by Pearl Foxx
“You got this?” he asked the young medic with a wave to the bloody man.
“Yeah, yeah, no sweat. Go chase after sweet-cheeks.”
“We gotta find you a girl, a sexbot, a boyfriend, or something. You’re getting weird.” Chance climbed out from behind the bar and slapped Enver on the back with a chuckle before heading out the front door.
What he found made his heart stop cold.
Verity crouched against the wall, her head between her legs and her hands clutching her bag like her life depended on it. Her already pale skin was white and had a sickly sheen. She fit in perfectly with the rest of the city in the mid-morning light.
“Verity?”
She shook her head and didn’t meet his eyes as he stepped closer. What had gotten her so upset? “Are you sick?”
Chance thought back through their brief conversation, her darting eyes, the way she paled when Enver had stuck his fingers between the prize fighter’s shoulder and arm… His arm. She’d probably never seen a cyborg injury before. Had never been up close to the reality of how unnatural men like him really were. The grease, oil, and metal all winding together to invade an otherwise healthy human. Some people couldn’t handle it.
Like Rayanne.
He dismissed the image of his ex, sick and still revolted by what he’d become, and threw it out of his mind.
“Listen, if you can’t stomach shit like this, you really shouldn’t be working here.”
“I… I think I’m gonna pass out…” Her voice came out soft and distant, like a feather falling on a pile of concrete. “Why was that happening in there? Shouldn’t he see a doctor?”
“Where else should it happen?” he hardened his voice and leaned against the wall, staring down at the back of her neck, as she took deep breaths. She had better be careful. Too much of this fresh Cyn City air could kill you. He knew first hand.
“A hospital? Somewhere with antiseptic, antibiotics, and clean water.”
Chance barked out a cruel laugh and pushed away from the wall, standing in the barren road to stare at the top of her head. “I know you’re new around here, but if this is how you react to seeing a little grease and gears, do you seriously think people like us are welcome in hospitals?”
“I… what?”
“There’s no place to take him. Enver does the best he can with the training he got in the army, but he’s no cynker. And doctors don’t treat cyborgs. Without some real cash, we aren’t gonna be able to get him to a cynker worth his gears. You got that kind of money, sugar? You gonna spend it on a monster like me? I didn’t think so.”
Verity tilted her face up, and at the sight of her watery eyes and pale flesh, Chance’s heart softened. There was a sheen of sweat on her brow like she really had been about to be sick. Sick over seeing something like him. His thoughts turned black. He knew that look. The pain of caring about someone who looked at him with disgust and disdain was too familiar, and no matter how much Verity had captured his imagination, he wasn’t about to put himself through that again.
“You know what? Fuck you,” he said, turning on his heal and storming back toward the door.
“Chance, wait.” Her voice barely reached his ears.
He stopped with his hand on the knob, the vein in his neck throbbing, as he tried not to rip the whole fucking door off its hinges. “What?”
“Is he your friend?”
“Who?”
“The man in there… with the… injury.”
“Not exactly. But he’s an okay guy.”
“It’s good that you’re helping him then.” She took another deep breath and straightened, leaning her head against the wall. “When I saw him in there, all that blood. It just surprised me. I mean the smell alone usually makes me gag, but seeing him bleeding onto the floor like that… I hope he’s okay.”
Chance took his hand off the door and stared at her. Her profile was perfect, soft cheeks, small uptilted nose, gentle brow. When she turned to him and smiled he lost his place in the universe. Damn it, his reaction to her had him completely off his game. It was like she had grabbed onto him and pulled him under the ocean’s surface, beating him against the shore before dragging him out to sea with the undertow. Those wide eyes, so earnest, pulled him in and captured his imagination. Was it possible she wasn’t like everyone else?
“You don’t care that he’s a cyborg?”
Verity tilted her head like she hadn’t heard him. “Why would I care about that?”
Chance let his shoulders relax and stepped closer. “Most people do. They treat us like we’re less than human, less than machines really. Because we chose this.”
Verity shrugged. “You must have had a good reason. I’m sure that man in there did too. We do what we have to do to stay alive, right?”
Her eyes darted to the left and Chance saw a hint of darkness there that he hated. What had happened to her to make her think the choice he’d made could ever be reasonable?
“He has a family. Wife and two kids. He sends them to school in the upper city, costs an arm and a leg.” He chuckled darkly. “Literally.”
“That sounds like a good reason to me.” She shrugged and gave him a weak smile.
“What did you need from Garvan?”
“Oh, that. Um… my landlord raised the rent, and I don’t have the credits. I work tonight but I’m supposed to be off tomorrow, and I really need the extra shift.” She spoke in a rush, her eyes filling with tears again. “Wicksham’s already doing me a favor and has been really nice letting me crash and pay at the end of the month, but if I can’t make enough I have to find somewhere else. I gave him my last credit this morning.”
She paused long enough for the roll of her stomach to turn into a loud gurgling growl.
“When’s the last time you ate?” Chance asked.
