by Pearl Foxx
Verity took another step back, unstable in heels. She wiped a hand across her mouth, and it came away red and wet. “Wh- What?”
A man stepped into the streetlamp’s cone of dim light, his scarred face and massive metallic arm almost mesmerizing. The gaping hole where his missing eye should have been winked in the darkness. “You heard me. No Cyn slum bitch is going to make a joke out of me in front of my boys without learning a few lessons about manners.”
He raised his cybernetic arm, cogs, and gears swirling in the night air, black oil filling the external tubes wrapped around his mechanics.
Verity sidestepped his second strike on instinct. Heart hammering in her chest, she kicked off her stupidly inconvenient shoes, grabbed one by the toe and slammed the pointed heel directly in the muscle connecting the man’s shoulder to the whirling gears controlling his arm before he could react.
His arm jerked forward and back at an awkward angle. A whirring sound filled the night as her heel broke off, throwing the shoe through the air like a grenade. The heel had caught in the gears, leaving the Mod 3’s arm incapacitated.
“Bitch!” He roared, reaching for her with his human hand, but she moved quickly, ducking his attack and slamming the side of her hand into his throat. She punched under his jaw with one knuckle, pushing toward him and up, dislocating the joint.
The man made a yelping sound as he gripped his face. He stumbled and fell to the ground, splashing into a shallow puddle.
Verity lifted her foot to kick his knee, so he wouldn’t get up again. But he didn’t move. She took a deep breath, her shoulders heaving. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
“I think he’s learned his lesson, don’t you?” Chance’s familiar voice came from the darkness behind her, filling her adrenaline-fueled body with lust. The fight had made her blood pump, and now, she was aching for more.
When she turned, she found warm brown eyes and a face so handsome it took her breath away staring back at her. Out here, in the dimness of night, he looked like the prince from a fairytale. The kind that came and rescued the damsel when she most needed him. Nothing like the dangerous cyborg Priya had warned her about. He wasn’t a part of this dark world she’d stumbled into but something else altogether. A breath of fresh air.
He leaned against the brick wall of the club, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His eyes drifted to her split lip, and he cocked a brow.
“Why? Did you think you needed to step in and rescue me?”
“No,” he said. “You handled him just fine all on your own. Impressive for a twiggy little thing like you who can’t even carry a tray across a crowded bar.”
“Fuck you.” She smirked, the forbidden words barely making it passed her lips. She leaned down toward the sputtering cyborg whose arm remained stuck in the air, gears creaking as they attempted to turn. “Once you’ve paid a cynker to fix your arm, remember, you owe me a new pair of shoes.”
Chance laughed. “Here.” He tossed her bag and waited, the metallic glint of his cybernetic arm sparkling like a diamond. How did he keep it so clean when the others were covered in rust and patina?
“Thanks.” Verity pushed her hair from her face, wishing she had a hair tie and pulled her ridiculous clothing back into place.
“Vick?” A new voice came from the shadows, and Chance pushed away from the wall. He straightened his back and bent his knees, positioned forward on his toes like a predator.
“I don’t...” She began but fell silent at the blackness in his eyes, and the wrinkle of worry between his brows.
They remained hidden in the shadows as the Mod 3’s two friends stumbled out to find him whimpering on the ground.
“What the fuck happened to you, man?” one of them asked.
Vick just whimpered with his dislocated, flapping jaw, his cybernetic arm still jerking above him.
The second man’s eyes searched the alley and fell on Verity. “Did you do this, bitch?”
Vick’s friends towered over her, approaching quickly, until Chance moved out in front of her with the speed of lightning and punched the man with the metal plate in his head square in the jaw with his human fist, ripping the plesh from the metallic mandible and sending the cyborg flying back on his ass.
“Chance?” the first man asked. “Shit man, we didn’t know she was with you.”
Chance stood taller, looming over them in the lamplight. Strength and raw violence wafted off of him as he flexed his hand. “Your buddy there drew blood.”
“Oh, well, you know how it gets after a long day…”
“No, I don’t. I don’t know how a long day makes you think you can hit a woman. You wanna show me?” Chance stepped forward, his shoulders bunched and coiled to strike.
“No, no, I just mean… Vick, you know, he had a lot to drink and…”
“So, your buddy likes to drink and beat women. Hell of a guy. Maybe I should help him out and take that arm? That way he won’t have to work so hard.”
“Fuck, man. I think you broke my jaw frame.” The second man said from the ground, rubbing his jaw like it was made of bone.
“How about this,” Chance said, “get Vick out of my sight, and the next time I see you, you’re going to be sober and full of extra tips for the waitresses and the dancers. You’re gonna be extra damn nice and gentlemanly, or I’ll take more than just a little plesh.”
“Sure, Chance. No problem.” The man backed up with his hands in the air before rushing over to lift Vick up to standing.
Verity watched with unrestrained awe. All it took was the threat of Chance’s ire to make the three massive cyborgs quiver in fear. He was dangerous. Even the meanest of the bar’s patrons knew better than to cross him. So why did Verity want nothing more than to know more about him when she should run the other way?
