reliever—”

  Lily grips my arm and squeezes hard enough to cut off circulation. “No. Drugs.”

  “Okay,” I concede.

  Swiftly, I pull the dressing completely off and work with sterile gauze to absorb the excess blood. Whatever it was that caused the brief hemorrhage, it’s stopped. Her body seems to have started clotting again. I dab little swabs to clean around the crudely assembled stitches—they’ll leave a scar for sure—until I’m satisfied that it’s as good as I can make it. Before repackaging the site, I sprinkle a military-grade anti-infective powder over the sutures and then tape her up again.

  When I finish, I glance up and see that her gaze is fixed intently on me. She’s pale again.

  “Come on,” I say, positioning myself to pick her up again.

  “No, I can walk.” She wraps her arm around me for support and pushes herself to her feet. Faint moans escape her lips, which she tries hard to disguise. “Are you going to finally let me go?”

  “You’re in not in good shape to go anywhere on your own.”

  I wait for her to steady herself and give me a signal when she’s ready to go. She takes several breaths, gasping in pain, before limping one step forward.

  “I need to go back to my rental.” Her words are strangled. “Please.”

  “Lily, I’m not holding you prisoner.” I move in lockstep with her.

  “Then where are we going?”

  “To my sleeping compartment,” I say softly, never taking my eyes off her. “You need to rest.”

  “But—”

  “I insist.”

  7 Lily

  Drowsy and weakened, I strain against the bounds of my consciousness and try to summon the strength I need to escape. Kind as it is for Cole to take care of me, he’s still a stranger.

  A stranger who’s keeping me
here in his ship, with no apparent way out. After all, he hasn’t extended the choice for me to leave and has actively thwarted all of my attempts to go on my own.

  I sigh with relief after a quarter hour passes and there are no hazy blurs at the edges of my vision or that sinking feeling of going under the influence of some mind-numbing substance. He kept his word, then. No painkillers. The mere prospect of descending to that darkness, trapped in a dreamland between here and oblivion, shakes me to my core. Flashbacks of my agonizing withdrawal play in my mind—all those weeks during which I didn’t know if I was going to make it.

  Imposing as he is, I half-expected Cole to have gone over my head and dosed me with something despite my clear directive not to.

  You have time to ponder later. Now is time to act.

  Cole left the room after helping me get in his bed. My impression is that it’s his way of acting chivalrous—whatever that means in the context of a pseudo-abduction. His quarters are more cramped than I would have guessed, and surprisingly plain. Bronze-colored walls with bright red rust spots serving as the only decoration. Then again, he is a soldier, and soldiers tend to keep things sparse. That’s a trait which resonates with me. Living to fulfill a cause, whether self-imposed or thrust upon you like an ill-fitting and scratchy mantle, has a way of stripping one’s individuality.

  You keep things to a bare minimum.

  Intent on leaving, I test the rig’s systems in the hopes of finding an exit. A loose thread somewhere in the machinery that I can finesse and tease into submission. There’s nothing. His tech is fortified like a station under siege, and even my advanced knowledge of digital systems can’t make a dent in his defenses.

  Well, if I can’t go sophisticated, then it’s time to try some of the basics.

  I crawl out of bed, grimacing from the sharp stab of pain originating in my abdomen. Before I dare to go any farther, I pause to listen. If Cole hears me moving around, he’ll barge in, and if he barges in and sees me lurking, he’ll grow suspicious. It’ll walk back any goodwill I may have forged with him.

  Forged being the operative word.

  Inside his quarters, there aren’t a lot of leads for potential escape routes. I stumble through the door to his bathroom, scanning the surroundings for something, anything, that I can use to my advantage. My eyes land on the shuttered-up window, and I gasp.

  Please, please open.

  I slide my fingers between the ledge and the hinged blind and, with a grunt of exertion, pry the window open. The fixture squeaks faintly as I force it open, but I ignore the panic that takes root in me. If Cole hears me, then he hears me. It’s better to move fast and leave him to scratch his balls as he puzzles over my departure, hopefully only after I’ve put a good, safe distance between us.

  Gripping the frame while I maneuver my way onto the sill, I swing my legs over and finally allow myself to face the outside. In front of me, there’s nothing but endless sky. I want to cry with relief—until I glance down, that is. I’m unable to stifle a gasp.

  A 200-foot drop. At least. That’s what separates me from my freedom.

  Just then, Cole knocks on his own chamber door. Shit. I turn back and hastily survey the bathroom and, beyond its doors, what I can see of Cole’s quarters. It’s a much-needed confirmation that I have no other option but to take the plunge.

  I whip my head around and look out the window again, this time with temerity. Instead of seeing only the chasm, I frantically scour the wide-open space below for anything that might give me some leverage.

  Aside from another rig docked just below Cole’s, there’s nothing. It’s maddening in a way, but a simple verdict in another. There’s nothing like a narrowing of your options to make you freaking go.

  Another knock at the door, increasingly thunderous.

  If I time the jump right, I can land on that rig.

  It will probably mean I’ll rip my stitches open and have to sew myself, but at least I’ll be free. Then I’ll be able to get on a commuter headed to somewhere else—anywhere else— figure out what the next step should be.

  I scooch forward, dangling perilously close to the edge. Okay. On the count of three.