Verity looked at her feet. “Doesn’t matter, I can’t risk not having a place to sleep.”
“Shit.” He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back in the hopes it would stay out of his way but knowing it would just fall back down in a few seconds. “All right, don’t worry about tomorrow. I’ll get you on the books.”
“You can do that? I mean, I know you work for Garvan somehow—downstairs—but I don’t really know what happens there. Something to do with bloody cyborgs getting stitched up at the bar I gather.”
Chance stared down at her, trying to infuse his words with significance. The last thing he wanted was her getting mixed up in more of Garvan’s business. At least, for now, her work was above board and on the books. Unlike his. “You don’t want to know, sugar. Or be involved in all that, trust me.”
“I do. Trust you, I mean.” She looked up at him again with those eyes, and he knew she meant it. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, this girl trusted him.
“Aww fuck.” He pushed away from the wall. “Well, come on.” He started walking east toward Old Broadway where some of the more reputable businesses still existed.
“What are we doing?” Verity stumbled behind him, but he didn’t slow down, just waited for her to make her way to his side. “I don’t understand.”
“We can’t have you passing out on the job tonight, and from the sound of it, your stomach is about ready to take knife and fork to your liver if we don’t get some food in you.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“I know.”
“I can’t pay you back. I have to pay rent and then save up for next month.”
“I know.”
“So… what do you want?”
Chance stopped walking, and she slammed into his side before her body had a chance to slow. She reached out and steadied herself by placing her hand on the large metal plate where his bicep should be, instead of the internal gears and cogs of his enhancement. Her touch traveled through the neural pathways wired to his nervous system and connected to his arm. Her fingers were warmer than the metal, and she held on a moment longer than it took to right herself.
“What exactly are
you asking me?” Chance ground out.
“Everyone wants something right? You keep warning me to be careful here and not to let my guard down. So, what do you want? I don’t have any credits.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“So, you’re taking me to breakfast out of the goodness of your heart? Because you’re just that nice of a guy? The kind of guy who works for Garvan and arranges makeshift surgery in a bar? What am I supposed to think, Chance?” Now that she’d gotten her bearing, the words flew at him like little throwing stars, each drawing blood as they sliced into him. “Everyone. Wants. Something.”
“Look here. If I wanted something from you, you’d know exactly what it was, and I’d get it, without bribing you with a meal or doing you favors. I’d get it because you’d be begging for it, sugar.”
He’d gotten close enough to smell her minty breath and the infuriating constant scent of lavender that followed her around. As he spoke, her eyes dilated and drifted to his lips. Fuck if the idea of this girl wanting him didn’t make him half hard. But shit like that wasn’t in the cards for him. Not ever again. He was just helping out a girl who clearly didn’t know how to take care of herself.
“Now, if you don’t want to eat, fine, but I’m getting my ass pancakes with those cloned blueberries on top, and if we’re really lucky, they’ll have a fresh pot of coffee on. You coming?”
“I…” Verity took another look at his lips and licked her own before releasing a shaky breath. “Yeah, that sounds great.”
Chance took off toward Jimmie’s Diner, far enough away he didn’t have to worry about anyone associated with Ball & Joint coming around, but close enough he didn’t have to call a rickshaw in case little miss couldn’t keep up.
Chapter 5
Verity
At the dinner, it was all Verity could do not to order everything on the menu. They had the old-fashioned laminated kind with outdated prices and pictures of food no one made anymore, but something about it made her relax.
Chance ordered pancakes with cloneberry compote. “You can’t tell the difference once they add that much sugar.” He joked. His smile was reserved but friendlier since they sat down. She stole glances at his broad shoulders and the tattoos that ran down his exposed arm and peeked out from the collar of his shirt every chance she got. She’d never seen tattoos like his before. They were forbidden on the compound. If she touched him, would they raise up from his skin?
“Have you ever had a real blueberry?” she asked.
“No, why, have you?”
“Sure, we grew them in the hydro farms, with acacia, and if we had enough power for the UVs, sometimes, we’d get clementines.”
“Not possible, no one has had unspliced citrus for years.” Chance frowned, and Verity worried about his next question. The inevitable one she’d managed to avoid so far. His eyes were too smart not to notice her oddness, and while he gave off this Devil-May-Care attitude, she saw something shrewd and perceptive in him.
He leaned forward, his elbows perched on the table highlighting the stretch of his shirt against the massive bicep on one side and metal gearing on the other. Verity imagined having his arms wrapped around her, one strong, warm, and human, the other cold and robotic. The thought sent a shiver through her.
Chance opened his mouth, his darkened eyes speaking volumes, but before the words came, the waitress arrived.
“What do you want, Chance?” she asked without looking at him.
“Usual, cakes and compote.” He stared at the table, not even trying to play friendly.
“And you, BLT?” she asked, turning to Verity.
“You have bacon?” Saliva began to pool in Verity’s mouth at the thought of the warm greasy flavors of home.
