by KH LeMoyne
At a rustle to his left, Clay shrank into the shadows and held his breath. Two scouts passed within a handspan of his position. Shit, he didn’t have twenty minutes to wait for a distraction. Neither did Badger.
Badger?
Nothing. Born with the name Igor, possibly from some twisted sense of Rasmond’s humor, Badger was one of the few people to use his code name among friends.
Badger: Active
@ your Front Door—give 5 me count
No response flickered through the pulse between Clay’s eye and ear, but seconds later, a laser cannon pointed through the opening two feet above his head.
“How many?”
“Squad west, another north of the market, and word of another one heading in.” Clay hesitated a second, listening across the network channels for any new guard broadcasts. “You’ve got maybe five minutes.”
A small squeal resounded from the open window. Badger nodded and disappeared. Two feet broke through the opening first, before the man passed his six-year-old son to Clay.
“Go through the tunnel to Nana. Stay until I show up,” ordered the boy’s father.
The child gave a brief nod, squatted to remove debris from a one-foot-diameter pipe near Clay’s feet, and scrambled inside.
Clay shoved dirt and debris into the pipe, building a cover, and turned back to Badger as he reappeared with a large bundle in his arms. Leaning most of the way out of the window, he lowered the blanket-wrapped woman into Clay’s hold.
Pale but with a surprisingly resolute expression, Badger’s wife gestured for Clay to lower her feet. He steadied her and then pulled her close at the sounds of laser shots several dozen yards away. She froze, her eyes wide. The noise caught Badger halfway in his exit from the window, a tiny bundle cradled in his arms.
Clay gingerly accepted the swaddled baby and faltered as it made a garbled noise. Badger’s wife grabbed her child and, without hesitation, pulled the blanket away from her naked body and planted the infant to her breast. Quiet reigned again.
They waited for a second in stillness. Certain the coast was still clear, Clay signaled. Badger landed beside him with more grace and stealth than he would have credited to a man of such size. With a touch to his ear, Clay gestured toward the opposite direction. Badger nodded once, pulled his wife to his side, and quickly moved them across the only litter-free trail.
Clay waited for a count of thirty and headed in the opposite direction. A shout came from a squad up ahead. He was heading in the squad’s direction, and with luck, he’d lead them far enough away from Badger’s family to allow them to escape. With a little more luck, he wouldn’t end up on the wrong end of a squad laser either.
After three minutes of running, he halted before the sweep of squad lights up ahead caught him in their sights. Pivoting on his heel, he headed right.
Karma: Shepherd. Now 3 squads @ your N., E., & W.
What the hell? His eye registered the message, and he clenched his weapon, trying to gauge his next move and not get distracted. Bad enough Esme had hacked his system. Now she was transmitting a global broadcast. Every member of the underground teams would get this message. One inch and the woman took whole miles worth of ground.
Karma: Back up. Now.
He stepped back into the darkness and spun to retreat, his ocular sensor panning before him in a heat-signature sweep.
Karma: Stop—full team in front—one behind.
Radar: Interrupter in progress—only buys U 3 minutes.
Ghost: Sequence interrupter2—add 2 minutes for U.
Great, they were buying him time. For what? The darkness beside the support pillar would keep him covered only until the squad rounded the corner. He glanced up at the underbelly of the New Delphi grid. Miles of pipes for city maintenance and communication conduits wove beneath the girders. Nothing of help. It wasn’t as if he could just rise in the air anyway. What the fuck was he supposed to do?
His visual relay doubled, his ocular receptor splitting an image into two with a view above him. What the hell? Was she feeding him back his own projection?
Karma: Squad 2 minutes away
Ratter: 1 count—Shepherd down!
Clay barely had time to crouch into a ball on the ground and cover his head with his hands as he recognized the mechanized sound above him. Tons of plastic, aluminum, and paper showered over his body. The stench of week-old rotten kelp cartons and food regeneration receptacles permeated his nasal passages as fresh air disappeared. A flicker of light, and then black covered him. The weight pressed in around him as the New Delphi trash release continued its dump. His legs were strong enough to handle the weight, and his scratched skin would regenerate as long as he still had air to breathe.
