Chapter Seven
Jenira
Jenira aimed several controlled punches and kicks into the sandbag, enjoying the bunch and stretch of muscle and the sting of contact. The gym membership qualified as one of the more expensive extravagances her mercenary work paid for. Besides the basic needs of living, the remainder of the money bought Cat the equipment she needed to upgrade their tech defenses and create her inventions.
She relished the satisfying sound of her fists and feet hitting the bag, welcoming the pain that burst across her knuckles and sang through her exhausted body. She needed to get laid, but a workout might suffice. However, more than twice today, the building's other occupants had distracted her. Her concentration faltered several times as she found herself focusing on the ass of the man performing dead-lifts or the ripple of strength and grace as the fighters danced in the ring. Typically, she let nothing divert her attention.
Forcing herself to focus, she relaxed into the zone. Most of the gym's members had learned she didn't tolerate unnecessary attempts at conversation. Her first week there, one of the cockier jocks had approached her, and she’d knocked him out with a well-placed round-house. Afterwards, they respected her personal space. If she gave them a signal, though, they would be on her in a second. She sensed eyes on her, even dressed in her ratty black hoodie and cotton pants. The hood limited her peripheral vision, but honed her remaining senses, preparing her for battles in the darkness. It also hid her scar just a little better. They couldn’t afford the fake flesh every time she ventured from her home.
She stepped away from the bag, panting. Over an hour of harsh physical work hadn't affected her body or mind's state of turmoil. Her muscles still buzzed with irritation. Few gyms boasted a weapons arena; a selling factor for her. The owners even allowed her to throw her personal daggers for an extra fee. Several hulking guards, called attendants, occupied various positions around the huge warehouse. The government permitted fighting or sparring in contained environments. The monitored space posed a risk, but Cat could tap into the system if the need arose.
Jenira retrieved her knives from her bag and strapped them into place around her thighs. She nodded to the attendant who resembled a marble statue at the entrance to the knife throwing arena. He nodded back to her, but his expression remained immovable, and he'd never spoken in her presence. His composed beauty and strength reminded her of Rennert.
For a moment, she permitted herself to imagine his power and firmness above and inside her. His pupils dilated, aware of her perusal and sharing the interest. She forced herself to turn away as lust coursed through her. She didn't want to lose her membership to one of the most exclusive and utilitarian gyms in her neighborhood for a quick fuck, but the option loomed in her mind due to her raging hormones. The alternative was to hunt, and the prospect was less appealing as sex.
Eyes glinting with danger, she directed her attention to the targets. She was the only one at the weapons arena besides the attendant. Solitude was a good thing, or she might have shifted her restless energy onto an innocent person. Breathing deeply, she calmed her mind.
Rennert and the new job weren't the only factors attributing to her mood. A sense of foreboding and impending change hung heavy over her. She and Cat had grown comfortable in their routine since she’d started her mercenary work, and the last time she had experienced a similar level of unease, they were fleeing the Western Territory. Cat had barely clung to sanity. A couple years passed before she regained normal function and her easygoing personality. The sisters had slept in hovels and under bridges while Jenira scavenged scrap yards to bring Cat mechanical parts and broken computers. She had observed, many times with tears running down her face, as her sister feverishly disassembled every tiny part.
While growing up, Cat had kept the tension at bay by drawing schematics and researching. She had dismantled the small electronics which weren’t affected overmuch by the magic of the Western Territory or designed better bridges and mechanical structures. As she aged, it became apparent the limited exposure wasn't enough. The mages and mundanes whispered behind their backs, and their grumbled accusations of “techie madness” almost sent Jenira into a blind rage. She eased her anger by releasing magical power or pouring herself into physical training. Then, the event which scarred Jenira and prompted their escape happened.
After two years in the East, her sister returned to the level of normality any brilliant mind could claim, and Jenira had decided they would never return to the West. Cat craved tech like Jenira craved movement; she needed stimulation or she would wither away into mumbling madness. Jenira never wanted to see her sister so broken again, so she made the decision to survive in the new world. Her skill at hiding her magic helped her blend into the techie culture, and their escape had proven she would do whatever necessary to protect the remainder of her family. Mercenary work had lifted them from poverty to studio apartments and finally to their current position of relative comfort.
She and Cat researched countries that lived in full Integration. These cultures maintained a low tech environment, but they still possessed enough tech to keep Cat sane and happy. Most of all, though, these places didn't overflow with the overt racism and bigotry so prevalent in the United Territories. The rumors claimed mages didn't hate techies and vice versa. Others grumbled the stories were an extravagant fairy tale. One day, Cat could invent and tinker to her heart's content, and Jenira wouldn't need to control and shield her power every second.
Jenira closed her eyes, filtering out the grunts and heavy breathing, the clang of weights, and the smack of flesh hitting flesh. She breathed in rubber, sweat, and steel, bringing herself back to the present with effort. Focusing on the familiar weight in her hands, she launched her daggers with a speed that argued her human nature. One after the other, the eight blades flew with precision to bite deep into the center of the targets. Several quivered against each where they huddled together. It had taken a lifetime of practice to achieve such accuracy, and she thanked her father for insisting she practice without using her magic. Grim satisfaction painted a smile on her features.
