by Brenna Lyons
Trina hadn’t been present at the surgery, but she’d been in Houston’s lab for a year before that update. Had she tampered with the program they’d been given? There was no way to know for certain.
Houston’s death hadn’t felt like an ending to Alec, at the time. He’d believed they had six or seven decades, at least. The average life expectancy for a healthy male was ninety-five years. Until the disc, the processors had kept their bodies optimally maintained, and it was capable of forcing certain autonomic functions to operate smoothly when the human brain stem started to fail...if it worked correctly. Theoretically, they could have easily lived to be well over a century and a quarter.
Four years later, they were marked for death. Alec and Caleb were barely in their prime, at forty and thirty-eight. Frank and Gabriel weren’t even old enough to justify that distinction, at thirty-six and thirty-five.
They were too young to die, but Frank had taken what little chance they’d had out of their hands. “Impatient,” he grumbled. Frank had always been impatient.
Now, they were all in solitude, waiting for the end, because of Frank and his damned temper.
* * * *
Frank stormed out of his workshop and out of Lawton Three, the building he’d been gifted as his home and base of operations.
It was a joke that he was considered the head of the repair department. He wasn’t a businessman. He was a grease monkey and happy that way. Sure, his augmentations let him trouble-shoot in a tenth of the time it took anyone else...or less. With the schematics for every machine they touched downloaded into his processor and pattern recognition...a full and instantaneous computation of every input and output on the machine and how each error would affect the same... He was a grease monkey.
Even his legal name of Francis was too lordly for him. He was Frank; he’d always preferred Frank.
The street was nearly empty, so he headed in the direction of lights and people. His nerves were keyed up for action, but more than that, he was on a mission of sorts.
He could order his processor to help him calm himself, but Frank didn’t want that. He was angry, and he wanted to stay angry until he accomplished what he’d come to do.
Those bitches were taking everything from him. His brothers, the only three humans—okay, cyborgs—on Earth who understood him, were marked for death.
Though love was beyond his capabilities, the one major flaw in the augmentation process, he felt something for them, and that something was being stolen away. If his brothers were going to die, those skanks might as well kill him, too. Loneliness wasn’t an emotion Frank wanted to live almost a hundred years with.
He’d forced his way into Caleb’s memories, despite his brothers’ protests on the matter. That had made the very machine-class, black and white decision painless for him. Frank wasn’t going down like Caleb had. There’d be no protestations of love from Frank.
“Where are you, bitch?” he growled, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.
Frank had no idea what his would look like, but he suspected she’d be a redhead. He had a thing for redheads, as a general rule.
He had no idea where she’d be, either, but it seemed they liked ambushing the Lawton men, so chances were she’d find Frank eventually.
“Interested, honey?”
Frank stopped, meeting the hooker’s eyes. There was nothing but the same burning rage in him; the woman stepped back, her eyes going wide.
“No,” he replied simply, moving on. This wasn’t a night for a simple fuck. The woman he intended to fuck would be fucking him in return, in a more esoteric sense.
At a loss, Frank started meeting the eyes of every woman he passed. The heat of anger gave way to the cold certainty that she was playing with him, and not even his processor seemed capable of mustering enough adrenaline to keep him on the laser edge of rage he wanted to maintain.
Yes, she was playing with him. She’d find him, all right, but she’d find him on her schedule and not his own.
Damn those cock-teasing cunts!
Frank stopped, then turned back, admitting defeat...and came face-to-face with her. He didn’t question that she was the one he’d been looking for. The weight of his erection, coupled with the misfiring of glands, resulting in a veritable flood of chemicals into his bloodstream, made that clear enough.
She didn’t move toward him. She didn’t speak. The unmistakable look of sadness in her dark eyes caused an alien tightening in his chest.
He didn’t try to argue the maddening reasons she might be sad. Frank didn’t care if she felt sorry for him...or if she was disappointed that he was such easy prey, for that matter.
“What’s your name?” His voice came out as little more than a croak.
“Does it matter?” she asked.
“I think I deserve to know.”
She nodded, her red hair bouncing around her face. He’d known she’d have red hair.
“Well?” he prompted her.
“Stacie.”
“Stacie,” he repeated, letting it roll off the tongue. It wasn’t bad. Still, it was strange how little comfort it was to know the name of his executioner.
She opened her mouth to speak, and Frank surged toward her, sealing his mouth to hers, letting the rioting chemicals in his body lead him. He didn’t care what she had to say. They both knew why they were there; the preliminaries were hardly necessary.
Apparently, she agreed with him. The kiss...if something so complex could properly be called a kiss...was like a form of sex in itself. It was hard, of bruising intensity, a battle where each of them sought to master the other.
A spark of common sense intruded, and he released her, gratified to see that he’d stunned her with his response. She was capable of doing the same to him, which meant they couldn’t fuck in some close alleyway. When she was done with him, his processor would launch him into rest cycle, wherever he was. Alec had been safely in his bed, but Caleb had been in his lab and Gabriel in his car.
“What is it?” she asked.