The crisp, high-pitched whine of heat-seeking bots cut through the thud and tumble of the trash heap mountaining over him.
“Perimeter scan. Target evacuated.”
Clay held his breath. The Regent squad had found Badger’s home, but they were safe—for now. He held his pose, hoping not to shift the refuse and give away his location.
“Copy. Expand search back to market area.” The second voice rang from beside Clay’s right ear.
“What was that?” asked the first voice.
“Just a damn rat,” replied the second voice again.
A sizzle and flash of light flickered by Clay’s right side. He bit back a curse and waited.
“Shit. Get a grip. You could have shot me. Get back to the meet point. I’ll signal our status.”
Karma: Squad 1 tracking back—squad 2 still 20 feet away—hold your position
Hold? He was sitting beneath several hundred pounds of trash with a fresh laser wound on his side, and she wanted him to hold?
Ratter: Clear
Karma: S W market clear
Radar: Heat signature scramble set for 10 minutes
Ten minutes was more than enough time to get home and wrestle back controls for his life from Esme. God, he’d created a monster by adding her code name to his list. She had walked in, finagled her way into his good graces, hacked his system, and just kept pushing. What had he told her? Don’t touch anything. Now the team was playing with her like some new puppy. Great. At least he wasn’t the only one insane enough allow her to beguile him.
She had no idea of the monster she was stroking. He had no doubt she would run screaming when she found out the extent of his lack of humanity.
Bursting through the trash heap took only a minute. He forced himself to use each remaining minute during the trip back to get himself under control.
***
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s minor.” He’d come straight through the front portal and right by her with a barely discernible stagger, then headed off without a backward look. “I’ll get the kegs when I’m clean, and then we’ll discuss your unauthorized use of the network, my console, and personal space.”
“Countdown, forty-nine hours.”
Setting the countdown to mute, Esme waited for the sounds of the vapor shower to start before she opened the door to Clay’s room. His coat lay discarded on the floor, a dark stain along the waistline.
His back was to her, but she confirmed only a graze along one side of his body. Enough to cause profuse bleeding, though unlikely to constitute a serious injury. However, the weight from the trash release must have caused some damage. Running a quick visual check, she cataloged the corded muscles roped along either side of his spine from his shoulder blades to firm, muscled flanks, and lower. She sucked in her breath at the scars beneath the curves of his buttocks.
The steam stopped as Clay caught her inspection. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
Riveted to the flash of lights and wires visible from within the deep gouge of flesh along his thigh, she took too long to glance at his face. By the time she did, his jaw was rigid and his fists clenched. Yet he refused to turn and let her see his whole face.
“Get a good enough look at the freak?” His one good eye g
lared at her over his shoulder. “Get out and give me some peace, Esme.”
Her heart beat so fast, she couldn’t think, she turned on instinct at his command. By the time she reached the door, saner judgment kicked in. Decisively, she closed the door and turned back, walking slowly toward him. His lips tightened, but she didn’t pause. Not until she stood beside him, so close she could see the tremor in his cheek.
“I don’t need your help.”
“I’m not offering it.” She reached out her hand and touched his chest. His hand stopped her wrist from further movement. She looked from their connection to his face. He still angled it away from her, hiding his cyber eye.
“Let me see your face.” He looked away completely, and she dug her fingers into his chest, trying to ignore the spider-webbed scar across his skin. “Let me see,” she shouted.
He whipped back, giving her the full brunt of the view.
Without releasing his chest, she reached her other hand to his jaw. “Don’t,” she snapped again as he moved to stop her. “I’m not a child, Clay. I wasn’t raised on fairytales. I don’t expect you to fabricate some illusion for me.”
