Girl From Above: Betrayal (The 1000 Revolution) Page 7
“You remember Philip?”
Her pimp, Bruno’s second, and an all-round asshole. I didn’t answer. Jesse was clearly going somewhere with this, and I wouldn’t like it.
“I want you to fix him.”
The aim of this little jaunt to Ganymede had been to keep my head down. Fixing could involve anything from threatening her pimp to dumping his body out an airlock, and it was the last thing I wanted to get involved in. People paid me to fix the problems they’d rather fleet not hear about. I only knew of one way to fix a leech like Philip.
“I can pay.”
Shit. “How much?”
Her fingers pulsed against my thigh and eased high enough to make me shift in my seat.
“Twenty now, twenty five next time you swing back around this way.”
She pulled her seat closer so her knees touched my leg and altered the position of her hand. I leaned back against my seat, hand curled around my glass, and let her work me over.
“I’ll throw in a few freebie sessions,” she whispered close to my ear. The flutter of her breath against my skin and the thought of what those freebie sessions might entail very quickly derailed my already scant common sense and sprinkled delicious shivers down my spine.
The money, the sex—fuck knew I needed both. Her offer was mighty tempting. Why couldn’t she have asked me the next time I dropped by Ganymede, when I had the time and inclination to help her out?
“If I do this, I won’t be able to dock in Ganymede—” She squeezed and circled her hand around my cock as much as the flight suit allowed. Fuck. What was I saying?
“C’mon, Caleb. You know I’m good for it.” She was practically sitting in my lap. Every word she whispered against my ear coiled need way down low. Thoughts of what I wanted those lips wrapped around chased away every single reason I had not to help her.
“Another time, Jesse. I could—”
She curled her other hand around mine and tugged me out of my chair. I snatched up my bottle and let her lead me through the crowd, out the backdoor, and into an alley. The Ganymede air smelled like rot and mildew. My head spun, swirling my thoughts with it. Jesse splayed a hand over my chest and pushed me back against the wall. Her other hand made quick work of ducking inside my flight suit.
“C’mon, Cale.” She smashed her mouth against mine and drove her tongue in.
Bottle still clutched in one hand, I sank my other hand into her hair and kissed her back. She tasted like wine and smoke and something sickly sweet, but I was far beyond rational thought and deep into autopilot. Unfortunately, my dick controlled my autopilot and we were about to crash and burn.
“Say yes,” she whispered.
“Fuck yes.” Yes, yes, yes. Just get down to business already.
She dropped to her knees and had me in her expert mouth so damn fast I didn’t know my own fucking name, let alone what I’d just agreed to. Jesse knew the exact right way to close her lips and work her tongue and hand all together so that I forgot about the fuckin’ synth, fleet, my brother, Chitec—everything, gone. And just for a little while, I forgot the missing year and what it had done to me. I forgot the guilt devouring my fetid soul.
Chapter Fifteen: #1001
As I watched the woman lead Captain Shepperd out the back door, I had to wonder how he’d survived into his twenty-four years. Dumb luck, judging by his poor choices. His companion clearly had ulterior motives, but he was far too intoxicated to think beyond his physical needs.
After I’d extracted myself from the attentions of the man who’d commented on my hair, I’d cruised around the bar, filtering through the information I gained from the people I passed. Automatic facial recognition had flagged several high-profile fugitives while the rest of the crowd had consisted mainly of drifters with no fixed addresses. I’d absorbed the data, letting it breeze through background processes until it snagged on Shepperd’s name. With my interest piqued, I’d woven through the crowd to hone in on the conversation, mentally muting all other auditory input. I hadn’t needed to see the couple to hear them, and had leaned against a grubby wall panel. The guy in the green jacket had talked of credits, rates, and how much the woman’s time was worth.
She’d replied softly and then had peeled away to join Shepperd. Judging by the captain’s greeting, he’d known what—or who—he was getting into.
