Girl From Above: Betrayal (The 1000 Revolution) Page 8

  “Chitec, huh? Wherever I go those bastards muscle in.”

  “Do you have a history with Chitec?”

  I almost answered her. She had a way of asking sharp questions with an innocent look on her face, as though she had no idea how cutting those questions were. She knew my dataprint. She knew I didn’t have an official history with Chitec, besides allegedly selling their weapons. I turned away and admired the gaping hole in Starscream’s hull. “How much do you know about Chitec?”

  “Chitec is a intra-system trillion credit corporation. Its headquarters occupy most of the Janus orbit-station. The company develops, manufactures, and licenses commercial technology, weapons technology, and the ever-after program. All departments defer to the philanthropist, inventor, and magnate, CEO Chen Hung—”

  Blah, blah, blah. I picked up a flux clamp and eyed the inspection space. “You sound like you’re reading from a screen.”

  “I’m recalling their file.”

  “Can’t you add a little personality? Spice it up a bit.”

  “Would that better suit your limited attention span?”

  I grinned and glimpsed her smile before she could hide it. Sometimes, when I looked at her—or rather, caught her watching me—a spark of something would flash in her analyzing eyes. Something deeper than measurements and coding. It’d be easy to let my guard down, to think she was a flesh and blood human.

  “Help me with these repairs, would you?” I asked, holding her gaze.

  “Yes, Caleb.”

  She’d not called me by my name before. It felt personal and unsettling as though it held significance. I ducked inside the inspection space and pushed the thought aside. It didn’t matter. In a few hours, Fran and I would be plain sailing toward the system gate, on our way toward Mimir, and I’d be leaving all this Chitec, synth, Jesse, and fleet mindfuckery behind.

  “You have a nice ass.” She emphasized the word nice.

  I spluttered a laugh inside the crawl space. Now that was definitely sarcasm; she’d thrown my nice comment from the night before right back at me. “Hand me the O-ring clamp.”

  I reached back and caught her crooked smile as she handed over the clamp.

  Chapter Seventeen: #1001

  These shivers and skitters I’d been experiencing—I knew them. I felt them: Excitement. Nerves. Fear. It shouldn’t have been happening, but that didn’t change the fact that these sensations were happening, and I liked them. I studied them, poked at them, relished them, and sought out ways to summon them, like spying on Shepperd in the shower.

  While Shepperd worked on Starscream and I handed over the relevant tools, I couldn’t help but recall how I’d seen him earlier. When I allowed my thoughts to linger on my memory of him naked, a curious lick of something pleasurable flitted low. He had a tribal tattoo on the curve of his lower back—a fox with nine tails. While he’d been showering, I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off it. And then there had been the rest of him. Every time I recalled how the water had gathered and trickled in rivulets down his back, I lost my ability to think. My normal thought processes were there, but then I’d remember how he’d reached up to ease his fingers through his air, and how the water had played over his arms, licking over his taut muscles, and my thought processes would vanish.

  Shepperd had to ask me more than once for something from the toolbox. These sensations, these feelings, they were infuriating, and yet my internal systems registered nothing unusual. That had to be wrong. When I wanted to find a fault, there were none. So I deliberately turned my thoughts away from how the sight of him naked made me feel, to the scars I’d seen. They were childhood scars; his body had matured around them. Considering the conversation I’d overheard him having with his brother, my initial assumption was that his father had inflicted them. Caleb’s father’s data file didn’t amount to anything more than a sorry tale of a man who’d lost his wife to cancer. Cancer was curable, if you had enough credit. The Shepperds hadn’t. From the moment his mother had died, the family had fragmented. Dozens of dataprint files detailed his father’s altercations with the Earth Police Alliance. The Shepperd brothers had often been caught outside after curfew, almost as though they’d preferred to spend their time in lockup than at home. But the kids had cleaned up. Whether they’d done it because of outside influences or by their own accords, they’d started excelling in school. Both were gifted. Fleet had taken an interest in the older brother and had offered Brendan a bursary. Caleb’s had come two years later, two years too late if the increase in med bay stays were any indication of his treatment during that time.