“What happened?” the semiconscious cyborg asked.
“You fucked with Chance’s girl.”
“Aww shit…” Vick said before falling bonelessly into his buddy’s arms.
The three men stumbled off, occasionally risking a glance back to see if Chance was still watching.
He was.
When they’d disappeared onto another street, Chance relaxed and rolled his neck, as he turned to face Verity, his eyes softening when he met hers. “You all right?”
“Yeah, thanks for… that. See you tomorrow.”
“Oh no.” Chance’s mouth turned down at the edges, and it hardened his entire face, returning the menacing glare that made Verity’s breath catch. “I’m walking you home.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can handle myself.”
“I see that. But if he hadn’t been a Model 3 with exposed gearing, that wouldn’t have worked, and you’d be shit out of luck. And what would you have done if those other two had come out here while you were alone? I’m walking you home, or you’re coming home with me. Two options. Your choice.”
The look in his eyes made her consider which one she wanted long enough that Chance smirked, knowing exactly where her thoughts had drifted.
Chapter 2
Chance
Chance stared at Verity for a beat too long. Her mouth hung open with a look of shock that made her plump lips look absolutely irresistible. He’d noticed her the first time he saw her, dressed like a prairie doll and looking for a job at the Ball & Joint. If he was honest, he hadn’t been able to get his mind off her but hadn’t risked actually talking to her. His self-imposed celibacy strained when he looked at her, wanting to break all of the rules he’d set up for himself.
No more fights, no more girls. Just as simple a life as he could eek out in the slums.
That was until tonight, when she spilled her entire tray all over him like some kind of spaz. Somehow, it made her even more endearing. Before today he’d been avoiding her, watching from a distance, and now, he could hardly string a sentence together without making some comment about wanting to jump her. Her horror at his suggestions of coming home with him was flavored with a hint of int
erest that made his cock twitch.
Damn.
Women didn’t look at him like that anymore. Every now and then one would be interested enough to try and tempt him into a quick fuck, but no one ever looked like they wanted him. More like they were thrill-seeking by fucking someone who could kill them without a second thought. And that was precisely the problem. Verity didn’t know about him yet.
Soon enough she’d look at him with the same disgust shaded by fear as all the others.
“So? What’ll it be?” He kept his face hard, the hint of hope that she’d actually consider going home with him a dying ember in his waterlogged heart.
“I think I better get home.” She shuffled her feet and hitched her bag up over her shoulder. The salty air blew over them like a warning.
“Lead the way.”
Verity headed north, holding her one remaining shoe in her hand and peeking up at him from under her light brown hair now and then. “You really don’t have to do this. I’m fine.”
“Yep.”
“‘Yep’ what?”
“Yep, I know you're fine, and yep, I need to do this. Deal with it.”
Verity huffed and blew her long bangs out of her face before picking up the pace. She stumbled slightly when an unusually slick patch of water, or oil, unsured her footing.
Chance reached out, his metal excuse for a hand glinting in the moonlight, but didn’t touch her.
“Where’d you learn to fight?”
“Oh, no, I don’t fight.” Verity bowed her head, her bangs falling back in her face, in a cute display of bashfulness that made Chance want to reach out, grip her chin, and pull it back to face him.
“Like fuck, you don’t fight. I saw you take down that Mod 3 like he was a toy soldier under a toddler’s boot.”
“That’s just pressure points. I learned them in school. You know, this one helps cure migraines—” She held up her hands and pinched the webbed flesh between her thumb and forefinger.
“And which one incapacitates a man almost three times your size with nothing more than a high heel and skinny fingers?”
“This one actually.” She stopped walking and faced him, lifting her chin so he could see the soft, vulnerable skin of her neck. She pressed a finger against a spot under her jaw, up against the bone. “If you know how, you can pop the jaw right out of its socket. Comes in handy if you need to pull a tooth.”
“You pull a lot of teeth? That all sounds like bullshit, no way you can just pop someone's jaw out.” Chance stepped forward, unable to resist the magnet calling him to her.
She giggled nervously. “Here, I’ll show you.” She came closer, and the smell of lavender filled his senses. How did she manage to live down here and not smell like mold and sewage?
Verity placed one hand on his chest, gently gripping his muscle and sending a shudder through his body. No one touched him casually anymore, a slap on the shoulder from another cyborg sure, but nothing like this.
Oh, he was screwed. His body reacted to her like a live wire.
She used her finger to lift his chin up.
He stared up at the sky, watching the lights of the upper city’s hover cars whizzing along the skylanes while they stood down here in the dark. He wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. This little woman had him completely transfixed.
She ran her finger under his jaw, tracing where the bone led back to the soft tissue before it joined with his skull.
His cock twitched again, begging for permission to do something about the fire running through his veins. His body wanted to wrap around hers, kiss her until they were breathless, and press her against the wall of the nearest building. He’d pull that skirt up to her hips and run his hands along her smooth lean legs before lifting her up and sliding deep inside.
Another full body shudder went through him, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the sound of her voice.