Frank looked around at their surroundings, noting the Grand Westmoreland Suites, a convention hotel that he’d used for work several times. Had he headed this way on purpose? Did it matter if he had?
“Frank—”
“Come with me.” He took her hand and led her across the street to the lobby.
The Westmoreland had automated long ago. Though he could request a human clerk by virtue of his name, he didn’t. The last thing he wanted was the delay and annoyance of someone fawning over Houston Lawton’s son. In fact, he didn’t like that on a normal day, and this day was anything but normal.
Frank slid his identi-card into the kiosk, pausing with his finger hovering over the touch screen button for a standard room. He glanced at Stacie, then away, choosing a honeymoon suite instead. There was little doubt there would be more than a little foreplay going on in that room, and he deserved to die...or to be marked for death in opulence.
Besides, he couldn’t take the money with him, and they shared billions between them. If all the physical assets of Lawton were liquefied, they would split more than a thousand times that dollar amount. What was a night in a honeymoon suite compared to that, even with a hotel as exclusive as this one?
A key slid out and their room number flashed on the screen, along with a personal welcome to him. An offer for a bellman followed, and Frank declined by push-button. He took the key and ushered Stacie along with him, putting distance between them in the elevator, unwilling to repeat Alec’s performance.
The trek to the room passed in silence. They didn’t touch each other, didn’t make eye contact...until the door closed behind them.
Stacie reached for him, and Frank brushed her hands away. She shot him a look of confusion and hurt.
Damn it! Why do I care if she’s hurt by something I say or do? “My way,” he grumbled, by way of explanation. It was the least she owed him.
“Of course.”
Frank pulled off his clothes, then her
s, tossing them this way and that. For a moment, he stared at her, disconcerted.
He’d intended to grudge fuck her, giving Stacie nothing but his anger and lust combined, nothing but his loathing for her and everything she’d set out to do.
It wasn’t possible; he wanted more. If this was the end, he wanted to feel...whatever it was the rogue software would allow him to feel.
He started with a kiss, not unlike the one they’d shared on the street below. He wanted to touch all of her, to taste all of her, to feel her.
Frank stopped short of admitting he wanted to love her. Stacie would be the death of him. Whatever this farce was, it wasn’t love.
None of them had felt love before; how could they know they were feeling love? Or jealousy? Or any of the other insane things his brothers attested they were feeling?
What little logic he could muster told him this wasn’t love. She was out to kill him. What was there to love in that? It wasn’t warm and sweet. It was cold and callous.
Still, he gave himself over to his body’s needs, leaving the confusing reactions of the processor out of the equation entirely.
It wasn’t the rushed first encounter his brothers experienced. Frank spent his time, indulging in every sensation. His thrusts were slow and deep, driving Stacie to several crests before he joined her.
They lay on the bed, limbs entwined. Frank trailed kisses along her face, tasting sweat, smelling musk, feeling...something he had no name for, something powerful. He wanted the moment to last, but he had to know.
“What happens now?” he inquired.
Stacie locked eyes with him, sighing. “What do you enjoy, Frank?” Her fingertips slid across his wrists, and a wicked smile graced her lips. “I could tie you down and return the favor by ravishing you.”
“Makes it easier to put the disc on,” he noted, disgusted with himself that he looked forward to her ravishing him. His softening cock went rigid inside her again, and he closed his eyes in the accompanying wash of arousal.
Her lips brushed his, enflaming him further. “Your processor will shut you down for that,” she whispered. “Until, then, feel for me.”
He nodded, letting her guide him to his back. He wanted to feel. He wanted her to convince him there was something more between them than predator and prey.
Stacie slid off his length, reaching for the decorative ties holding back the drapes on the four-poster. Frank let her tie him down, vaguely wondering how many couples in love had done the same with them.
“You’re going to experience quite a bit of sexual stimulation in the next three days,” she informed him.
“Three days,” he repeated numbly. “Is that how long I have?”
She paused, then knotted the second set of ropes. “It takes that long for the disc to become irreversibly integrated.”
He ground his teeth at that. “Then it’s already too late for Alec and Gabriel.”
Her body nestled next to his, and she searched his face for something. “Why are you here, Frank?”
“Don’t ask me that question.”
“But—”
“I don’t know why I’m here anymore, Stacie. It’s not the same reason I set out to— I don’t want to think right now. Don’t ask me to.”
Her lips stroked along his chest, making thinking all the more difficult.
“Stay here for the three days,” she requested.
He groaned.
“Do you want to experience it the way your brothers have?” she asked. “Do you intend to fight it?”
“No.” He’d come here to die on his own terms, and that one fact hadn’t changed. If he had to die, he was going to embrace it.
Stacie eased down his body, her purpose more than clear. “I’ll make it worth your while,” she promised. “Stay here for the three days. Wait for me here.”
“How? How will it be worth my while?” He’d been sucked off before. It had to be more inventive than that.
“I won’t tease you. Every time I stimulate you sexually, I’ll take you to climax...if you don’t fight me.”
That struck a chord in him. There was something here that he should understand.
She’d reached his cock, her breath causing him to tighten and lift in search of her mouth.
