CHANCE: SciFi Cyborg Romance (Cyn City Cyborgs Book 1)

by Pearl Foxx

  She set it on the floor next to the bed and began ripping the strip of fabric into smaller pieces. “When we were younger, Imogen and I used to run out into the dust fields past the electromagnetic fences. We’d get so dirty just standing in the wild open air. It even tasted different on the other side. I always imagined that’s what the whole world would taste like.”

  Chance dipped a cloth into the hot water and soaped it up. Before washing the girl’s arms and neck, he wiped away what years’ worth of grime.

  “When we’d get back to the compound, we’d wipe down like this. Stripping to our unders and checking each other for any remaining dirt. She should have come with me when I left. This never should have happened.”

  Chance listened to the regret in her voice and wanted to ask more about where she’d come from, why she’d left, but like dealing with a stray animal, if he pushed too hard, she might run.

  He dropped the rag on the stripped wood floor and grabbed another to dry Imogen off before moving to her face and head. He wiped away as much blood and grit as he could, but the girl winced in her sleep when he touched the cut on the side of her head.

  “We need to cut her hair.”

  “What?” Verity asked. “No.”

  “We have to. There’s no way to get it clean, and the oils and dirt in her hair could cause an infection. I’ll cut just around the injury…”

  “It’s right on the side of her head, everyone will see it.”

  “It’s better than dying.” He shrugged and began cutting her hair.

  Verity looked away. As he worked, she got up and banged around in the kitchenette.

  He trimmed her hair short, so it wouldn’t fall into the wound and accidentally heal up inside. Once he had the side short enough, he could wash her head, and see the real extent of the damage. The unfortunate girl had been beaten severely. Head injuries bleed a lot, so he was glad to see only one area where the skin had broken.

  He used his precise cybernetic hand to pick out debris while holding the wound open and then used the soapy water to clean as much of her head and hair as he could.

  “Here.” Verity held a smelly bowl in his face.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been that hungry.” He recoiled from the putrid scent.

  “It’s not for you, put it on the cut.”

  “What the fuck is it?”

  “A poultice,” Verity moved behind him and sat next to Imogen’s head, calmer now that the blood had been washed away, even though the wound still slowly oozed. “Charcoal, Tea Tree Oil, and Thyme.”

  “You have all that, but you don’t have food?”

  “It lasts longer.” Verity shrugged, as she dipped her fingers into the mixture and slathered it onto her friend’s bald spot. She covered it with one of the cloths and laid a thicker strip over the top. “Keeping it warm will help draw out any impurities.”

  “Because you were studying to be a healer.”

  “A midwife.”

  “With the ecovangelists.”

  She took a shaky breath. “Yes.”

  “Let’s take off her shoes and see if she’s hurt anywhere else.”

  They worked together to remove Imogen’s skirts, but Verity wouldn’t let Chance cut away the knee length under shorts she wore, promising to check her for injuries even if there was blood when he left. He washed her blistered and bloodied feet and legs, watching as she applied more of the poultice to the cuts on her shins. They were smaller, probably from running or falling.

  When the girl was clean Verity covered her with the careworn blanket she had at the foot of the bed and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Thank you,” she said, standing and facing Chance.

  “Shit,” He was covered in blood, his shirt completely ruined and soaked through. Blood and that charcoal shit was smeared all over his front. He pulled off his shirt without thinking. He couldn’t go walking through the streets like that. Someone would make the wrong kind of assumptions, and while the cops didn’t do much in the slums this was a pretty good way to call the wrong kind of attention.

  He grabbed an unused cloth, dipped it in the now cool water, and wiped the blood away from his chest and arm as best he could, his cybernetic arm would need to be properly cleaned later, but running a dry cloth over it removed most of the grime. He didn’t see any towels or furniture in the tiny studio apartment. He’d seen worse places, with holes in the walls or even the floor, but this wasn’t the kind of place he wanted Verity to live. It was too run down, the mold too pungent, just waiting to take root in her lungs like a cancer.

  When he finished, Verity’s eyes bored through him. The look on her face was dark, her mouth slightly open, and a fire in her eyes caused a corresponding throb of need in him. Their kiss came to mind, passionate, unintended, probably a terrible idea, and something he desperately wanted to do again.

  “Now, you really have to leave.” She ran her eyes over his body, as she spoke, and his skin set aflame. There was no hiding the tattoos that ran across his chest and cut off where his arm had been replaced. The thin layer of plesh that protected the connection from his organic shoulder to his metal arm must have looked alien to her, but the rest of his body responded like a man’s.

  “Do you have anything I can wear?”

