The faint kick of humor at the corner of his mouth slammed a shard of something hot and hungry in my chest. Need, yes. Not the sexy kind. Not, anyway, all the sexy kind.
I recognized his magnetism, but I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt the men I knew hovered just out of range.
I wanted to pull him out of his too-expensive suit and see if he still thought he was hot shit without it.
That thing I’d mentioned about his voice box? Forget making him eat it. I was going to shove it so far up his ass, he’d have to bark his orders upside down.
Red numbers spiked in my lateral display. The arm of the chair splintered, disintegrating under my grip like so much straw.
His gaze dropped to it, then back up to me like it didn’t matter. “I appreciate the display. Are you finished?”
“Come a little closer, jackass.”
Not even a twitch. “Let’s not waste time. Your attempt to set up a meeting on your...” His gaze flitted to the empty club, disdain flaring his nostrils. “This isn’t your territory, that much is obvious, but you obviously wanted to discuss business in a public venue.”
“So, what?”
“Your terms didn’t agree with me. No,” he cautioned. “Don’t make that mistake.”
Shit. I’d only shifted, testing my footing, but he’d seen.
“You claim to need a minute, but your right knee is going to require six and your ribs fifteen. You’re hardly running at optimal.”
He’d scanned me. More, he’d probably used that fight to get a total readout on my abilities. A sneaky way of doing it.
I ground my teeth so hard, the noise shaved the edge off the music thumping in the empty club around us. “Go fuck yourself.”
“There is tech for that,” he replied, “but you may be disappointed to learn I don’t have it.”
“Get it. Then go fuck yourself.”
This time, Malik’s smile revealed even white teeth and crinkled the corners of his dark eyes. It did nothing to soften his hard edges; nothing to ease the corporate stink surrounding him like a toxic cloud.
It made me feel a whole lot like prey, and I wasn’t prey.
But my breath sucked out of my chest anyway.
There are people out there who have smiling down to an art form. Someone might say that a person can light up a room or make a bad day go away.
The club was still dark and strobing, and my bad day was still bottoming out at shitty, but this guy was wired for social programming in ways even a politician would envy. One smile, and I practically swallowed my tongue.
Pheromones? Even as it occurred to me, I trashed it. I wasn’t close enough. Besides, it wasn’t that kind of curve. No one in their right mind, drunk or sober, would call that slash sexy.
It reeked of power and ego and raw masculinity; maybe not unexpectedly, it made me think of blood. Lots and lots of blood. The kind that drew hungry predators.
I could shape my smile into a visceral promise of ruin, but I didn’t like the razor-honed potential in his.
“I will take that under advisement,” he told me, in a tone that said he wouldn’t waste a brain cell bothering. He turned his right hand palm up, fingers flicking. “When you’re done sulking, let me know.”
That screen flicked on again, turning his features into a wash of pale blue light and demonic shadows. The projection probably came from his watch, or maybe a chip inserted somewhere in his palm. He left me scowling at him as he returned to whatever charts filled the space between us.
At least it let me get a closer look. The light revealed the shadow of a finely sculpted goatee framing his mouth. And, much to my surprise, freckles. A mass of them speckled over the bridge of his nose, his high cheekbones and scattered faintly over his forehead.
They did nothing to make him look naïve or innocent. Not even close.
“Your ego must be enormous,” I said.
He didn’t look away from the projection. “Yes. That’s why I cleared the club.”
“Didn’t want to be seen slumming it in the Key?”
“Would you?” Absently cool, like he only spared half a thought for my distraction.
To my chagrin, a corner of my mouth twitched. My jaw clenched against it.
Two minutes.
“All right,” I said, breaking the music-studded silence between us. “Tell me why Indigo suggested I meet you.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure he’d respond. The spotlights glazed over his head, picked out his extremely short, coarse dark hair in a startlingly bright gleam of pink luminescence and glanced off my yellow top before skating away.