Her body tensed as someone approached behind her. “Impressive.” The male's voice purred, and she turned to confront whichever idiot dared bother her. Studying the man, she reached behind her and triggered the mechanism that would return the target pierced with her weapons.
Although the intruder boasted a couple inches on her, he was lean and less bulky than the other man she couldn’t seem to forget. She assessed the man as a predator eyes prey, pleased when a moment of indecision flickered across his expression. Amusement soon replaced other emotions, though. Handsome in a playboy way, the wealthy cut of his clothes made him stick out in the grungy gym. She’d never seen him in the club before, which made her instantly wary.
Muddy brown eyes judged her, lingering briefly on her scar. He stood with the casual ease of someone who got his way, and a tendril of power drifted between them. His dull eyes denied the existence of mage power, so she covertly searched for the source. He wore a ring on his left hand, a simple gold band on his middle finger, but she couldn't identify the enchantment on the charm without releasing her magic. While she was sure this man wouldn't notice the magic in her eyes, she wouldn’t release her shield for a simple spell.
A minute twitch in her peripheral vision alerted her to the attendant. Instead of staring into space, he observed their interaction with interest. The mountain of muscle centered his gravity on the balls of his feet, ready to advance if the situation required his intervention. Jenira wondered who the employee would protect and experienced a pang of disappointment when she assumed it would be the pretty, rich boy.
“Your aim and speed are impressive,” the unfamiliar man repeated. Irritation flickered across her face. He should have retreated when she didn't acknowledge him the first time. Two men posed with their hands clasped behind their backs, wearing expensive suits and sunglasses which appeared ridiculous in the interior gym. Jenira restrained
an eye roll, her disgust increasing. Playboy had brought his own bodyguards.
“Can I help you?” Her voice dripped with so much ice a less confident man would freeze to the floor. Pretty Boy possessed an overabundant measure of self-importance, though; he didn't respond to the threat. He must be a techie because he glowed with the privilege of the Techie Elite. Jenira's fingers twitched; she wanted to bury her blade in his smirking face.
“Maybe you can,” he drawled suggestively. Jenira knew without looking that they had captured an audience. The clang of weights had decreased. She felt rather than saw the arena attendant take one step forward. She glanced at him, willing him not to intervene. To her surprise and pleasure, he understood her unspoken command and halted his approach. Pulling her hood back, she exposed her shining blonde hair and the full extent of her jagged scar. Most men had selective vision. They focused on the rest of her and skirted the offending side of her face. This man did the same.
Slowly unzipping her hoodie, she exposed the tight tank top she wore underneath. When his gaze was firmly distracted by her breasts, she reached for the blade at her waistband. She might have thrown eight knives into the target, but she never went unarmed. His minions were similarly distracted or just stupid. She might have laughed if she hadn't been itching for a fight, or a fuck, ever since she tasted Rennert's magic. Unfortunately for Pretty Boy though, she wasn't desperate; his kind would never appeal to her.
“Really,” she whispered seductively, leaning closer to him. He licked his lips in anticipation and then sucked in a breath when the tip of her blade pressed against his precious manhood, angled toward his inner thigh. His body hid the action, and observers would assume she was flirting with him because they couldn't see the deadliness in her eyes. The attendant, however, possessed an unhindered view. He didn't step closer so he either assumed she wouldn’t remove the playboy’s balls or he didn't care. She hoped it was the latter.
“And what can I help you with?” Her voice pitched low and menacing. His eyes bled fear, but Jenira counted on his pride to shield her actions. He wouldn't advertise she'd gotten the jump on him.
He cleared his throat. “Maybe nothing.”
“Good. Now, get out of my space. The boys around here respect me, and I wouldn't want to disappoint them by spilling blood on their clean floor.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed and nodded. Jenira waited until he backed away before she slipped the threatening dagger behind her leg. The smooth movements made it appear as if she had pulled the blade from the target. Out of immediate danger, Pretty Boy's eyes hardened and he glared at her.
“You're an uppity bitch,” he snarled but retreated. Her lips curled in a feral gesture. For the first time, his bodyguards realized something was amiss. Their eyes darted behind their dark sunglasses, faces fraught with indecision. She imagined they were used to him hitting on everyone with boobs and figured this to be a typical encounter. Playboy spun on his heel, his motions jerky. She didn't turn her back until both he and his goons were across the room. The altercation had eased some of her agitation, but not enough. Her body still hummed with need.
She re-sheathed her blades, leaving them on her thighs as she approached the attendant. His firm body remained as still as a statue, but his eyes lit with appreciation. She admired his musky essence and the veins cording his powerful arms. A ripple of pleasure shivered over her skin.
“Thank you.” He nodded, the movement restrained. She imagined ways to steal his control, her sex clenching with need. “What's your name?”
His voice was hoarse with the hint of desire and promise. “Garrett.”
