by Cara Bristol
Trapped with the Cyborg
By
Cara Bristol
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
The Goddess’s Curse
Books by Cara Bristol
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Trapped with the Cyborg
The only thing more dangerous than a suicide mission is falling in love…
Amanda Mansfield has faced challenges in her life: the disapproval of her critical father and the near-fatal accident that ended a promising military career and resulted in her transformation to cyborg. Now a Cyber Operations field agent, she volunteers to lead the most dangerous Cy-Ops mission ever: infiltrating enemy territory to find the secret hideaway of a terrorist mastermind. The last thing she needs is an added complication.
Like him. Sonny Masters. Her partner. A streetwise former thug turned cyberoperative with a lethal grin. He can’t seem to understand she’s in charge and does not require his protection. He’s everything she dislikes—and everything her body wants.
If they can keep their hands off each other long enough to complete the mission, they might just get out alive…
Trapped with the Cyborg (Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance 4) is a stand-alone read.
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Trapped with the Cyborg
Copyright © June 2016 by Cara Bristol
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
eISBN: 978-0-9961452-8-2
Editor: Kate Richards
Copy Editor: Nanette Sipe
Cover Artist: Sweet ’N Spicy Designs
Formatting by Wizards in Publishing
Published in the United States of America
Cara Bristol
http://carabristolcom
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
The Malodonian leaned in close to the blonde. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”
Sonny snorted into his drink. Did pickup lines like that ever work? He watched out of the corner of his eye and shamelessly eavesdropped. In the Nebula Lounge of the freewheeling Darius 4 Pleasure Resort, one could not expect privacy.
“Minding my own business.” The woman’s glare suggested the Malodonian do the same.
“How about I buy you a drink?” he persisted, unfazed by the rejection. His skin was as thick as it was blue.
“Already have one.” She raised a double shot of Cerinian brandy. Her second. Sonny’s cyborg brain had kept track—not that counting to two proved a challenge. However, one single shot of the potent alien liqueur had been known to put many a stout man under the table. This woman could hold her liquor.
She’d caught his attention the moment he’d entered the lounge. Like the Malodonian had noted, she was pretty—very pretty, but not so little. She was long limbed and toned in a way that he liked.
He might have been tempted to try his luck himself—with a better line, of course—except he had little time for R&R. He needed to meet up with Manny, his Cyber Operations partner who would debrief him on the details of the next mission.
Hover lights floating around the bar flattered the woman, turning her hair to pure gold, but the warm-toned illumination wasn’t kind to the Malodonian, whose blue skin acquired an unattractive green cast. “Why don’t I join you, then?” He planted himself next to her.
“Why don’t you not?” Without wince or wobble, she knocked back the brandy and slid off the barstool. Tall, like he’d guessed. Sonny stood six foot six. Most females barely reached his shoulders. The blonde’s head would graze his chin. A nice fit for dancing, vertical and horizontal.
“What’s the rush? Don’t run off.” The Malodonian grabbed her arm, his fingers biting into her skin.
Amusement vanished. Sonny leaped to his feet. “I believe the lady said—”
Before he could finish his sentence, she had the Malodonian on his knees, his arm wrenched at such an awkward angle Sonny almost felt sorry for the poor bastard.
“What part of leave me alone didn’t you understand?” she said in the Malodonian language.
The man’s guttural insult ended on a high note when she twisted his arm. “Get out of here.” She shoved him, sending him sprawling into a table. He swore again, his epithet translating to the C-word, and scrambled for the door.
“Impressive.” Sonny applauded—from a safe distance.
“The way I took him down?”
“That, and the way you hold your liquor.”
She scowled, but then her lips twitched in a reluctant smile that lit up her face. So she did have a sense of humor. If he had the time…well, maybe he could make some. Once he departed Darius 4, it would be a long while before he could avail himself of feminine companionship. Manny wouldn’t arrive until morning. Perhaps he and the blonde could work something out for tonight?
Tread carefully, though. He’d hate to end up on his knees the way the Malodonian had. Not that the blonde could get him there. Despite being well-toned, she couldn’t beat a cyborg’s nanocyte-enhanced brawn. The image of them naked and wrestling, vying for dominance, brought a smile to his face. He’d win, of course. But he’d allow her to think she had a chance.
“Something amuses you?” she asked.
He wiped the grin off his face. “No, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” She glowered.
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Where I come from, ma’am is an expression of respect.”
She jutted her chin. “And where’s that?”
“Texas.” He’d never set foot on that part of Terra, but his great-great-great-grand something or other had settled there centuries ago. “It’s in—”
“I know where Texas is.”
“You’re from Terra, too, then.”
She rolled her eyes. “Good guess.”