“See, right here?” She pressed up into his jaw. “If I apply enough pressure and angle my finger like this...” She moved her hand quickly, lifting up on her toes and leaning her body against his. Her breasts pressed against his chest. He reached for her waist just as pain lanced through his face, up into his eye.
He jerked away. “Ow! What the fuck?”
Verity bounced on her toes with a laugh. “It’s just pressure points.”
Chance rubbed his jaw but between the ache in his face and the throb of his cock his whole body felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years. “Who taught you that shit?”
“I told you, school.”
“No kind of school I ever went to taught little girls to incapacitate cyborgs with one finger.”
“To be fair, that’s not what they thought they were teaching.” She sighed and started walking again, sadness trailing behind her.
This girl was going to be a problem. She was gorgeous, hands down the most fuckable thing he’d seen in a long time, but that melancholy that came over her all of a sudden made him want to kiss her until it went away. He didn’t know what changed her mood like that, but it didn’t matter. He’d take those lips in his and kiss her dizzy until whatever made her sad was over.
“So, have you worked at the Ball & Joint long?” she asked, a nervous quiver in her voice.
Fucking small talk.
Chance bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping. It wasn’t her fault he had no skill in recognizing when someone was condescending or nice anymore. Human Interaction 101 had left the building.
Waves crashed in the distance against the Deluge that held the ocean back from completely devouring the old city. The structures that passed for buildings down here were waterlogged and crumbling, but without the wall, there’d be no back for the rich elite of the upper city to stand on top of.
“Never mind,” she mumbled. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me anything. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business anyway.”
“It’s alright,” Chance ground out the words and quickened his pace, so he walked in the street next to Verity instead of skulking behind her like a creep.
She danced around the puddles in her bare feet like a child. Charming in an innocent kind of way. It made him want to jump in the puddles with her, splash and dance, and maybe pull her lithe body up against his. They’d kiss, and the rain would come down harder, drenching their bodies, so she had no choice but to invite him in, it would be the only polite thing to do.
He shook his head, thoughts like that never led anywhere good.
“I’ve been with Garvan a few years now. Doing this and that.”
“But you don’t work on the Deluge?” Verity turned to him, her honey-colored eyes bathed in cool street light, making her thin frame look downright skeletal. When was the last time the girl had eaten?
“I did.” Chance shrugged and held out his metallic arm. “Why else would anyone do this?” Working on the Deluge was the fastest way to make credits quickly, and when Chance had been desperate, he’d jumped at the opportunity. Only Cyborgs work on the Deluge because the labor is too strenuous for a one hundred percent human body.
Verity didn’t respond but quietly watched him, waiting for him to continue. Her patience made him nervous, the quiet expectation in the air between them like a tether pulling them closer together.
“It was a few years ago, so, yeah…”
“That’s why you aren’t all rusted out like the others?” She said it straight, no pretense or judgment, but Chance couldn’t help his flinch. He didn’t like to talk about being a cyborg, let alone be lumped in with the rest of the cybernetically enhanced humans who lived in the Cyn City slums. He was no better than them but didn’t like to be reminded of how desperate one had to be to agree to something that left you less than human.
“Why? You thinking about upgrading so you can kick a little more ass?”
“Oh no, I would never do that to myself…” She stopped mid-thought, eyes wide. “I mean—I didn’t mean...”
He frowned. There it was. The sam
e bullshit came out of everyone’s mouth eventually. “Sure, it’s okay. I’m used to it. Why would anyone do this if they didn’t have to?”
Next, she’d ask if he had any of the bio-engineered nanites running through his veins to maintain his inner mechanics. He wished he could pick up the pace, get ahead of her and not have to listen to the pathetic apologies and backpedaling.
Fucking humans always had a hundred and seventy-nine questions about his cybernetics, but God forbid you ever actually suggest they would mutilate themselves the same way. Every one of them stumbled over their words to assure him and anyone around that they would never do such a thing. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Fuck them all.
In the skycity and on the space stations people have biometrics, implants, and all kinds of things, but they don’t call themselves Cyborgs. No, they’re ‘enhanced’ or ‘transhumanism.’ No one wants to be made of metal and gears if they can avoid it, so those with the means buy and sell bio-materials to make high-grade technology. People with money, they think it’s more natural to have a replacement or enhanced arm made out of one hundred percent human biology. Fuck, he’d opt for that too if he had a fucking choice. The difference though was that what those fuckers can't grow, they buy. And those parts come from the streets of the Cyborg Slums. Chance knew more than one sad sucker who had been caught unaware and left with a temporary organ or tunicate and the comm data for a cynker – if they could afford one.
The rain fell a little harder, and the smell turned crisp. Time to get the show on the road, drop her off, and make his way back to the after-hours events at Ball & Joint.
“Chance, I’m sorry.” Verity stopped in front of a square concrete apartment building.
The original stairs led down into a pit of water shining with a rainbow swirl of oil. Wooden, unfinished stairs led up to what had once been the balcony of a second-floor apartment. Every year the water rose higher from beneath them and beat against the Deluge a little harder, and yet every year, people found ways to reclaim their city.