  “Hey, synth? You still there?” Shepperd called from inside the crawl space. “The nine mil, can you hand it over?”

  I obliged, handing him the wrench.

  “Listen, when we’re done here, why don’t you take yourself on a tour of Ganymede? I’ll meet you by the PA’s—the Port Authority’s office—before we fly out.”

  I moistened my lips and swallowed. “I will.”

  He was lying and clearly thought hiding his face would fool me. I already had a reading of his steady heartbeat, and while it took a lot to excite his hardened heart, I’d learned which of his words were truth and which were lies. He intended to leave me on Ganymede—him and Fran both. I wouldn’t let that happen. I wasn’t finished.

  Chapter Eighteen: Caleb

  I joined Fran at a booth in Tink’s. The bar wasn’t nearly as busy as when I’d nearly had my ass handed to me out back. A few locals sneered in my direction. I’d have preferred to get lost in the crowd again, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Repairs are done. We need to get moving and soon,” I said quietly.

  Fran tipped her glass of something rust-yellow in my direction. “Tell that to your brother.”

  Bren was late. I’d checked the permanently orange-lit boardwalks outside for any sign of him with no luck. No sign of the synth either. I’d told her I’d meet her by the port authority’s office before we left, making sure to hide the lie on my face by busying myself inside the inspection space. She’d bought it. Vital repairs were complete, and I was more than ready to burn out of Ganymede. I just had two minor issues to clear up: my brother and Jesse.

  Fran tasted her drink, but her eyes stayed on me.

  “What?”

  “Just go talk to her and we’ll boost out of here. Screw your brother.”

  She looked as cool and calm as she always did, but she was feeling the itch to leave the same as me. “You’re right.”

  “I’m always right, genius.”

  After I asked at the bar about Jesse, the bartender pinged her comm and served me a drink. Every second I waited, sitting at the bar like a chump, the uneasiness I’d experienced during my conversation with the synth worked its way under my skin. Something about our little chat wasn’t sitting easy. My instincts had kept me alive in Asgard and those same instincts were telling me to get the fuck off Ganymede and back-in-black like I had pirates on my tail. Much of my uneasiness centered on the damn synth.

  “Caleb, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he would do that.” Jesse leaned against the bar. “He said to just distract you. That’s all.”

  I lifted my gaze from my drink to tell her I wouldn’t be helping her with her problem, but the words died when I saw the violent bloom of black and blue bruises plastered across the entire right side of her face. Cold rage pushed reason aside. He’d beaten her.

  I’d kill him.

  Jesse swallowed and closed her eyes. “Cale, please.” Her lashes fluttered. “Don’t say no.”

  Say no. Just fuckin’ say the word and get out of here. “Where is he?”

  She snapped her eyes open. “What are you going to do?”

  “Fix him.”

  “Cale”—she lowered her voice—“not like this.”

  “You wanted him fuckin’ fixed, now tell me where the fuck he is.”

  She searched my eyes but wouldn’t find any mercy in them. “He’s upstairs.”

 
; I moved to leave. She caught my arm, just enough to stop me. “Wait. You can’t do this yet. We need to have a plan or Bruno’ll come after me.”

  Fran was inbound, her fierce expression warning me that I had little time to get this done. I faced Jesse and pressed my hand against her unharmed cheek. She didn’t deserve this life, but few people in the nine systems deserved the lives they were trapped in. I wasn’t one of them. She leaned into my touch as though savoring it. I wasn’t worth savoring.

  I drew her in close, as if I meant to kiss her, and whispered, “I want you to transfer twenty of those funds to my account. Use the rest to get yourself off this rock. Do it now.”

  She blinked too-bright eyes. “Take me with you.”

  “I can’t.” She opened her mouth, probably to beg, but I cut her off. “You don’t want the heat I’m carrying. Slip away. Do it now. Go.”

  “Cale, I’m sorry.”

  I offered her a hint of an honest smile. “Go, Jess. You don’t wanna be here for what happens next, trust me.”