Finally, he curled his fingers under the projection. It collapsed, winking out entirely.
“Tell me why you wanted a meeting,” he countered, “and I’ll tell you what service I can provide.”
“Service.”
He only watched me. Like it or not, I had zero viable options. He’d already proven he had the upper hand, and no matter how angry I was over it, he didn’t need me. I, however, probably needed him. At the very least, I needed something, and Indigo recommended him.
Don’t say I never gave you anything.
Had he known? Had Indigo walked me into a trap?
That thought shot a white-hot ball of rage into my chest.
Then again, maybe Malik had taken Indigo’s request to meet and made his own arrangements.
It was better for everyone that I bought that one. If I stopped to think about the fact that Digo had turned me over to this suit, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. It was too big for the space my head was in – too fucking complicated.
As long as I figured Malik for the smug exec he seemed to be, I could play the game.
Suits always liked to think they had the upper hand on us runners. Lucky for him, I actually needed whatever it was Indigo claimed Malik had. I needed that help.
Not like I was getting it from anywhere else.
Did I dare tell him everything? Did Indigo already? I should have made sure first.
“Are you a fixer?” I asked.
“No.”
At least he didn’t dick around. Great. So much for that. “Then you can’t help me.”
“Don’t be closeminded.”
What the tits? Lessons in tolerance from a suit. Fuck me. “You think you can help? Fine. I need a team,” I told him, as much a challenge as anything. “A real one, street-trained and savvy.” He didn’t even blink, eyes level beneath thick black eyebrows. I took that as encouragement to go on. “There’s a corporate prison and they’ve got data I need.”
“What firm?”
“I don’t know.” And because I didn’t like the fact that he’d judge me for it, I added, “They stripped it of all branding. The security held Saugers and Manticores, and they didn’t have badges.”
“Both firearms easily acquired by any agency.” He didn’t frown. He didn’t even nod encouragingly like a shrink on autopilot. He just watched me. Catalogued me.
Creepy.
“Tell me about the place.” An order.
I let him have the luxury. Told him what little I knew. It took a hair under a minute. I left out everything that even smelled like necro, because, hell, for all I knew, he’d order the place razed when I found it.
Four minutes down.
The ache in my knee was easing. The guy knew his statistics.
“When you say corporate, you mean what?”
“Clean,” I replied. “Stark, bare of all things with soul or even aesthetically pleasing, and, oh, yeah, riddled with assholes. You know the type.”
Black eyes didn’t waver. “I am the type.”
Well, hey, at least he was honest with himself. “Then you see why I said corporate.”
“No, I see sloppy assumptions based on dogmatic sentiment.” His deep voice hardened. “I can’t possibly give you what you need based on this.”
My fists clenched. “What do you want, then?”
“It’s not a question of want, it’s a question
of time and effort versus payoff. Right now, I see a wild story spun by a delinquent with no concept of the amount of assets required to carry you on your crusade.”
My cheeks stung. Anger. Worse, embarrassment. “That’s not–”
He held up a hand, his palm paler in the partial light. “I need evidence. More than your word.”
“My word is good.”
“Only as good as your reputation.” His mouth quirked again, that tiny half curve that made me feel like I was twelve years old and seated across from an imposing teacher. My palms itched to wrap around his throat. “I don’t know you from Jane Eyre, and what I’ve seen tonight doesn’t impress me.”
“Four on one,” I gritted out. “Fuck you.”
“Excuses.” He leaned back in his chair, propping one leg up on the other knee, and studied me with calculated scrutiny.
I didn’t fidget. Seven minutes had mended my knee, but breathing was like sucking hot air through a tube. I met his gaze with a glare of my own. “I can go anywhere else for this.”
“Unlikely.” Not so much as a twitch. “You would have already.”
Fuuuuuuuuck. He was right, and we both knew it. “Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll get you your evidence. And then I damn well want my team.”
“If it’s worth the resources, you will have your team, and then some.”