  “No, No, you have to go.” She rushed to the door, her fingers struggling to unlock the bolts.

  He approached from behind, and she turned around. Even under the overwhelming smell of blood and charcoal, she drifted up to him on a breeze of lavender.

  “I can’t walk around without a shirt on.” His eyes drifted to her lips. Soft and full.

  “Turn yours inside out.”

  “I could wash it in the sink and just wait for it to dry.” He inched closer. “I’m sure we could think of some way to pass the time.” He shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t take advantage. Her friend was lying injured just across the room, but he couldn’t stop the magnetic draw that pulled him forward.

  When their lips met again, it was electric, like the arc of a welder, hot and bright. He reached forward, and her soft body conformed to his embrace.

  Verity wrapped her arms around him, running her fingers across his shoulders and back like tiny feathers. She shook in his embrace but reached out for him with her tongue, pushing up against his chest. Her hands explored his flesh, running over his shoulders and down his chest. When she discovered his nipple ring, she gasped against his mouth.

  “I promise, not all of me is metal,” he whispered against her lips, pressing his hips forward and eliciting another gasp from her sweet little mouth.

  Chapter 7

  Verity

  Chance’s lips made Verity light headed. She ran her fingers over his inked skin where it transitioned seamlessly into plesh, but she didn’t dare explore further. He always balked when attention focused on his metal arm, and she didn’t want to risk him pulling away.

  “It’s time to go. Imogen could wake up,” she said between kisses, pulling herself out from beneath his bulk. Without a shirt on Verity could plainly see, and feel, the stacked abs, the hard, unmoving pecs, and the strong, broad shoulders. Everything about him screamed of strength and violence, but she was safe around him. Even now, backed up against the door with his hard body pressed against her.

  He wasn’t like the boys at home who acted like they had rights to her, grabbing her and stealing kisses she didn’t want to give, or the men whose comments about her blossoming fertility filled her with a gross sickly dread.

  She turned her back and worked the deadbolts with shaking fingers. If he didn’t go soon, she’d give in, end up on her back beneath him on the floor next to a passed-out Imogen, begging him to take her. To fill her with all the strength he had to offer.

  His towering body crowded close behind her, and his metal hand rested on her hip loosely. “I still don’t have a shirt to wear,” he whispered against her neck. The hairs on her arms stood up, and she accidentally relocked the deadbolt she was trying to open.
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br />   When she unlocked it and moved to the next, he brought his lips to her neck, warm and soft. He kissed along her shoulder and gently pulled his teeth along her skin.

  Her body trembled like it might vibrate apart, a thousand little pieces of desire swirling in her heart. She wanted to be touched everywhere, to feel his hands against her flesh, his kiss on her breasts, his hard length in her aching pussy.

  “You can turn it inside out.” She pressed back against him, loving the heat coming off his bare chest, and the way it reached through her threadbare cotton shirt and wrapped around her.

  His human hand wrapped around her and slipped under her shirt, so his palm rested against the skin of her belly. Verity jumped at the contact, pushing herself harder against his immovable mass. The outline of his erection pressed against her ass and the low feral groan he gave at the contact shot through her, setting her own desperate need on fire.

  She unlocked the last deadbolt.

  “Don’t make me leave.” He breathed into her ear.

  “I only have the one room. It wouldn’t be right.” She slid the first chain from the door.

  Chance leaned his forehead down and rested it on her shoulder, the little bit of scratch that had grown on his cheek brushed against her neck, as he inhaled deeply. Smelling her or steadying himself, Verity wasn’t sure.

  His hand slipped from her stomach and returned to her hip. “You’re killing me, sugar.”

  A chill ran through her at the loss.

  She released the final chain and reached for the door handle.

  “So, I walk home without a shirt on?” He pulled away and leaned against the wall next to the door.

  “Seems that way.”

  “This is what I get for being a good Samaritan? I may get molested or assaulted out there. Cyn City is a rough town.” His smile relaxed as he teased, and the dimples came back, tugging on Verity’s heart.

  “That’ll show you to be such a nice guy. You shouldn’t let people see past that dangerous façade of yours.” She leaned in and pecked him on the cheek, but he gripped her and held her close.

  “It’s not a façade.” His voice was rough. “But I promise, I’d never hurt you, Verity.”

  She looked up at him through her lashes, heart clenched by the sincerity of his words. “I trust you,” she said before kissing him again. It was only a simple, sweet kiss, but the floor slipped out from underneath her, leaving her falling for something she didn’t know if she could ever have.

  When he left, she locked the deadbolts and re-latched the chains before leaning against the door. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was Chance’s gorgeous face, his eyes twinkling and the rare sight of playful dimples peeking out through his rough exterior.