In most instances, you could identify a person’s planet of origin from appearance. Malodonians had blue skin, Faria flew on translucent wings, Arcanians gripped their drinks with webbed hands, and Xenians’ golden eyes never blinked. A thick, ridged, pulsing forehead was a dead giveaway you had encountered a Lamis-Odg. Or a kaboom. If the building you were in exploded, chances were good one of them had been in the vicinity.
“I’m Sonny.” He stuck out his hand.
She hesitated for a fraction before she shook it. “Amanda.”
“Nice to meet you.” Her fingers were long and slender, her grip sure and strong. Another good fit.
Come here often? The question would sound like anothe
r tired pickup line, but he could use the intel. If she had checked in to the Darius 4 Pleasure Resort for the usual reason—a sexual vacation—he might have a chance with her. He wouldn’t have been on Darius 4 at all, except he and Manny had completed assignments in opposite parts of the galaxy and the resort, located midway, offered a convenient place to rendezvous. “At the risk of being decked, may I buy you a drink?”
Her gaze lingered on the scar zigzagging from his eye to his mouth before traveling down his body to his well-worn boots then up again. The last time he’d gotten such a thorough scan, he’d received a prostate exam, too.
“Sure.” She shrugged and slid back onto the barstool.
Getting closer! One hurdle down.
He signaled the android barkeep. “Two Cerinian brandies, please.”
After the bartender produced the drinks, he said, “Those were some pretty impressive moves you put on the Malodonian.” She’d obviously had some self-defense training. Former military, perhaps?
“I can take care of myself.”
Meaning, I don’t need assistance from you. Message received. Not that he wouldn’t attempt to protect her again if the situation warranted it. He couldn’t help it. He and his sister had grown up on the wrong side of the spaceport, and, after what had happened to her, leaping to a woman’s defense was ingrained in him. He couldn’t resist a damsel in distress even if said damsel could kick his ass every which way to Sunday.
“I noticed,” he said. “Out of curiosity, what didn’t you like about the Malodonian? He looked like an attractive fellow.”
“The Malodonians have crawled into bed with Lamis-Odg.” She knocked back her brandy without a choke.
He did the same. “There is that.” Most people had denounced the nation planet of terrorists, except for the complicit Malodonian government, which had helped to shield them from justice and were their chief supporters within the Association of Planets. In addition, more individual Malodonians than any other race had joined Lamis-Odg’s terrorist units.
“Darius 4 should ban the Malodonians before another incident occurs.”
Incident as in the bombing of the pleasure resort by General Obido. Lamis-Odg had leveled Darius 4, killing hundreds of guests. The attack had forced an end to the AOP’s naive strategy that differences could be settled through diplomacy, and the political organization had voted on and approved military force. Too little. Too late. Beating terrorism required balls-to-wall tactics by specially trained personnel.
Cy-Ops.
While the open AOP and the clandestine Cyber Operations conducted parallel actions, reconstruction had occurred on Darius 4. The themed bio domes had been restored: the garden of delight, the Roman bathhouse, the ocean, role-play centers. Before the destruction, he had unwound at Darius 4 a time or two, engaging in uncomplicated sex with androids programmed for the purpose. Uncomplicated meaning no commitments, no worries. The erotic techniques of Darius pleasure bots were legendary. Simple did not describe what they could do—unless you wanted simple. Your choice. You also had the option of bringing your own partner or hooking up with another guest and using the themed play stations. He looked at Amanda. He did have one night free…
“They did a good job rebuilding the place,” he said.
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been here before.”
“A first-timer. So what brings you here?” He winced. Stupid question. Why did anyone come here?
“I’m meeting someone.”
“Oh.” Well, so much for that.
She spun on the stool to face him. “A business associate.”
Ah. Hope rose again. “I’m here for a layover, too.” He flashed a friendly grin.
“So…we both have tonight.” She peered at him, sultry and direct.
Booya. Things were looking up, and not just his dick.
Hey, I’ve arrived on Darius 4. A message from Manny, his Cy-Ops teammate, pinged into the microprocessor implanted in his brain.
Crap. Why now? He had never met his teammate in person; previous contact had been via wireless. He scanned the bar, searching for a cyborg dude. Most people couldn’t tell computer-enhanced humans from ordinary Terrans, but, as a cyborg himself, Sonny knew to look for a man with extremely developed musculature who managed to blend in with his surroundings.
Me, too. Got here this afternoon. You want to meet? he replied to Manny, stifling a sigh of regret. Duty before pleasure.
Nah. I’ll have time to debrief you in the morning and on the flight. Besides, I’m about to get lucky, Manny said.
You work fast. Sonny was impressed. Android or humanoid?