  She nodded and left by the front entrance, brushing past Fran. I made it a few steps out the back door before Fran circled around and blocked me.

  “If you do this, I quit,” she said, spitting the words through clenched teeth.

  I eyed the fire escape over her shoulder. It snaked up the back of the bar. I could get in and out in minutes. “Get back to the ship. Fire her up. We have clearance. I’ll be there in ten.”

  “Cale …”

  I moved to step around her. She shoved hard against my chest and glared at me, teeth grinding. “You’re about to bring a crap-ton of trouble down on us, and for what? A cheap whore? This is not the time to be a hero.”

  A hero? She was so wrong. “Fran, get out of my way.”

  “No.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” I gave her a shove, intending to push her aside. She gripped my jacket in her fists and would have had me against the wall if I hadn’t grabbed her by the chin, pulling her off balance.

  I clamped my fingers closed, digging into her cheek. “Just be my fucking second, do as you’re fuckin’ ordered, and fly the fuckin’ ship.” I shoved her away.

  She staggered, fury twisting her beautiful features and turning her ugly. What the fuck was her problem? It wasn’t as though we hadn’t been here before. “Two years ago I could have left you here. I didn’t. I’m giving Jesse the same kinda chance I gave you.”

  She breathed hard, straightened, and came at me with murder in her eyes. I reached inside my jacket for my concealed pistol. She lifted her hands, clamped my face between them, and pulled me into a furious kiss, attacking me with her mouth. Her lips were warm and wet, her tongue teasing and invasive. Adrenalin surged alongside aggression, creating a potent mix. I swept an arm around her back and yanked her close. She arched into me, curving her body against mine, so deliciously soft. She kissed with her body, with everything she had, and it damn well sucker punched me in the gut, stealing my breath and thoughts. When she pulled back, I let her, because I had no idea what to think or say or do. That had been real.

  “If you’re not back in ten—” The tip of her tongue traced her upper lip. “Starscream’s mine.”

  She turned with a flick of her braid and walked away, returning to the bar. It was only when the door swung shut that I breathed again. A shudder tumbled from my head to my toes. Torn between going after her and finishing what I’d started, I stepped toward the bar and stopped. Maybe that was her plan? Dump a mind-numbing kiss on me in the hope I’d follow her home like a good little puppy. Fuck that. I gave myself a few seconds to focus, then started up the fire escape.

  * * *

  Asgard was where people were sent to die. I’d survived. But to survive, I’d left a piece of myself there. I’d left the part that cares, the part that feels. Maybe even a part of my wretched soul.

  I barely remember killing Philip. Once inside that room above Tink’s, the raw, most basic of human instincts had kicked in. It’d felt good to be the one in control, the one with the power. He’d deserved it. One less fucker in the nine systems.

  When it was over, I staggered toward the door. My boots slipped in the blood. I tried to hook my pistol back into its holster and missed; I tried again and managed it the second time. For a few seconds, the walls tilted and the floor tipped. My heart hammered. I fell against the wall and stayed there, flexing my trembling right hand. Ragged cuts grazed my knuckles. Hot pain throbbed through my hand and up my arm. I pushed against the wall and tried to move forward. I’ll be okay in a second. Just get back to Starscream.

  That’s when I heard shouted orders being barked—fleet, downstairs in the bar. I snatched my pistol free and cursed as my fingers slipped on the blood-covered grip.

  I walked past the beaten body, back to the window, and ducked outside. The Ganymede’s air stank of decay and corruption. I wanted off this fuckin’ rock. I made it down the fire escape and broke into a jog. If I circled around, I could get back to the repair hangar, to Fran and Starscream. How long had it been? Fran wouldn’t leave. Shit, who was I kidding? She’d leave me high and dry to save her own ass. Hammering boots echoed down the alley. I pushed myself flat into a doorway, pistol ready.

  “Cale…?”

  “Bren?” I stepped out. “Where you been man? Fleet—”

  Bren stood in front of a line of six fleet ground soldiers. All of them were dressed in body armor, right up to the gills. Their steel-like eyes glared at me through their visors. They aimed their rifles, locked and loaded. My brother, back in his fleet uniform, had the balls to look sorry, as if this were some sort of cosmic accident, because it couldn’t be his fault.

