by Kit Rocha
The smell of sourdough bread in the oven was a reminder that he wasn’t half bad at baking, either.
Maya tried to ignore Ava’s renewed scrutiny as she distributed the silverware and bowls. She paused at Conall’s elbow and nudged him. “Is Gray coming to dinner?”
“Not sure,” Conall replied absently. “He was with Mace when I left.”
“I’m surprised you let James Mason roam freely,” Ava noted. “Especially with the child here. He’s clearly a threat.”
Conall shot Ava a chilly look over the edge of his tablet. “Don’t go there, lady. We’ve all agreed to have a case of amnesia about the bullshit you pulled, but Mace is off-limits. Talk shit about him again, and my memory’s gonna get real good.”
Maya froze. It was an outright threat, and from Conall of all people, whom she’d never heard say an actual angry word to anyone. The kitchen had fallen silent, too, everyone caught in the tense breath before violence exploded. Another heartbeat and Dani would be across the table again, probably packing an Ava-calibrated sedative this time.
The corner of Ava’s lip quirked. That might actually be a real smile. God, she really did like it when people threatened her. “Acknowledged.”
“What the fuck ever.” Conall pointedly returned his attention to his tablet. Ava watched him for several moments in earnest curiosity as the gentle rhythms of the dinner prep resumed around them. After a straight minute of Conall intently pretending she didn’t exist, however, her attention drifted back to assessing the activity in the kitchen.
Maya placed the final fork and slid into her usual seat next to Conall. His slightly unfocused eyes darted back and forth like he was reading words in the air in front of him—which he likely was. One glimpse at the surface of his tablet confirmed he’d synced it with his smart lenses, feeding most of the data straight to his virtual display.
But there was enough on the tablet screen to twist her gut into anxious knots. “Is that what I think it is?” she whispered.
“Do you think it’s Tobias Richter’s inbox?” Conall’s voice had resumed its usual good humor. “Because yeah. I’m doing my daily check-in, thanks to our evil genius murder-friend over there.”
Maya’s gaze stole to Ava again, who seemed utterly oblivious as she watched Knox navigate the kitchen with the predatory gaze of someone assessing vulnerabilities.
Several months ago, when Nina had coordinated a little mass fraud against the TechCorps by faking the deaths of the Silver Devils, Ava had provided a twist of her own—malware encoded directly into the faux corpses’ DNA. The TechCorps had taken the 3D-printed fake bodies back to their labs for analysis and introduced the nastiest bit of code Maya had ever seen directly into their high-security systems.
Of course, Maya was living proof that not every damning thing made it to their servers. She existed solely to hide the secrets too volatile, too dangerous, or simply too potentially damaging to commit to a digital paper trail. Richter’s plans with Mace hadn’t been anywhere in the TechCorps system.
Plenty of other horrifying things were. Maya propped her chin on her hand and leaned closer, scanning the list of subject lines from his incoming messages.
Re: Termination of Labor Organizers in East Atlanta
MEMO: Reduction in benefits to L5 Employees
Prisoner conscription for Project Cerberus
Re: Expanded Ex-Sec Recruitment
Security Evaluation & Background Check: Cerys (Surname Unknown)
Protectorate candidates at St. Mary’s
Executions scheduled for: 2086/10/17
“If this is the sort of shit he wants a digital trail for,” Conall murmured, “I’d hate to see the inside of his data courier’s head.”
The memory sideswiped Maya. She was ten, so young and already feeling ancient, huddled alone in the back of a class on assembly language. The entire back row had cleared out when she sat down, students scrambling to distance themselves from a data courier who could remember their slightest transgression—and presumably report it straight to a VP. Even the teacher wouldn’t look directly at her, probably hoping she’d give up and switch to taking the course virtually.
Maya almost had … and then she’d walked in. Fifteen to Maya’s ten, already tall and long-limbed, looking glamorous in a sequined sundress in vivid green that complemented her long, red hair and pale skin. Cara Kennedy had flashed the teacher a challenging smile that dared the woman to comment on her tardiness—or her flagrant violation of the dress code—then glided between the desks as if the other students were simply beneath her notice.
She’d claimed the seat next to Maya with a mischievous wink and her first murmured bit of advice. “Don’t ever let them run you off. They should fear us.”
“Maya?” Conall’s low whisper was edged with worry. “Are you okay?”
Maya squeezed her eyes shut and gently shook her head, physically shaking free of the memory. “Sorry,” she said, drawing in a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she saw the dining room table again.
“Hey, don’t.” Conall flipped the tablet shut. “Was it something I said?”
“No. Well, kind of.” Maya exhaled roughly. “It’s just … I know her. Richter’s data courier, I mean. We were kind of friends. For a while, anyway.”
“No shit. What’s she like?”
Brilliant. Confident. Generous. Relentless. Cara had been all of those things—sweet on the surface but capable of pivoting on a dime to swift and ruthless vengeance. Cara had known the leverage she held as Richter’s data courier—not of her official position, but the reflected power of the fear Richter inspired. And she’d used it. Constantly.
“Complicated,” Maya said finally. “She’s complicated.”