They left and I would have let it go, but the green-jacket man she’d left behind spoke quickly and in hushed tones to a second beside him. Tension pulled his tone tight. His heart drummed quickly, artificially elevated. I turned my head and stole a quick glance through the crowd. His racing heart rate likely had more to do with drug use than fear or excitement, especially when combined with his darting gaze and overly dilated pupils. His jacket hung open, barely concealing two pistols.
“Bruno don’t care a spec about Shepperd,” he said. “He’ll find another smuggler; it’s not like they’re rare.” He chuckled like a snuffling animal. “I reckon Chitec will pay good credit for him. Go ‘round back. Jesse will have him distracted. I want you t—”
Loud music kicked in, momentarily surging through my skull and cutting off the rest of the conversation, but I’d heard enough.
I left by the front door, stepping out onto the artificially lit streets. Orange light licked over me until I ducked into the shadows and jogged down a narrow side alley. Trash littered the ground, and with no wind to sweep it up, it would probably stay where it had fallen for months. Most of the wall from the neighboring building had collapsed. I sidestepped around the rubble, light on my feet, and then ducked behind a partially crumbled wall where I could see down the alley behind the bar.
Shepperd was leaning against the back wall of Tinkerbelle’s, head back, eyes closed, and a hand in the woman’s hair to control the pace while she serviced him. A ripple of something dark and cool coiled inside me. My temp sensors didn’t flag any spikes; all systems were optimal. Ignoring the odd sensation, I gripped the broken bricks and watched. By Shepperd’s slightly parted lips and his rapid breathing, he was clearly too lost in the woman’s pleasure to notice the two men approaching from the opposite end of the alley. One carried a two-by-four punched with nails, and the other some kind of rounded stick, heavier at one end than the other.
A scuff from behind was all the warning I needed. I whirled around and drove my right fist forward. The punch landed in the man’s gut, doubling him over. He grunted right before I fisted my hand in his hair, spun him, and slammed him face first into the wall. Bone shattered, the impact reverberating up my arm. Blood burst from his nose. I dropped him and jumped over the crumbled half-wall. He’d live, maybe.
The two men had already torn the woman off of Shepperd. He staggered, slurred a few words, and held out a hand. Aggression quivered through the men’s muscles and blazed in their eyes. They were going to beat him and possibly kill him.
“Don’t hurt him!” The woman stumbled backward, dabbing at a cut on her face with her hand. “It’s my fault. I asked him.”
I can’t let this happen. I am #1001, and I follow orders. Captain Shepperd will not die here.
Shepperd is mine. I broke into a run.
The men lunged. Shepperd smashed a bottle against the wall and brandished the jagged neck. “C’mon, fuckers. The least you could’ve done is let the bitch finish.”
They saw me then and smiled. I smiled right back and tackled the nearest one around the waist. I slammed him hard against the wall. Dust showered down on us. He oomphed a cry and tried to bring the butt of his makeshift weapon down on my skull. I jerked sideways, the club glancing off my shoulder. That had been his one chance; now it was my turn. I head-butted his nose, blocked the sensory pain alerts, and blinked his blood from my eyes. He choked, gurgling on his own blood, fell to his knees, and heaved up the contents of his stomach.
A hand touched my arm. I spun, right fist drawn back, and found myself peering into Shepperd’s wide eyes.
Do you understand, #1001?
“I understand.” My crystal clear voice carried down the alleyway until the background sounds of Ganymede swallowed it. Fault, fault, fault. This is wrong. I am not designed for this. This isn’t me. Not me. Not me.
Shepperd exhaled and swallowed hard. “Are we good?”
Orders pushed inside my thoughts, fighting for control. I ignored them and did nothing but look into his eyes. Don’t … let … me… go. “I …”
He glanced at my raised fist. “Stand down, One Thousand And One.”