  “Caleb—”

  “Save it.” I lifted my hands.

  “Just come in easy. No trouble?”

  Disgust and disappointment sat heavily in my gut. My own brother had just royally fucked me. “You’re just like Dad, huh?”

  He grimaced as if the thought sickened him and looked away. Good.

  “Drop the pistol.” One of the soldiers barked, his voice muffled by his helmet.

  I dropped the pistol.

  “Kick it closer.”

  I gave it a kick in their direction.

  “Arm your weapons.”

  “Whoa, boys.” A nervous smile flicked across my lips. “No need to get aggressive.”

  They shouldered their rifles in unison, eyes piercing. This wasn’t an arrest; it was a firing squad.

  Bren turned. “Wait. Don’t—”

  Chapter Nineteen: #1001

  “You know how to hold a gun?” Fran and I stood in Starscream’s cargo hold, a box of weapons cracked open in front of us. She handed me a Chitec semiautomatic pulse rifle. “Take it.”

  I took the gun and weighed it in my hands. It felt good, solid, comforting. I lifted the rifle, checked the magazine, rammed it back into place, and smiled at Fran. “Yes, I know how to hold a gun.”

  She blinked and hesitated. I remembered my smile, considered hiding it, but let it grow instead.

  “Okay then.” She cleared her throat and collected her own gun. “I’m not sure whether I should be afraid of you or turned on. Caleb told me you beat the shit out of someone. That means your failsafe isn’t functioning. Am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your protocols?”

  “Disabled.”

  She shouldered her rifle. “That’s what I thought. Someone at Chitec has been playing with their toys. We’ll worry about why later. Right now, I need some of that synth brand of crazy. Fleet are closing in on Caleb, and we’re getting him back.”

  * * *

  The Ganymede boardwalks were clear. It seemed we’d been the only ones unaware of fleet’s arrival until it was too late. Fran and I entered the alley behind the line of fleet soldiers. Commander Shepperd stood in the firing line, and behind him, Caleb stood with his hands raised.

  “Wait! Don’t—” The commander’s voice echoed.

  He’s mine.

 
; I opened fire, strafing the soldiers’ legs. They went down like a line of dominos. It was almost too easy. A slippery touch of excitement trickled through my systems. I wanted more. I looked for Caleb and found him on his knees. Was he hurt? One of the squad groped for a gun. I kicked the weapon away and did the same for any others conscious enough to try and retaliate. They would all live to identify us. It would be cleaner if we killed them. Protocols breached. Failsafe disabled.

  Fran rushed forward and clasped Shepperd’s forearm, yanking him back to his feet. “You hurt?”

  He shoved her off and managed a few steps before dropping to a knee beside his brother’s motionless body.

  I scanned Caleb’s vital signs. He was wounded but not seriously so. His brother hadn’t been as lucky. The commander’s heart was racing. His breath came in rapid snatches. He wouldn’t last long without medical help.

  “He’s alive.” I shouldered the rifle and crouched beside Caleb. The smell of blood saturated the air. Deep red blood splatters marred the commander’s stark white coat and pale face. I rolled him onto his back, revealing a pool of blood. “We need to get him to a med bay immediately.”

  Caleb stared. He breathed slowly, carefully, teeth clenched. His hands trembled in his lap. Blood oozed from his grated knuckles. Dried splatters of it dashed his face.

  “Caleb? Tell me where the med bay is and I’ll get him there.”

  “Leave him.” He stood, blinked quickly, and glanced at the soldiers writhing in pain where they’d fallen. “Just leave him.” He stumbled back. “Leave all of them.” He retrieved his pistol and started walking toward the main boardwalk. “Let’s go.”

  “Cale, no,” Fran called. “Your brother?”

  I scooped the commander into my arms and lifted him with me as I stood. Fran cursed. The plea for help, so clear on her face, scattered nervous ripples through my synthetic muscles.