“I bet.” Conall shoved the tablet away and raised his voice. “Hey, are we eating soon?”
“Absolutely,” Dani declared. “Gray and Mace will just have to hope there are leftovers.”
“We made plenty.” Knox smiled reassuringly at Maya as he carried the huge stew pot over to the table, and that was when she really thought about what Conall had said before.
Gray … was with Mace.
Gray was with the medic.
Worry knotted in her gut so tight that not even the scent of Knox’s fresh bread could revive her hunger. She glanced at the empty chair where Gray normally sat and tried to pretend everything was fine as dishes were passed around the table.
But she couldn’t relax.
Finally, Gray and Mace stepped through the back door, deep in hushed conversation. Then Gray looked up, and his eyes locked with hers.
And he smiled.
The biggest knot unraveled. But Maya studied Gray’s face as he crossed to the table, and pinpricks of worry remained. Most people probably wouldn’t notice. His expression was unremarkable. Maybe even unusually relaxed. But his stride was a little off, his usual grace and precision replaced by the forced casualness of someone who couldn’t entirely trust his body would do what he told it to. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and the lines around them were deeper than they should have been.
He slid into the chair next to her, and Maya snuck her hand under the table to find his. “You okay?”
He squeezed her hand. “I’m good.”
She wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to be. That he could show her his weakness, and she’d take care of him, the way he had taken care of her. But Conall jabbed her with an elbow to get her attention, and she had to release Gray’s hand to take the basket of bread and tear off a hunk.
The last time they’d tried a family dinner, Knox had ended up with a knife in his shoulder. But no one said anything as Mace slid into what was now his customary seat—the one with the quickest path to the exit. He didn’t exactly look comfortable as he ladled stew into his bowl, but at least he was less jumpy.
Knox surveyed them all, looking happy enough to burst. So did Nina, for that matter. Just a proud mom and dad overseeing their misfit band of rogue supersoldiers, fugitive
criminals, evil clones, and one random superkid.
It was ridiculous. And kind of perfect. Maya snuck her hand under the table to find Gray’s again, and this time she didn’t let go.
TECHCORPS PROPRIETARY DATA, L1 SECURITY CLEARANCE
DC-035’s Year 16 benchmark tests have been flagged as abnormal. Her inconsistent performance is likely related to her unorthodox level of extraneous studies.
Recommend immediate cessation of unnecessary education, along with a four-month course of remedial dissociation and meditative training.
Internal Memo, July 2078
NINETEEN
Gray stuck around after dinner to help clean up. Knox and Nina kept feeding them all, so the least he could do was pitch in without complaint.
Then he got caught between Dani, who was washing the dishes, and Rafe, who was drying and putting them away. Normally, their customary bickering would amuse or at least entertain Gray. But Dani was in a mood, and she seemed hell-bent on sharpening her claws on Rafe.
Rafe, of course, responded to every swipe with increasingly outrageous flirtation. His lazy drawl and teasing come-ons only pissed her off even more. Eventually, Gray made his excuses and practically fled the kitchen, leaving them to handle the dishes on their own.
They barely noticed.
Gray headed upstairs to see Maya, then stood outside her bedroom door without knocking for so long that Nina wandered by. She smiled and told him to check the catwalk that connected their buildings.
The night air was surprisingly cool as he climbed the steel stairs past the kudzu and swung out onto the catwalk. Maya was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the expanse, her back resting against the railing, her gaze fixed on the distant lights of the Hill.
He cleared his throat. “Mind some company?”
Maya started, her gaze swinging to him. A smile lit her face as she patted the spot next to her. “Not at all.”
He sat next to her and stretched his legs out in front of him. The catwalk wasn’t quite wide enough to accommodate their length, so his boots dangled between the railings. “That’s what the Hill looks like from here?”
“Yeah. Almost pretty, huh?” She shook her head. “It’s not that far away. Not even twenty kilometers. But it’s like a different world up there.”
Curiosity assailed him. The key to understanding Maya lay somewhere between them and the distant, twinkling lights. “Which building did you grow up in? Can you see it from here?”
“The tallest one.” She pointed to the central TechCorps headquarters, which thrust skyward in the midst of a cluster of massive skyscrapers. Bright lights on the roof shone straight up into the air, giving the impression that the building itself extended into the starless sky. “Everything above the two hundredth floor is considered a penthouse. Each floor belonged to a different executive. Birgitte’s was 217.”
The TechCorps treated its data couriers well—materially speaking, anyway. They had innumerable creature comforts, their glittering cages stuffed with baubles and trinkets. To a lesser extent, they did the same thing with their Protectorate techies. Conall often spoke wistfully of having every wish fulfilled, every whim indulged. Maya’s situation would have been even more luxurious.
But false. Everything about that excess was meant as a distraction, to make the DCs forget that they were glorified copy machines, walking, talking memory banks with no independence, no free will.
No life outside those shining walls.
Gray may have grown up in a grubby orphanage, but at least his childhood had been honest in its deprivation. No one would have looked on and envied it for short-sighted, misguided reasons.