Both Chance and the waitress laughed, but when he spoke, his voice came out hard. “No, she means you: ‘Brave Little Thing.’”
“Oh… Okay…” Verity couldn’t catch either of their eyes, and something in Chance’s demeanor and the way he’d sat back as if to appear casual bothered her. The muscle along his jaw twitched and told her not to ask.
“Eggs, hash, and a side protein. Is that like sausage?”
The waitress rolled her eyes. “Where’d you pick this one up, killer? Fresh off the farm from 2026?”
Chance ignored her. “Side protein is usually some kind of chickpea mash. Depending on who's cooking, it’s okay. But you should definitely get it. You need the calories.”
“Coming up,” the woman said, ripping the paper from her pad.
“What the hell?” Verity asked watching the woman go. It was amazing how easy the word fell from her lips after just a few weeks here. Words she and her friends had once dared themselves to whisper under the cover of night’s darkness, now flowed easily.
“Yeah, what the hell indeed. Who in their right mind thinks there’s real bacon in Cyn City?”
“She surprised me. I mean ‘BLT?’ That’s a weird nickname, right?”
Chance stared out the window. The gloom outside had brightened enough to be well after the time most people ate breakfast, and the fog clinging to the edges of the window promised another humid day. His intense gaze both intimidated and fascinated her. She’d seen the moments when another version of the man before her had broken through, when he’d laughed, when he’d opened up even if for just a second. What had happened this morning to shut him down so completely?
“Chance?” she ventured, hoping to pull his attention back to her. When his brown eyes met hers, a thrill went through her. Like diving into the pond late at night, well past curfew. Like skipping a work session to lay on the roof of the barn and risk a burn just to be caressed by the sun. Like the time Billy Constance snuck into her room and kissed her, leaving her breathless and desperate for more.
“Brave Little Thing,” he muttered.
“Yeah, weird.”
“Not weird.” He turned his head and pierced her to her seat with the intensity of his dark gaze. “Completely accurate. You should listen to her.”
“She didn’t really say anything.”
“She said you were brave to be with me, meaning it would be smart for you to stay away. I’m sure the other girls have mentioned me to you at the bar.” His eyes focused on something over her head, far away and probably not even in the room with them.
“Yeah, but, no one’s really told me anything.”
“What do they say?” he countered.
“That… That you’re dangerous,” she divulged. It tumbled out like a secret she should keep from him, like a slap in the face he didn’t deserve.
“That I am, sugar.” His voice came out casual, but his distant eyes never met hers.
She waited, wanting him to say more, to ease her growing trepidation with the kindness she’d found in their moments together. But Chance just sat and stared before frowning and looking back out the window. His strong body coiled in front of her, muscular and gorgeous. Even when his expression turned hard, Verity couldn’t deny he was the most good-looking man she’d ever seen. Right now, he didn’t look so much dangerous as afraid. But telling him that struck her as a bad idea. One of those things that was counterproductive to the tentative friendship forming between them. Something she wanted more than made sense.
Their food arrived, and Verity raised both hands, palm up, to her shoulders and bowed her head, whispering the words of thanks she’d grown up with.
“You pray?” he asked, but she dove into her food without answering. She devoured her eggs and then tried the protein side. “This is horrendous,” she said through gritted teeth as she tried to swallow.
Chance reached over with a grin, grabbed a bottle of ketchup, and poured some on. “Try it now.”
She stabbed at the smallest piece she could find and stuck out her tongue, barely willing to taste it.
“It’s not gonna hurt you.” Chance chuckled and gave her a real smile, maybe for the first time.
He had dimples. How hadn’t she noticed them before?
“It might. It might be like the tuber parasite that looks like food and then after you eat it turns into a little colony that eats you from the inside out.”
“Damn, just when I start to think you’re a nice girl, you say shit like that. Uggh.” He laughed and pushed his plate away, only half the pancakes eaten.
“Does that mean you aren’t going to eat the rest?” Verity’s stomach growled and hope swelled in her chest that there might be an option other than the horrid concoction still dangling from her fork.
This time Chance laughed out loud, bright and full. His low baritone filling the empty dinner with mirth. “Here, have at it. Bulk up while you can.” He exchanged their plates, taking her mostly eaten meal for himself.
Verity watched as he took an overflowing forkful of Protein substitute and shoveled it into his mouth, only to double over and spit it back out onto his plate.
She burst into laughter, tears rising to her eyes. “See? I told you! Utterly horrific, right?”
“I think I have a tuber parasite now,” he said between gasps for breath.
She picked up her glass of water and handed it to him. The questioning look on his face gave her pause, but she pushed it toward him. “Drink! You have to get that out of your mouth before you die a slow and painful death.”
“I think I’ll survive,” he took a sip and placed it back on the table between them.
Verity devoured the last of his pancakes, mentally agreeing that the cloneberries weren’t that bad in compote form. Chance’s keen eyes studied her. They drifted across her lips as she took each bite, the touch of his watchfulness running along the curve of her neck. Her skin heated up under his gaze.