I lowered my hand, straightened, and flicked my fingers out. The two attackers writhed around us. He’d dropped the other one, or the woman had. She was standing by the rear door of the bar, hand pressed to the wound on her face, eyes wide with fear.
“She’ll talk.”
“No, she won’t.” Shepperd slipped his hand around mine. I looked down. His warm and surprisingly gentle touch sent a quiver of pleasure through me. “Come on.”
He pulled and I followed, letting him lead me away from the alley, from the bar, from the woman, and from the men I could have killed.
You will kill this man. You follow orders. You will only ever have one: to kill.
“You saved me back there,” Shepperd said, walking me up Starscream’s ramp.
I yanked my hand from his, ignored his frown, and shoved past him. I had to rest, to clear my head, to reset my protocols. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t me. I’m not a killer. I am Number One Thousand And One, and I don’t want this.
* * *
What are they doing? This isn’t right. We shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry, so sorry. This is my fault
Don’t let them do this. Don’t let this happen. Please, Caleb. Please—
Don’t
Let
Me
Go
I used to believe stars were wishes, that if we reached them, our dreams would come true. But the stars will always be out of reach, and no amount of dreaming will capture them. I wish … I wish we had more time. I wish we had forever. I wish you loved me. Don’t let me go.
When I awoke and touched my fingertips to my face, they came away wet with cool tears.
Chapter Sixteen: Caleb
Someone kicked me in the leg. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
A groan peeled from my lips. I rolled onto my back and rested my forearm over my eyes, blocking out the razor blades of light. I couldn’t hear the engines, which meant we were docked somewhere. Ganymede. Oh yeah. Repairs. Bruno. Tink’s bar. Jesse— Oh, man, Jesse; the things she could do with her tongue— Fuck. The alley. The synth.
“Where’s the synth?” I cracked one eye open and peeked below my hand at Fran, now seated in the rec room booth, boots up on the table. A bowl of dry cereal was nestled in her hand. She’d braided her hair and had draped the tail of it over her shoulder. She looked clean and bright and far too enthusiastic. Her smile, though, was all poisonous irony.
“Last I saw, you dragged her in bloodied and white as the fleet uniform.”
I heaved my upper body upright, swung my legs off the couch, and hunched forward, burying my face in my hands while the world spun.
“The worst of it is that I didn’t drink enough to forget it.”
I smelled of blood, sex and booze. My stomach heaved. Oh Jesus.
“Anyone been asking after me?” I rubbed a hand through my filthy hair and down the back of my neck, squinting through a looming headache. “Any mention of … a brawl?”
“Nope.”
Thank fuck for that. Finally, the universe had granted me a break. “How about you come over here and give me a massage?”
“How about a pay raise?”
I’d mentioned paying her for certain privileges once. She’d cut the hot water feed to my shower, tossed my alcohol out the airlock, and cut one arm off my flight suit. Just one arm. Who did that shit? So the comment I had on my lips about doubling her wage if she’d double her services withered and died on my tongue. My mouth definitely tasted as though something had died in it.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Which bit? The part where I agreed to fix Jesse’s pimp, or the part where the synth went loco and nearly killed said pimp’s hired muscle?”
Fran froze and frowned. “The synth did what? Why?”
“I have no idea. She came out of nowhere, like some fuckin’ ghost, and dropped a guy twice as big and three times as heavy as her in about three seconds.” I slumped back into the couch. “You should’ve seen it. It was pretty fuckin’ brutal. She slammed the guy into a wall and head-butted him. He dropped like a stone, coughing up broken bits of his insides. I didn’t think synths could do that. They have a failsafe to stop them from derailing.”
She dug a spoon around in her cereal. “I told you: she’s different.”
“She’s broken is what she is. I want her gone. All the major repairs need to be done in the next eight hours, and then we’re off this frozen rock.” I got to my feet and staggered toward the door.
“And what about Jesse’s pimp?”
“I’ll deal with it.” I had no idea how or when and filed that one away for when I didn’t have a pounding headache.