“The integration is pleasurable, if you let it happen,” she breathed.
“For you, as well?” Was that why she wanted his agreement?
“Oh, yes.”
Her mouth engulfed him, and Frank put himself in her hands. If she felt it, he’d make sure she missed what he’d give her when he was gone.
* * * *
Hannah lay on her bed, the electronic dildo inside her, writhing at the sensations coursing through the link between them, then climaxing hard. She’d thought the training with simulated responses, before they’d approached Houston’s sons, had been thrilling. The interaction with a live Alec was a hundred times better.
She’d thought Stacie had been insane to tell Frank that the link worked both ways, thought the men would use the knowledge against them, but none had chosen that.
It might be Houston’s software inhibiting them, but she doubted that. None of them had seriously considered it, which hinted that the transformation was working correctly.
Either way, they were being gifted a treat that none of them would have wagered on in the beginning...three days of a sexual haze. Of course, Stacie had it from the beginning, but Hannah and Sarah had endured a week of the frustration of an unwilling mind stifling a very willing body at the other side of the link.
She winced, removing the dildo.
All of them except Trina were enjoying the reversal. Caleb was hurt emotionally by what he saw as Trina’s betrayal of him. His long association with her had facilitated familiar neural pathways, and those had accelerated the process in a way that unnerved him and upset the delicate balance. As a result, Caleb still fought Trina, while the others had embraced the process.
Hannah could hardly stand to see Trina’s misery at the fact. Their youngest sister had always been the most fragile of them, crying or retreating at the drop of a hat. Growing up, they’d always protected her. Even Alec and Caleb had insulated her, as Houston had before them.
There was nothing they could do to ease her pain now. Only Caleb’s acceptance could do that...if he would give it.
I pray to any gods listening that he gives it. Would Trina forgive any of them, male or female, if Caleb didn’t eventually relent? Then again, would Hannah want forgiveness if the numbers had been run so far off base? Not that it was all Hannah’s doing. They’d all run the numbers, including Trina.
It was strange. In the beginning, they’d thought Frank would be the one to go down fighting.
Oh, they’d trusted their plan of marking Alec and Gabriel on the same night, using Caleb’s perceived safety against him, and letting Frank’s personality drive him to them. It had been flawless, that far.
But Trina had been prepared for a docile partner to the end of this madness, while Stacie had been trained for an argument or five. Neither of them had been presented with the planned end result.
It was intriguing, the way their human halves could complicate such a straightforward event, how emotions could so destabilize a predictable personality matrix. Of course, that’s what Houston had feared, all along.
Hannah rose from the bed, preparing to bring Houston’s dream to its only plausible conclusion. She dressed to kill, smiling at the irony that Alec expected a killing already. As a last taunt, she flicked her tongue over the dildo, sending her warning to Alec that time had run out.
Her cohorts were amassed in the lounge of Houston’s old quarters, dressed to their parts.
Stacie arched one crimson eyebrow. “One for the road, Han?”
Hannah chuckled in response. “He’s just so good, I can’t help myself.”
“Yeah. So is Frank.” A light blush stained her cheeks.
Sarah huffed in annoyance. “Let’s just move. I want the real t
hing, if you don’t mind.”
Trina grimaced, seemingly fighting back tears.
Hannah wrapped an arm around her, seeking the right words. “Put him in rest cycle until his brothers are...settled. Once it’s done, he’ll accept everything you have to say. Give him time, Trina.”
“It was underhanded,” she complained.
“It was Houston’s plan...mostly.”
It wasn’t strictly true. Trina had formulated several key elements of the current phase of the plan, and they all knew it. If Caleb went wrong... If any of them did, Trina would never forgive herself.
Stacie snorted in an unladylike fashion. Of course, she’d never been much of a lady, which made her the perfect bait for Frank. “Do you honestly think they would have agreed to this?”
“Do most men?” Sarah finished.
* * * *
A movement caught Alec’s eye, and he startled. He replayed the processor logs from that unplanned rest cycle again, grimacing. The rest cycle had been planned, but not by Alec; it had rendered him blissfully unaware of the fact that the elevator had been activated...and by Houston’s code.
“Hello, Hannah.” He didn’t question that she was the one in the shadowed corners of the room.
She sauntered into the dim light, dressed in a long coat that swung open around her body, revealing the scrumptious little teddy beneath. The CFM heels completed a very tasty picture.
“I missed you, Alec,” she purred.
“Did you?” he challenged. “How could you miss me, when we’ve been fucking like rabbits long distance for three days?”
Her coat slid to the floor, and her hands went to her waist, accentuating her curves. “That was long distance, Alec. As Sarah would say, I want the real thing.”
Anger warred with arousal, making him even angrier. “Tell me something.”
“Almost anything.” Her smile was far too cocky for his tastes.
“Is this a fringe benefit for you or a necessary part of your plan?” He wanted to hurt her, and yet he found the need to brace himself in case he did rising up strong. Alec hid it behind a mask of indifference; the last thing he needed was Hannah knowing he cared how she felt.