by Pearl Foxx
“Stop it.” She looked up at him through her lashes.
“Stop what?”
“You know what. I don’t need you watching me eat.”
“It’s surprisingly sexy.” His voice dipped down even lower, and the undertones tickled Verity between her legs.
“It’s just food. Everyone eats. Stop being weird.”
“So, now I’m dangerous and weird?” The edge returned to his voice, but the playfulness didn’t disappear altogether.
“How would I know? I don’t know anything about you,” Verity said.
“Ask away.” He sat back resting his cybernetic arm on the back of the booth.
“What is your mother’s name?”
He flinched and then laughed. “That’s your question?”
“Yes.”
“Not, why did I mutilate myself like this, or what do I do for Garvan?”
“Those don’t seem like first question kind of content. Maybe fifth or sixth.”
“You are the strangest girl I have ever met.” He said it with a sigh that pulled his shoulders down and let a little bit of the version of Chance she had begun to think of as the real him shine through.
But, it was Verity’s turn to flinch. She knew she was strange. Her family had told her that her entire life. She’d end up being a breeder, because no man would want her even for a third or fourth wife. She’d better learn how to take care of herself, because she’d be on her own by the end of the year. Her father beat her to teach her her place. The others shunned her, because she couldn’t mind her mouth. Strange wasn’t a new insult.
“What just happened in that head of yours?” Chance brought her back to the moment with a gentle voice.
“I’m not that strange.”
“Says the girl who can take down a Mod 3 without breaking a sweat.”
“I told you that’s just pressure points.”
“I know, I remember.” He breathed into the space between them.
Verity remembered the scratch of the scruff along his jaw when she’d shown him the mandibular pressure point. She’d wanted to nuzzle up into his strong shoulder, feel that stubble against her cheek, and stay there.
Maybe she was strange.
The person everyone else considered dangerous was the only one who gave her permission to be herself.
“So, show me more of these pressure points,” Chance said, holding out his human hand. He pinched between the thumb and forefinger with his metallic phalanges. “So, this is for migraines?”
Verity reached out and took his hand in her own, brushing lightly over the metal with a smile. “It probably won’t work on this one.”
Chance stiffened.
“I’m sorry, should I not… touch…”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just, no one ever does.” His voice was stiff, as he pulled the cybernetic arm back and rested the hand in his lap, out of sight.
She took his hand and turned it over, palm up and pressed down on the point at the base of the thumb. “This can help release a cough and clear lungs. I try to do this one every day now that I’m living here. The mold can be terrible in the mornings.”
“Wish I’d known that one before,” Chance muttered, staring at his hand.
She ran her finger down his thumb, over the inside of his wrist and a few inches up his forearm. His skin broke out in tiny goosebumps as she went, and his muscular arm tightened. “This whole area is called the lung meridian. Different spots help with different things, but the entire line will help keep your breathing clear.”
“But you fought off a man three times your size. That’s not from better breathing.”
“Oh, you mean like this?” Verity reached up while still holding his wrist with one hand and slammed her middle knuckle into the crease of his elbow.
“Ow!” He pulled his hand from her grip and cradled it in his arm with wide eyes. “What the fuck was that?”
“Your ulnar nerve. It’s useful in the treatment of large intestinal issues.”
“That was decidedly not my fucking large intestine.”
“It’s also one of the least protected nerves in the human body, so easy to compress and quite painful if hit the right way.”
“No kidding.” Chance shook out his arm and rolled his shoulders. “Where did you learn this shit.”
“School.”
“Come on, tell me the truth.” Chance threw some bills on the table and stood, holding out an arm for her to go first.
So gentlemanly. No one treated her like that. At home the manners had an undertone of judgment, of assuming she was less than. Chance didn’t do that at all. He listened when she spoke, like he actually cared about what she had to say. The attention was intoxicating. She became lightheaded from the way he watched her walk past. But still, in the back of her head, one word lingered.
Dangerous.
And she still didn’t know why.
Outside, they walked back toward the Ball & Joint, but when they passed the road leading off to the alley, she realized he intended to walk her home. Escort her back, as if he was courting her. No, people did that kind of thing at home, not in the slums. He was probably just on his way somewhere else.
“So, you went to school to learn how to disable a man with your tiny little girl fingers?” He asked as they hurried across a narrow street, getting out of the way just in time for a rush of bicyclists to pass. Hovercars from the skycity were too big, and down here, everything seemed to run on gears of some sort.
“No, I went to school like everyone else, and then when it was time to pick a specialty, I went into midwifery.”
“Wait,” Chance stopped short. “How could you be a midwife if just the sight of blood earlier had you gasping for breath.”
“That’s why I’m not a midwife.” She shrugged and began walking again. “I did really well in acupressure and herbal treatments, but when it came to actual patients, I couldn’t even handle putting in a few stitches even though my embroidery was always perfect.”
Chance shook his head. “You keep talking, but the more you say, the less sense you make. Where the hell are you from?”