He reached out and clasped Maya’s hand. Her fingers were warm, soft except for where the blunt edges of her nails pressed against his skin. “I did not grow up on the Hill.” He pointed off to their left, where heavy darkness obscured the roads and buildings. “St. Jude’s was right over there, on North Avenue. Not far away at all.”
“The orphanage?” she asked softly.
“It’s gone now. Burned to the ground close to ten years ago.” He tried to smile. “Someone saved me the trouble.”
Maya tugged their joined hands over to rest on her knee. She ran her fingertips lightly over the backs of his knuckles, a sweetly soothing caress. “Do you want to tell me about it?”’
“You don’t really want to hear it, do you?”
“It’s you,” she whispered. “I want to hear anything you want to share with me.”
It wasn’t pretty, his life. He’d sketched a vague picture for her before, a rough outline that left out most of the depth and the shadows. Filling all that in by talking would mean she could never forget even the slightest, silliest detail.
But when she said she wanted to know him, Gray believed her.
“We had visitors,” he began haltingly. He wasn’t sure how to describe the strange mix of hopeful parents and shrewd businesspeople that had flowed in and out of the home. “Some were people looking to adopt. But there were also folks from local businesses—tradesmen who were looking for cheap apprentices. Shopping for labor, essentially.”
He glanced over at her, braced for her horrified expression. But she only gazed at him, waiting.
So he continued.
“The nuns only bothered to show the really little kids to the prospective parents. That’s all they wanted, anyway. Babies. But depending on who you went to work for, apprenticing wasn’t half bad. They’d feed you and clothe you, but mostly they’d teach you, so at least you’d come out of it knowing how to do a job. And some of them were decent people, maybe even most.”
She stroked his palm, the caress gentle and soothing. “But you ended up somewhere else.”
Not because he hadn’t wanted it. For years, he’d done his best to distinguish himself in the eyes of the local tradesmen—he’d demonstrated his strength, his stamina, his cleverness. But he’d been passed over every single time, left to rot in the orphanage and be turned out the moment the clock ticked over on his childhood.
“The Protectorate recruiters were the only ones who wanted to take me on,” he admitted. “I don’t know why I’m not blowing glass or laying brick. A trick of the Fates, I guess.”
“Oh, Gray.” She shifted to her knees so she could face him, her eyes soft with echoed pain. “I’m sorry.”
“It could have been worse. But you can’t help but wonder…” He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “What was wrong with me? What did they see that was so unbearable?”
“Nothing is wrong with you.” Her voice was fierce. “If they couldn’t see what you are, something was wrong with them.”
He smiled—at her insistence, her sincerity, and the sheer lack of logic in the assertion. “You’re biased.”
“What, because of the time you lured me into a trap? Or my boss thinking you were a random serial killer?” She huffed and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Gray, I had every fucking reason in the world to look at you and see someone bad. But do you know what I see?”
He suspected he did, and he longed for and dreaded the answer in equal measure. “What?”
“You’re careful. You’re guarded. How could you not be?” She leaned closer, her voice a whisper. “But you’re loyal. And patient. And protective. You think through everything and don’t make a move until you know what it will cost. And you’re so, so gentle with me.”
If only those last two things were true. He hadn’t seen this coming, hadn’t known she would care this much—
And he was dying.
The fair thing, the right thing, would be to walk away. To back off and give her a little distance while it was still possible. Right now, she would mourn him, but that pain would be a mere drop compared to the ocean of grief she would feel if they grew closer. If they fell in love.
She stared down at him, her dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Tension twisted between them, smoldering like a banked fire. Gray’s heart throbbed in his ears, and he felt himself
reaching out to draw her near.
He should pull away.
He needed to pull away.
Instead, he tugged her closer. “May I?”
Her hand dropped to his shoulder to steady herself, but her body closed the space between them willingly. “I trust you.”
The words almost did what his own internal struggle hadn’t, but the tension curled around them like ink in water, blotting out everything but Maya.
He wasn’t strong enough to let her go. Not yet. She gasped as he pulled her into his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, and his body tightened, as much from the sound as from the contact.
Maya’s free hand landed on the railing to the side of his head. Her grip crushed some of the honeysuckle twined with the kudzu, scenting the air as she stared at him from two inches away, her breathing quick, her eyes liquid with desire. “Gray.”
The dull ache in his belly sharpened. “Kiss me, Maya.”
Her eyes drifted shut. The first brush of her lips was hesitant, soft warmth feathering across his lips before she swayed away. But she came back again, and again, a quiet hum of yearning leaving her as her fingers dug into his shoulder.
His calm shattered. He took her head in his hands and tilted it, fitting his mouth more closely to hers. Her lips parted, and he pressed the advantage, gliding his tongue between them.
She shook against him, whimpering into his mouth. She squirmed in his lap, hips grinding down against his erection, and he had to lock his hands around her hips to freeze her in place before his control snapped.
Her whimper was of protest this time. Her nails pricked the back of his neck, in demand. In warning. A heartbeat later she tore her lips from his. She hid her face against his shoulder, panting for breath. “Oh … Oh fuck.”