  Three.

  Two—

  Metal clangs as the door to the sleeping quarters bangs against the wall. I push myself off the ledge but strong, muscular arms—one is flesh, the other, machine—grab me, holding me back. I snap my eyes shut and shudder, bracing myself for rough handling, but Cole is surprisingly gentle as he pulls me back inside. My feet touch the floor, and my eyes flutter open. My heart sinks as the full weight of my failed attempt sets in.

  I jerk vigorously, trying to shake free from Cole’s grasp. “Let go of me!” I push my mind and slip into his hardware, determined to bring him to my will.

  “Stop it!” He barks, shaking me. The jolt breaks my concentration, and I lose the connection.

  The tinman doesn’t budge, only spins me around to face him. “Do you have a death wish?”

  My muscles tense. A mutinous fury sparks inside me. “I’ve cheated death before. I can do it again. Get your fucking metal hands off me.”

  The warmth drains from his eyes. “Hand. Only one is metal.” He waves his mechanical hand in my face. “Since you’re so brave and eager for danger, I’ve got a little task for you.”

  “I’m not doing shit for you,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “But you are. You’re going to be my decoy.” A disgusting little grin grows across his face.

  So the gloves come off.

  My blood runs cold, but I’m determined not to let him see it. I want to scream and stomp and throw a tantrum the likes of which this fucking ship of his has never seen. The only thing that stops me is my pride. He’s bested me too many times for me to give him even one more second of satisfaction.

  It occurs to me that if my cover is blown and Donner already knows where I am, leaping like a bird from the window is short-sighted. Who’s to say where Donner is hiding out, or if he’s planted a trap for me. If I had made it out, there was an above-average chance that I would’ve met my death before catching a transport out of Temis.

  At least for now, Cole is preferable to a raging psychopath. Cole holds to certain moral codes. There are limits to how far he’ll go to punish me. I tried my hardest. I exhausted every single escape route within reach. They all failed.

  All things being equal, if I have to be someone’s captive and follow their marching orders, it’s safer if that person is Cole.

  You’ll have another shot, I tell myself.

  I can’t deny that it all feels like bullshit. I need to stay calm, though, so I stop thinking about it. I say nothing and continue glaring at him, proudly.

  Deep down, a part of me dies a little.

  8 Cole

  She jerks against my grasp, trying to break free. But the attempt is futile. Nothing ever escapes this iron grip. “Let go of me!”

  Her hands wrap around my forearm, and an icy cold tickle creeps up my wires. “Stop it.” I give her a firm shake. The sensation dissipates. She was crawling up wires, searching for a loophole. I laugh to myself. Of course. Why didn’t I consider it before?

  She’s a telepath—someone that can tap into waves and wavebands.

  She possesses a very valuable ability. There’s no way she’d made it this far in life and not realized people were willing to pay for that kind of action, especially if she were strong. If she could tap it into wires and creep into the hardware of databases or AI … a shiver runs down my spine at the thought.

  Either way, she’s an unpredictable variable, given her recent escape attempt. I was naive to show her a drop of empathy and treat her like she was some helpless individual.

  I won’t make that mistake again.

  I wheel her around to face me and stare at her long and hard. “Do you have a death wish?”

  Her eyes light with fury. “I’ve cheated death before. I can do it again. Get your fucking metal hands off me.”

 
; The word stings. “Hand. Only one is metal.” I lift it to show her, flexing my fingers and stretching the flesh. “Since you’re so brave and eager for danger, I’ve got a little task for you.”

  I have to be smart about this if I’m going to catch Donner. Lily wasn’t at that bank for no reason. She’s either involved or covering for him. The thought makes me sick. This back-and-forth and tending her wounds isn’t getting me anywhere, and the clock is ticking. As per galactic law, I only had so many hours to make use of her.

  “I’m not doing shit for you,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “But you are. You’re going to be my decoy.” I smirk.

  Her face shifts from anger to distress, and then, just as soon as it appeared, it’s gone. But her biological levels betray her. The synapses firing within her brain heighten in both rate and amplitude. Her mind reads as being more electric, and then there it is. My retinal scanners pick up on her hyper-thumping heartbeat.

  She’s scared. I am surprised she possesses feelings that aren’t rage or fury, but I’m a bit taken aback that it’s this emotion that she’s exhibiting. Why? What about him builds this kind of fear in her?

  Not wanting to risk her jumping again, I maintain my grip on her and steer her out of my chamber. The door slides closed behind us, and I punch in a quick code to lock it. Our boots tap against the metal grate floor as we proceed down the main hall and arrive at the holding bay.

  “If you think you’re going to—” Lily says before I shove her across the threshold. She stumbles forward, and the bay door closes with a smooth slide, barring her inside.

  I peek through the door’s double-tempered viewing pane and watch her curse up a soundless storm before I turn away and go to my navigation console. My retinal scanners connect with my ship’s primitive AI as I slide into my worn leather chair. It’s an old commodity of a distant planet, but I love the feel of it on my skin. Cool and smooth, curving around my body.

  “Transfer Temis Station feeds,” I tell the ship and wait to see images slide past, but they never come. “Stupid fucking AI,” I mumble. “Transfer Temis Station feeds,” I repeat louder. My hand clenches into a fist.