Verity clamped her lips shut. The inevitable question she’d been dodging since he took an interest in her. Now came the judgment and the assumptions, and he’d be gone, uninterested in someone from her background. The thought made a pit of loneliness open up, threatening to pull her under.
“I’ll tell you that when you tell me why you’re dangerous,” she whispered.
They walked in silence a few blocks. His long legs moving slowly to match her pace. When she brushed up against him accidentally, he jumped like she’d injured him, and she wished his reaction was different. She wished he shared her need to get as close to as possible. She longed to run her fingers along his jaw again, maybe press her lips against the beat of his pulse instead of her knuckle.
“Almost home,” she mused, trying to get him talking.
“Mmmhmmm.”
“Where are you heading?”
“Back to work.”
“Are you just walking me back to my apartment for no reason?”
“I wouldn’t call it no reason. I want to make sure you’re safe.” Chance admitted.
“I think I’m fine.”
“Yes, you’ve proven yourself quite well. Now shut up and let me be nice to you.”
“I like you being nice, but I don’t like you thinking I need protecting.”
He slowed and stared down at her. “Look, sugar, you may be a Brave Little Thing, but the slums are not like whatever country farm fuckfest you come from.
Heat rose in Verity’s chest. How dare he? She stiffened her fingers and walked up close enough to feel the heat coming from his body. His breath sped up, and his pupils grew as she looked up at him. His eyes dipped down to her lips just as she jammed two fingers hard between his lower two ribs, digging past muscle and then scissoring open to spread the nerves. A move she’d used on handsy boys a few times before.
“W
hat the fuck?” He jumped back, pain and passion mixed in his gaze. “What was that for?”
“I can take care of myself.”
He shot forward, backing her up against a brick-sided building. The lingering moisture on the wall damped her clothes, as he pressed tight against her. He leaned down, bringing his lips almost to hers, sending a shiver of excitement and fear through her body. Like a cold breeze under her skin, new and clean. Like freedom.
His strong arm wrapped around her waist and his metallic hand settled on her hip, touching her for the first time.
Her thighs clenched as the space between them heated up.
“I’m just being nice,” he said again, the low rumble in his chest vibrating from his body against hers.
She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against the wall of muscle that made up his chest and lifted up onto her toes. “Maybe, I’m tired of nice.”
Something changed in his eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game.” His lips touched hers before she could respond. Soft at first, as if he was asking permission.
Still so damned nice.
She reached up and ran a hand through the back of his hair, pulling him against her.
He deepened his kiss, clutching her tightly, as she placed a hand on his rock-hard chest, gripping his muscles to feel more of his strength. She wanted all of his powerful body, delicious and dangerous.
He opened his mouth, sucking on her lip with a groan.
She rubbed against him, feeding the friction between his hard body and her softer form. She melted against him, submitting to his touch. Her tongue darted out, and she tasted him for the first time, intoxicating and rich. He tasted just like he sounded, manly and dark.
His arm wrapped around her and lifted her slightly. Chance used his body to pin her against the wall, one leg moving between hers, so his thigh pressed against her core.
Her eyes rolled back, and she dug her nails into his chest, gripping his hair harder, hanging on to him like a lifeboat in the storm of desire he’d sparked inside her. A fire blazed to life and her hips ground against his thigh, desperate for more.
Chapter 6
Chance
“Verity?” A soft voice broke the spell.
Chance pulled away slightly with a growl, ready to pummel whoever had interrupted them. He was frustrated by the interruption, but it cleared his head. What had he been thinking? Kissing a girl like Verity, knowing what he was. It was like she had him under a spell, overriding his self-inflicted celibacy with nothing more than a sassy mouth and cute as hell smile.
He turned his head and instantly saw where the voice came from. In horror, he dropped his hands from her waist and rushed to the woman lying in the apartment doorway.
“Imogen?” Verity came forward, and Chance held up a hand.
“There's—there’s a lot of blood.”
He looked back down at the girl. Blonde hair had been matted down with blood and dirt. Her clothes were so stained he wasn't sure what color they were intended to be. But the layers of long skirts and tight fitting, high-collared shirt announced clear as day where she'd come from. She was an ecovangelist.
“Is she your friend?”
Verity nodded, hand over her mouth as she shook staring at her bloodied friend.
“Open the doors, we need to get her inside.” Chance reached down and scooped the girl up in his arms. He carefully kept his cybernetics from touching her, tucking it under her skirts. The last thing this girl needed was to get the shit scared out of her by a cyborg.
Verity unlocked the main door with shaking hands and led the way up one flight of stairs to her apartment door. He watched as she unlocked four bolts. Good, at least her apartment was somewhat secure. When she opened it, the smell of mildew and mold washed over him.
He ignored Verity, as he strode into the space and laid the girl down on the threadbare mattress on the floor. Her apartment was oppressively tiny and bare. “Open the windows. She needs fresh air.”
Verity moved as if in a daze. She locked the door, bolting it back up and attaching the chains for extra security. She opened all the windows and rushed to get a glass of water. When she came to his side, she kneeled down, handing Chance the drink before placing both hands on the girl's legs.