The barest concession, and probably the only one I’d get out of him. “I’ll hold you to that.” I rose, my knee pinging once as the joint popped into place, but he remained seated. Charming guy.
Instead, he slid two fingers into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a thin black square. He held it out.
“What do I want that for?”
He didn’t sigh. I’ll give him that. I bet I got on his nerves, though. “It’s a card. It holds the frequencies you can use to contact me.”
“Frequencies, huh?”
He didn’t rise to my snide bait. “I’m a very busy man.”
“So am I,” I replied, and turned my back on his offering. “Indigo’ll be in touch.”
I tried to walk like I wasn’t favoring my ribs, but I knew I wasn’t fooling him. He probably had every broken bone catalogued, right down to the second it’d take my nanos to seal the remodeling.
At the base of the recessed pit, I turned. “Who the fuck is Jane Eyre?”
The glow of his digital screen lit his face in ghoulish shades of blue and gray. He didn’t look up. “Read a book,” was his only dismissive-as-fuck answer.
Who the hell had the patience to slog through one?
Setting my jaw, I jumped up the two steps to prove I could, and didn’t see any of his security detail as I crossed the dance floor. Maybe they bugged out.
Maybe they were tracking me to make sure I didn’t turn around and make good on my threat. Hell, if security was my gig, I’d practically glue myself to my ass.
The lights pulsed in my eyes, slammed in time with the music I seriously was starting to despise.
No. I could have enjoyed the scuffle, but I wasn’t stupid. The odds weren’t in my favor, and I didn’t want to get my ass handed to me a second time. Once was embarrassing.
Even if his team split, the man was an unknown. I hadn’t seen any traces of tech, no signs of enhancers of any kind, but it didn’t mean he was all flesh. And though it pissed me off to admit it, he was right. I wasn’t exactly at optimum right now.
But I would be. Next time, I’d be at better than optimum.
With my heartbeat thudding in my reknitting ribs, and visions of ritual massacre dancing in my head, I left Malik Reed alone.
The bouncer, on the other hand, was fair game.
This asshole had known exactly what I’d been walking into – had probably been paid to keep everyone else out while the suit inside sicced his goons on me.
Eye for an eye, fuckface.
The door slid open – miraculously unlocked – and I didn’t give him any time to pull his dreadlocked beard out of the slank he was snorting on the podium. Ribs protesting every move, I darted in before the door closed behind me, chopped out with my right hand and caught him under his Adam’s apple as he raised his head.
He choked, caught somewhere between trying to stand and trying to protect his stash.
I grabbed his beard with one hand, palmed the back of his head with the other, and slammed him face first into the pile of golden dust. He shrieked as bone crunched.
The slank bloomed like a piss-stained cloud. I sucked it in on a hard breath, coughed it out when the taste burned my tongue. “What is with people today?” I demanded through my teeth. “Did you all wake up and decide to fuck me over?”
He flailed, snorting out gobbets of spit, blood and half-dissolved drug.
I slammed his head again. Thud! Another flare of yellow. I turned my face away. Then echoed his curse when one of his sledgehammer elbows caught me square in the busted ribs. Nerves detonated.
Briefly blinded, I missed the glint of light on steel. Didn’t miss the sparks as he swung up a long curved blade with a hooked edge at the tip. Fortunately for me, he hit my tech arm. And his form was shit. He probably kept it back there for show.
I shoved him hard against his podium, heard the fake wood snap under his bulk, and seized the sword-holding wrist in my metal hand.
He froze. I squeezed.
His screech cracked on slank-induced gibberish.
“That’s right,” I purred, false sympathy oozing in every note. I could feel the burn outside my senses. That press of wicked heat testing my resolve.
I didn’t have much. Just rage. Naked, hungry, needy. Not ideal ground to take slank on, if you valued your wellbeing. Or waking up in the morning.
Not that it mattered. I was beyond caring.
“Yell some more,” I coaxed. “Come on. Let me hear it. You drew the short straw, didn’t you? All alone. No one to come running now. Was the pay worth it?”