Full-blooded Terran. Rough around the edges, but he’s a sexy bastard.
He? So, Manny Mansfield was gay. It didn’t make any difference. Might be a plus. After they left Darius 4, there’d be slim chance for sexual recreation, but if there was, at least they wouldn’t compete for the same woman. Unless Manny swung both ways. He eyed the blonde. He couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting a woman like her.
Especially when her eyes signaled all systems go. Like Manny, he was about to get lucky. Unlike Manny, he wouldn’t brag about it. He didn’t share details of his exploits.
Lucky you, he transmitted to his partner, while replying to Amanda, “And the evening is young.” His microprocessor allowed seamless multitasking. Carrying on simultaneous conversations, one telepathic, one verbal, was a cinch. “What did you have in mind?” He smiled.
Bummer he only had a night. He would have enjoyed getting to know her beyond the physical. He liked her direct manner, her strength, that she was no wilting violet. The way she had dispatched the Malodonian had impressed him.
She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it, freeing him from the requirement to guess. No playacting. No games. Well, only the fun kind.
For sure he needed the release. The downside to his Cy-Ops career—besides not being able to tell anyone what he did—was that his service left little time for personal relationships. The more Lamis-Odg had ramped up its terrorist strikes, the more involved Cy-Ops had gotten. Terrorism meant great job security for a cyber-operative—provided you didn’t get yourself killed. So far, so good, even though Sonny always volunteered for the most dangerous assignments.
But squeezing in downtime between missions was tough. At best, he might grab a week or two of R&R. This time, he didn’t have that much.
He had considered purchasing a bot’s services. He’d availed himself in the past, but, this time, the prospect hadn’t appealed at all. The androids were practically indistinguishable from organic life-forms. Practically. Sonny couldn’t overlook that the android pleasure workers were programmed to like the guests. Maybe he was too picky, but he preferred sex with someone who had chosen him because she was genuinely attracted. Even if her technique was less than stellar, real trumped artificial.
But, yeah, he and Manny were operating out of the same playbook. Get laid tonight. Debrief tomorrow. Catch you in the morning, then. Garden pavilion dining room at o six hundred?
Don’t know where that is, but I’ll find it. O six hundred.
Roger.
“Maybe we could move to a more private venue,” Amanda suggested.
“Sounds like a plan.” He signaled the android and motioned to their empty glasses. “Bill these to my room.”
“I’m more than capable of paying for my own drink.” She huffed.
He confirmed with the android. “My tab.” He motioned for Amanda to lead the way out of the lounge. “We’ll work out the details later. We can arm wrestle for it.”
“Don’t think I couldn’t win.”
“If let you.”
“There’s a word for men like you.”
“Gentlemanly?”
“Chauvinist.”
“Why are you coming with me, then?”
“I didn’t say you don’t exude a certain raw, he-man charm.”
Amusement rumbled up from his belly in an explosion of genuine enjoyment. Son
of a bitch, he wished he had more time. A rare pang of regret shot through him. Cy-Ops had been good to him, and he didn’t regret this career path, considering what his alternatives might have been. The lives of those he’d helped—were better for it. But, yeah, sometimes he wished he had a woman waiting for him. He had a hunch from this point forward, when he pictured that imaginary woman, she would have Amanda’s face.
“Thank you,” he said, and rubbed the scar cutting a bare swath through facial stubble.
“What happened?” she asked.
“The scar?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t grow up in the best part of town. A gang of thugs who thought they were hot shit roamed the neighborhood, spoiling for a fight. They rarely had trouble starting one.”
“You were attacked?”
He shook his head. “I was one of them.” He traced the thickened, puckered skin. “I deserved this.” He’d omitted he’d started the fight in defense of his sister. It mattered little his motives had been inculpable that time. One good deed did not undo a multitude of bad ones. With his disreputable background, he hadn’t sought medical attention. His facial wound hadn’t healed properly, and he’d been left with a significant scar. Still, he’d survived life on the streets and emerged less scathed than some. Than his sister.
He fingered the souvenir of a misspent adolescence. “I’d like to say this ended my association, but I can’t. I was a slow learner, I guess.” Not to mention a thug. A gang member. A criminal.
“So, what got you out of it?” She halted and peered up at him. The top of her head would graze his chin if he were to hold her. Which he wanted to do. Horizontally, while she clenched around him. “I assume you’re out of it?”
“Yes. You’re not in any danger with me.”
“You don’t worry me.”
“Because you think you can kick my ass like you did the Malodonian?” He grinned.
“Partly. And partly because we’re on Darius 4. Malodonians notwithstanding, visitors are screened; anyone with violent tendencies is not admitted. Besides, you did leap to my defense—not that I needed help.”