Chance lifted the stranger’s head gently and handed her the glass of water.
With a shaking hand, she took it and gulped it down.
“Imogen, how did you get here?”
The question confused Chance. She didn't ask what happened or why the girl was covered in blood. Her injuries appeared to horrify but not surprise the strange young waitress.
"I—they—" Imogen broke down in tears and Chance helped her lay back down.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk right now, whenever you’re ready,” Verity soothed in a gentle voice. A new side of her exposed itself to Chance, the side that loved this girl and would do anything for her. It gentled her, but Chance knew just how strong love could make you.
"We have to check her injuries and see what happened,” he said.
Verity shook her head. “No, the hospital, we should take her to a hospital.”
“Not in Cyn City. If you go there and can’t pay, you’ll leave without a kidney, or worse.”
Verity studied him, hard. “Then you need to leave."
Chanced stared in shock. "I'm not leaving her like this."
“I have to undress her and check her injuries. You can’t be here. It's not proper.”
Chance had half a mind to remind her of the searing kiss they’d just shared and how she wasn’t really one to talk about what was proper. But the interloper was an ecovangelist.
Verity suddenly made a lot more sense.
The ecovangelists were a nutjob cult of separatists who insisted the earth could still be viable despite all the science to the contrary. They lived completely separate from the rest of humanity with their own communities, their own laws, and their own beliefs. He didn't know a ton about them. No one did, but he knew they had reverted to a lot of the puritanical thinking from earth past.
“I'm not leaving. I’ll sit in the hall or the bathroom and wait for you to clean her up a little, but I'm not leaving you here alone with her. What if you need medicine for her or a doctor? I could comm Enver…”
“No,” the girl whispered. "No doctors. No more doctors." With that, her eyes fluttered shut, and Chance knew she’d lost consciousness.
“I have to—" Verity wrung her hands and stared at Chance with impossibly big eyes on her elfin face. “What do I do?”
Tears welled up in her eyes, and he could practically see the panic rising up off of her like steam from the concrete in summer.
“Okay, I understand you don’t want my help with cleaning her up, but she’s covered in blood. How are you going to do this when just seeing Enver in the bar had you practically passing out? You really need to let me at least get her help, so she doesn’t develop some kind of infection.”
Verity visibly twitched, her hands still gripping each other as her eyes darted from Imogen’s blood-soaked clothes to the wall and back again.
“I promise I’m not going to look, touch, or do anything inappropriate. And you’ll be here the whole time, so you can just use your pressure point mojo to knock me out if I do.” He gently joked, trying to keep his voice even. When was the last time he’d tried to reassure someone he wasn’t a threat as opposed to the other way around? When was the last time he’d cared?
Normally, he’d walk right by the girl on the street. Cyn City wasn’t known for compassion, and people passed out or bleeding wasn’t an uncommon sight. And if he did help, he’d drop them off at a cynker or medic and go about his day. He had other shit to do: check in on Enver’s patient, set up for tonight’s fight, count out last night’s winnings from the safe and potion it out for the fighters, Garvan, and himself. And at some point, he still had to get some fucking sleep either at home or in the cot he kept in one of the back offices at the Ball & Joi
nt. He’d eaten and gotten the girl inside. What made him so desperate to stay and make sure she survived?
Verity’s faint nod and relieved exhale explained it all.
Fuck, if he wasn’t under that girl’s spell.
“Get me something sharp, scissors if you have them, some warm water with soap, and a cloth to wipe her down.”
Verity nodded, her pale lips starting to show some color again.
Good, he did not need for her to faint.
As she rummaged around her apartment, Chance checked over the girl's face and head. She had some serious bruising, and a cut on the side of her head that could have been from a metal-tipped boot. She likely had a concussion but didn’t seem too bad off. The bruises would fade, and the cut would have bled a lot, which explained the blood but didn’t look serious.
He itched to comm Enver. He was a trained human medic cum military cyborg.
But Imogen had been clear. No doctors. No more doctors.
What the hell had happened to her?
“Here.” Verity held out a pair of scissors and a strip of thin cloth that looked like it had been ripped from the bottom of a dress. “I’m heating water now, because the tap only runs cold.”
“Okay. I’m going to take off her shirt.”
“You can’t—”
“I have to see where she’s hurt.” Chance used the scissors to cut off the girls top and then eased it out from underneath her limp form. That seemed better than unbuttoning it, less intimate. Verity watched but didn’t protest, as he pressed his fingers against her skin, probing the blooming purple bruises and cuts. He avoided touching her skin with his metallic hand, using it only to readjust her camisole when necessary. It was stained but not nearly as bloody.
“I think most of the blood came from her head. She doesn’t seem to have any cuts on her torso or arms.”
The kettle whistled, and Verity hustled off to pour the water into a bowl. It steamed, leaving droplets of water on his metal geared arm as he reached for the dish.
“I should wash her,” Verity pulled it back out of his grasp.
“Just let me get the blood off. You can do the rest.”