The boundaries of the scene sputtered black, edged with painful bloody red. My ribs had broken again. This guy had a swat like a cement hammer.
He grated out a guttural protest as I flexed my fingers. I could barely understand him. A shame. It meant he might not remember this tomorrow.
I wanted him to. I needed him to remember this. Screwing me over. Then paying for it. That’s what passed for cred on this street. That’s what losers needed to know.
Don’t.
Fuck.
With.
Me.
My focus narrowed. The numbers in my lateral display turned red.
He screamed, jerking like a fat fish on a golden hook. What I could see of his thick neck above his shirt mottled red and purple where slank-streaked drool hadn’t smeared it.
I leaned against his back, jerking his arm up, up, farther than a man of his muscle and build could handle. “You ever, ever mess with me again,” I breathed into his ear, “and you will lose more than your shitting stash. What’s my name?”
Sweat and fear rolled off him in waves. Underneath his blotchy skin, nanos were gathering, hustling to the damaged sites – snapping ligaments, crushed wrist. Only they’d be inhibited by the slank we’d both inhaled. Slower.
I could practically smell them amassing. Iron and meat.
My fingers closed another centimeter. Squeezed another fraction of an inch.
His whole body jerked. His babbling took on an inhuman squeal.
“What’s my goddamn name?” I snarled.
I could visualize it. As if it played out right in front of me, I could see the tendons tearing. See the bones crack, splinter, and then erupt from the skin in a spray of gristle and bone.
I could squeeze until the veins broke and the blood pooled and he would scream and scream and never forget me.
What the shit was I doing?
I sucked in a breath that tasted like rancid sweat and jerked back, letting go of his bone-white, still-intact wrist. Agony rippled through my side.
He sobbed, lost in a drug-addled haze of pain and fear
and a really, really bad high.
Had he been sober, I doubt I would have handled him so easy. Then again, had he been sober, he may have thought twice about messing with someone like me. Maybe.
The fact he hadn’t – the fact everybody was taking me on like I was some kind of chumhead fresh off the SINburn – was starting to eat at me.
As my head threatened to split open, my guts churning, I staggered out the front door, slammed into an overwhelming wall of heat, light, sound and ads. Faces turned, neon popped. My eyes widened, senses going nova. The slank wasn’t great. I’d have gotten better quality at Shiva’s.
Totally fucked, I ran into someone, fell, was pushed into someone else. Flesh and metal and plastic and neoprene. It all blurred.
The city folded in on itself. My brain turned inside out.
9
The worst of the slank wore off in a back alley, drenched with humidity and reeking of urine. I huddled, hands fisted in my hair, as I breathed in and out. In and out. Good mechanical habit there. Air in. Air out.
I was intensely aware of the people wandering out of sight. I could hear them, smell them, taste them like a pulse on the back of my tongue. I could hear my own heartbeat, loud and too fast.
I wanted to rip it out of my chest and inhale its luscious, bloody fragrance.
Slank can fuck a body up. Whoever ran Plato’s Key ran a damn sloppy ship. That would never have played out at the Mecca.
I needed to get somewhere safe. Somewhere out of reach and quiet enough that I could rest.
My nanos had already been strained after fighting Indigo’s team – I couldn’t bring myself to call them mine anymore – and the suit’s goons just made it worse. I shouldn’t have gone after that bouncer. I shouldn’t have stretched it.
Why had I tried?
Because my goddamn cred would take a beating if word of today’s idiocy got out.
Because I was too angry – no, what a lame word for it. I was too enraged to let the bouncer who screwed me get off without payback.
My breath shuddered out.
Slowly, using my elbows against the alley wall, I scraped myself off the ground. Upright. I didn’t fall. Good.
The stench of shit and rot assailed me. My senses reeled; my guts twisted, splashed back and forth. Swallowing hard, teeth gritted, I pushed away from the wall and staggered for the street.
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