“Garrett,” she purred, drawing out the syllables of his name. “When are you off work, Garrett?” A muscle jumped in his jaw. Boldness earned her traction when dealing with the opposite sex. She had only been denied once; later she learned the man was gay. Despite her coldness, lethality, and the imperfection of her face, men still desired her. They were scared of her or wanted to possess and claim her strength, thinking they could conquer her. She didn’t like the scared ones, but no one ever conquered her. No man possessed her longer than the time she took to find her release and give him his in return.
“Ten minutes.” His eyes betrayed none of his thoughts, and her confidence wavered. Garrett wasn't as easy to read as most men. She traced a finger down his strongly corded bicep, testing him for desire and magic at the same time. He didn’t possess a drop of magic; the information both relieved and disappointed her. Even relaxed though, his upper arm was thicker than her quads. She preferred strength in a man, and his size might help ease her attraction to the other large man who refused to leave her thoughts. What her body couldn't handle, her magic could. At her touch, he inhaled sharply, his eyes darkening with answering hunger. She graced him with a sweeter smile than she'd given Pretty Boy.
“Meet me in the locker room?” Her heart pounded as he deliberated for all of ten seconds before nodding. Pleased, she sauntered toward the changing room. The gym's occupants watched her, but she paid them no mind. Her rendezvous with an employee might end her membership, but the compelling need coursing through her couldn't be ignored. Garrett's spicy scent lingered in her nose, causing her lower body to clench tightly in anticipation.
Forty minutes later, she grinned as she walked down the street in the darkening twilight. A flush painted her cheeks, and her hair hung wet from the shower. The attendant hadn’t disappointed her. He hadn't muttered a single protest when the daggers remained strapped around her upper legs as he fucked her against the locker room wall. His body was well proportioned, and her thighs and sex ached with delicious satisfaction. Garrett hadn't ruined the experience by speaking, and they'd both reached an explosive climax.
Her mind flirted with seeing him again, but she dismissed the desire. Fucking the same guy twice wasn't smart. He might not have spoken much this time, but twice might burden him with a misguided compulsion to have a conversation or ask her name. She didn't reveal details about her life. Mage sex would have been better, but the carnal pleasure satisfied her for the moment.
The gym was located a mile from the bungalow. It was a quick run or a longer, more circuitous route through the industrial areas on their side of town. They lived in a quarter with a high concentration of mundanes. The slang term for the talentless was “duds.” Without techie brilliance or magic, the mundanes were forced to find work in security, retail, or manufacturing. Their neighborhood was far dirtier and poorer than the financial area which housed the Rialto or the section of Elite mansions overlooking Brenville.
They didn't live in the worst part of the city, however; that distinction was reserved for the docks where crime ran rampant. Theft, rape, and murder occurred on a daily basis. When Jenira was restless, she prowled the riverside and hunted criminals no one would miss. She tracked a predator until he tipped his hand by grabbing a young girl or attempting another unforgivable act. Sometimes, Jenira acted rapidly enough to prevent a crime; sometimes she didn't, and those moments haunted her dreams.
She searched the shadows as she walked. The streets were narrow, barely wide enough for the public transportation used by the poor. Only the Elite could afford individual vehicles. Though she had spent little time in the rural parts of the Eastern Territory, gossip maintained mundanes enjoyed better lives if they could find employment.
She passed other pedestrians, but they kept their heads bowed and scurried forward without glancing at her more than once. It wasn't legal to walk around armed, but Cat had forged Jenira a permit. Her fake occupation as a private detective offered her a suitable reason for walking around with a small arsenal. Still, Jenira preferred to remain anonymous, taking steps to make herself unmemorable.
Despite her body's release, her nerves still jangled after the questionable encounter with the playboy. The gym was well attended, but not by the Elite, and he hadn't been dressed for a workout. She speculated about the real intent for approaching her and his departure soon afterward. If she hadn't been so keyed u
p, she might have rethought the decision to expose her face and stick a knife in his crotch. The lie made her grin; she still would have threatened his balls, but she could have left her hood up. The hoodie was not adequate protection, but it helped disguise the scar, and she regretted her recklessness.
Brooding on her behavior, she detoured around the block and magically searched for spies before ducking into the bungalow. Cat whirled at the noise, her screwdriver clanking to the floor. Her sister’s eyes were haunted, and the bank of machines was silent, two things that automatically put Jenira on edge. She searched the apartment with her weapons drawn while Cat followed her actions with wide eyes.
“What's wrong, Cat? What happened?” Cat shrugged, her gaze sliding away from hers. “Don’t lie to me, sis, tell me what happened.”
Cat huffed and retrieved the screwdriver. Her lap overflowed with masses of wires, and the table surface boasted a strange assortment of metal, plastic, and glass components Jenira couldn't identify. The silence stretched between them before Cat met her gaze. “I was just looking through Rennert's files, and I found one that matched my research.” Her eyes glazed over, a sign she was in danger of getting sidetracked by the remembrance of the file despite the danger. Jenira tapped her foot on the tiled floor, recalling her sister’s attention to the present. “Someone knew I was in the file, Jen. I don't know how that happened; I'm so careful.”
“Someone knew? How do you know?” Jenira's skin shivered with dread.
“They messaged me while I was in the program; they asked who I was.”
Worlds Collide (Magitech Book 1) Page 6