Both of his hands dropped, but the tight clench of his jaw remained as if he would let her look at him and be damned for the act.
She tilted her head as she moved his face for a better look at his eye patch. The cybernetic eye opened. Circles within circles of metal retracted, leaving only the plasma eyeball embedded in the center visible. It followed her as she shifted, making it difficult to gauge the color and design in the low light.
Her fingers released their grip on his chest, reflexively stroking him while she scrutinized his eye. Several layers of the plasma turned blue. As her touch became firmer, the color morphed to green. She leaned closer, both of her palms covering his pectoral muscles, and suddenly the eye flooded with gold. She laughed, and Clay instantly moved back.
“No. I’m not laughing at you.” She grabbed him with both hands and stepped closer. “I like the colors. My reaction is because your eye is so remarkably integrated with your emotions.”
At his confused look and dark scowl, she slid her hands down to hold his hips, not letting him back away farther. “Have you never had a chance to notice?”
His normal eye scrutinized her face as if searching for some lie. Obviously, he had no knowledge of this facet of his technology. When I do this”—she rubbed her palm over his left nipple—the mesh of scars had left him only one—“the color of your eye turns the color of mine.”
“My eye doesn’t have a color.”
“You’re calling me a liar?”
The frown said he was considering it. She pinched him in retaliation and fun. The rock of his muscle didn’t give beneath her fingers. He didn’t even wince. “Pay attention, Clay. I don’t need to make things up to amuse myself.” Her fingers turned her action into a caress to make her point, though she couldn’t maintain his gaze as she focused on the myriad scars.
“Just spit it out.” Perhaps he had intended a harsh tone, but his delivery sounded almost pained, and his heart thundered beneath her fingertips. She didn’t look at him, not wanting him to have a chance to back out. This exercise, this horrible cold assessment of his body and what the Regents had done to him, was necessary. Each scar and change had created the man who brought her to his home as a captive. All the horror and past were intricate layers of the honor and strength she had witnessed in his compassionate treatment of her.
He needed her to see him, to witness her reaction and know it didn’t make a difference to her what physical changes he bore. For the first time, she wanted to release someone else’s burden. She wanted him to be as naked with her as he made her feel. Until this was over, neither of them could move on.
“What are the scars from?”
“The addition of two extra chambers to my heart, an additional lung, and a series of blood vessels to support the increased processing power of my body.”
She glanced up, working hard to plaster calm on her features and keep the horror of the pain he’d endured from her voice. “For the added speed of your legs and strength?”
He gave a terse nod. She returned it but stepped back, glanced down, and moved her hand lower. His abdomen pulled in before his intention to speak, and she moved a hand to his lips to silence him. Glancing over his navel, she followed the line of dark blond hair to the thick width of his penis. Only half erect, he gave every sign of resisting her exploration. She had every intention of eliciting his enjoyment of her touch—in a moment. As her hand slid slowly down, his width expanded in her palm. Good, but she had another target.
She brushed her thumb over his glans and then traced her fingers to the joint of his thighs and the nestled sack of his balls. Both warm and soft, one was larger and riddled with scars.
“And this?” She cupped both in her palm, gently rolling them, waiting to see when his eye changed color, cataloging whether rubbing both testicles elicited sensation and pleasure or just one.
He swallowed hard but stared at her without blinking. “The Regent guards recruit at puberty, figuring the boys are surging in testosterone. They like total control over their assets. I was lucky. The test groups before me had both taken and none replaced.”
Fighting back the anguish for the atrocities forced on him, she pushed on. “And the purpose of the new one?”
He raised his chin slightly. “To increase aggression. More testosterone, a higher lizard-brain mentality, and less cognitive reasoning to override one’s orders.”
With a delicate squeeze, she watched the colors in his constructed eye settle back into deep gold. “They failed,” she said with a smile. “Whatever they tried on you didn’t work. Must have really pissed them off.”
His cheek twitched, and the side of his mouth gave a small rise.