I managed two steps outside the rec bay before Fran’s voice caught up with me. “The commander dropped by. I told him you were passed out on the couch. He’ll meet you at Tink’s later.”
Would wonders never cease? First the fight had gone unreported, and next my brother had decided we weren’t done. It must have been my lucky day.
I dragged my sorry ass back to my cabin, stripped off, and stepped into the shower. I could wash off the blood and dirt, but no amount of washing could get under my skin to clean those fucked up parts in me. I leaned an arm against the cool steel shower edges and bowed my head under the pitiful jets of water. The alley, the synth—it could have been worse. She could have killed them. Had I been sober, I could have too.
The first time I’d killed a man, I’d been three days in Asgard. It had been coming from the moment they’d opened the gates and had shoved me inside. Kill or be killed. That place wasn’t real. It was hell. I had to fight to eat, to drink, to live. There were no human beings left in Asgard, just animals. I’d done what I’d had to. After a while, I’d stopped caring. Even longer, I’d started liking it. What kind of fucked up man enjoys hell?
I tilted my head back and let the water spill over my face and through my hair, letting it wash the stink of Ganymede off me.
“I’d invite you in, but there ain’t much room in here as it is.” I’d felt her eyes on me but had let it go. Fran would have sauntered right on in; she wasn’t the type to hide behind doors. The synth however? I’d figured it was her. I wouldn’t have pegged her as the type to watch, but #1001 was turning out to be full of surprises.
I turned my head. Through the rolling steam and condensation I could just make out the flash of her bright eyes and the shiver of silvery hair.
Well, okay then.
If I hadn’t been so hungover, I’d have given her a show, maybe warmed up some of those cold circuits of hers. She watched for a while, probably getting a good look at the old scars on my back. The cause of those wouldn’t be in my dataprint either. I bet the riddle that was me screwed with her neat little thought processes. By the time I felt halfway to human again and stepped out of the shower, she was gone.
I dressed, downed a few painkillers, and set about monitoring the engineers crawling over Starscream’s rear section, where my brother’s warbird had chewed into her. Before long, I was up the scaffolding, elbow deep in flux cables and grease. If I focused on repairs, I wouldn’t have to focus on Jesse’s requ
est, or how if it hadn’t been for #1001, I’d likely be in a Ganymede med bay, grounded for weeks. She’d arrived right on time. Given how I didn’t believe in luck, I guessed she’d been watching me then too, which begged the question: Why?
“I should explain.”
I jumped and smacked my head on the top of the inspection alcove.
“Dammit!” I jerked free, out of the crawl space. “Are you psychic now too?”
“No.” She stood ramrod straight, arms relaxed at her sides, and looked over Starscream’s panels. “Why?”
I snatched up a rag and wiped it over my hands and forearms, cleaning the worst of the grime off. Telling the synth I’d been thinking about her sounded wrong, especially after our little voyeuristic session. “Explain what? Why you were treating yourself to some eye candy?”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted a sliver before her neutral expression took over. What would it take to unsettle her?
“Hey, I’m not judging. We all have our guilty pleasures, right?”
She tilted her head. “I heard your name mentioned in the bar and suspected the woman had ulterior motives.”
And there I was thinking I could ruffle her synthetic feathers. Clearly it would take much more to get a rise out of her. “Go on.”
“She spoke to a man at length before sitting with you.”
“Describe him.”
“Slim, light blonde hair. He spoke quickly and his heart rate remained elevated. Heavily dilated pupils suggested drug use. He was wearing a green jacket and carrying two concealed pistols.”
Bruno’s second, and the man Jesse had wanted me to fix. The fact they’d been talking wasn’t unusual. He knew I was a past client and had probably asked her to pump me for credit—literally. “Anything else?”
She dropped her gaze to the scattering of tools on the scaffolding around me, and then at the inspection space I’d been waist-deep in. “There was mention of Chitec.”