Not waiting for his acceptance, she released his balls, folded her hand around his growing erection, and dropped to her knees on the wet floor between his feet. One hand traced around the fresh wound on his thigh. “Does this hurt?”
“I can feel that there’s a problem. The connective tissue reweaves, and the mechanics seek any alternate route to continue functioning at maximum efficiency.”
He started with a sour tone but hissed as she pulled and stroked the full length of his cock. “Where do you feel the problem?”
“At the connection to my own tissue.” He groaned as she placed a kiss above the juncture of his leg and torso. The scars clearly delineated where they’d removed his legs and attached the cybernetic enhancements. She kissed his artificial skin and then his flesh, lingering to tongue him from hip to groin.
“Esme.” His palm covered her head a second before she turned and took him into her mouth.
His fingers gripped her hair and tugged. “Damn.”
She scraped her teeth below the helmet of his crown, enjoying the contrast of soft skin over steely hardness. Her fingers gripped the backs of his thighs as she nuzzled closer, swirling her tongue along the curves and ridges of his cock.
No amount of tugging on her hair stopped her efforts. His body’s responses confirmed his pleasure, but her surprise was at how much she enjoyed this new experience. The tighter his grip and the faster his breathing, the more her heart raced and heat sizzled along her skin. The pleasure he’d brought her earlier resurfaced, pulsing in waves between her thighs as she worked her tongue over his flesh. The need to bury herself in the musky warmth of his body, to take him deep into her, left her shaking with need.
Shocked and pleased, she revealed in her ability to being him to climax. Her quickening response to his pleasure swirled like a living thing within her, a needy throb strung tight between her breasts and pussy.
Even with the unexpected length and width of this cock, she took him deeper as she looked up to meet his gaze. Unfortunately, she chose that time to caress his balls with her fingernails. He jerked and then pulled her away from him.
His eyes squeezed tight for a second. “Tickled.”
With a smile, she enveloped him again, working him slowly until his fingers clenched on her scalp. His groan signaled his climax, the total look of vulnerability in his eyes signaled she’d finally made it past his defenses. For that alone, she would give them both this pleasure as many times as possible. Swallowing every drop, she gentled her caress as he bucked in the downward throes of his release.
She licked the saltiness from her lips, then sat back on her heels and cocked her head with a frown, staring at the still firm condition of his cock. She had no warning before he bent and grabbed her.
Her back softly hit the mattress as he pressed her deep into the covers. “There’s a side benefit to that enhancement. One I didn’t appreciate until now.” His mouth closed over her neck, his tongue teasing in warm circles across her skin as his hand slid beneath her shirt to massage her breasts. “I can stay hard for a very long time.”
“Mmm.” She arched against him as his fingers plumped and rolled her nipple in a maddening rhythm. “How long?”
He left her only long enough to slip off her shirt and swipe down her pants. Then his warmth against her skin returned. Suckling her nipple, he shifted between her legs and entered her with maddening slowness. “Long enough to pay you back several times over for the wonderful performance, Sugar.”
Chapter 7
Clay moved down Esme’s body, reveling in the softness of her skin. His mind thrilled at her desire, the way her body responded to his touch. Sensual and confident, this woman would never morph into one of the subservient slaves he’d witnessed in the darker haunts of Down Below. He’d seen the servitude some men required to fill the shattered parts of their lives, the dark edges some people needed to travel to feel the knifepoint of pleasure. A slave collar and a woman kowtowing at his feet did nothing for him. A woman bright enough to handle the same challenges he pursued, one not afraid to show what she wanted and how she felt, one he could trust—did.
He nibbled along the curve of her breast. Then again, a woman responsive enough to come at his command might be fun. He looked up at Esme with a wicked grin, no longer self-conscious for what she might find lacking in him. Now he would learn how far he could drive his captive tiger—if she didn’t unravel him first. He thought her sweet mouth on his cock had undone him, but being buried in the tight heat of her took his breath away.