  Alone in her apartment, Verity watched Imogen sleep for a while. Then she washed out all the rags they had used and Chance’s shirt. She couldn’t get all the blood out, but it was mostly wearable again. Even wet it smelled like him. Warm and familiar. Like what nature was supposed to smell like, not the constant odor of manure she’d grown up with.

  She hung the shirt to dry in her tiny bathroom, looking forward to taking it back to him tonight. She could only imagine the looks on the other waitresses faces when she handed him his shirt back. They’d think the worst, and the best part was she didn’t even care. She wanted them to believe he could be hers.

  She wanted the assumptions that she and Chance had spent the day together, tumbling over each other’s bodies in bed to be true.

  When she stepped back into her main room a wave of guilt passed over her. What right did she have to be daydreaming about a man while her friend lay there?

  She straightened the rest of the room up, gathering and throwing away the clothes they had cut off Imogen, then sat on the bed and stared at her.

  Imogen had always been the beauty between them, long blonde hair and regal features. She’d been every boy’s hope for a wife. Even her father’s low status hadn’t held her back, and by the time Verity left home, Imogen already had four offers for marriage. Even a second wife offer from one of the council members.

  Verity had begged Imogen to come with her to the city, to be more than whatever man she was assigned to without a say in the matter. But Imogen couldn’t find the courage. And now she was here, having suffered something unimaginable. At least her underclothes appeared undamaged. Verity’s worst fear bubbled to the surface, as Imogen blinked her eyes open.

  “Verity?” she croaked.

  “I’m here,” Verity lay down on the mattress next to her friend, the way they used to as young girls and looked into her deep blue eyes. “I’m glad you’re up.”

  “Where am I?” Imogen tried to prop herself up but laid back down with a moan.

  “You’re at my place. Don’t try to move. You were hurt pretty badly, but we got you cleaned up, and you seem okay other than the cut on your head. Does it hurt badly?”

  “No,” the girl whispered. “It’s better now. Blessings upon you.”

  Verity cringed. “People don’t talk like that here. You’ll get used to it. It took me a little while, but in barely a month, I have a job and an apartment of my own… Imogen?”

  “Mmmhmmm”

  “What happened to make you come here? Did the elders do something?”

  Tears spilled down the girl’s cheeks as she nodded and tightened her lips into a flat line and shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the memory from her mind.

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.” Verity propped herself up on her elbow and ran her fingers through her friend's hair, skimming over the part Chance had cut so short it might as well be shaven. “They didn’t… they didn’t force you, did they?” The words came out barely audible, but Imogen heard her.

  “No. I ran before anything like that could happen. I should have gone with you, Verity. I’m so sorry. You were alone here, and I was so wrong.” Her tears came harder, and she buried her face in Verity’s shoulder, letting the wild girl wrap her arms around her.

  Verity knew she’d always been seen as reckless, weak, undisciplined. But since coming to the city, she’d learned that was backward. She was strong. She could take care of herself and make the impossible happen, like coming here alone and finding work, and a home, and food. And maybe even something more than she’d imagined, like Chance. It would be harder for Imogen. She had always done what people expected, followed the rules. But Verity knew she could do it too, together they were stronger.

  “Did—did you cut my hair?” Imogen reached up and winced when she touched the bandage covering her cut before widening her eyes. “Why can I feel my scalp?”

  “Don’t worry, it’ll grow back, and I had to put a poultice on your cut. It was really dirty and could have gotten infected. Might still. We need to keep an eye on it. On all of you.”

  “You took off my clothes?”

  Verity nodded, deciding to leave out Chance’s role in her undressing for now. “And I threw them out. I still have some clothes you can wear, and we’ll find a way to get you more. I don’t make a lot of money, but we’ll figure it out.”

  Imogen nodded, but her tears continued to flow. “I’m just what they said, aren’t I? Defective, useless. And now ugly.” She touched her shorn head. “I can’t even take care of myself.”

  “You made it all the way here, and you found me in this massive city. You’re stronger than you think, and you have me. How many others have that kind of advantage on their side?”

  Imogen cracked a smile, and for a moment Verity could believe everything would work out for them.

  “I’m tired.”

  “I’m sure you are.” Verity snuggled down on the small pillow they would share, bone tired herself. Weary. “Let’s rest for a while.”

  As they drifted off to sleep, Verity worried how she would feed Imogen. Not just tonight, but for weeks. She needed to get the money for this month’s rent and next, and now she was responsible for supporting someone else. She couldn’t imagine Im
ogen working at the Ball & Joint, and in Cyn City, Verity had a pretty damn respectable job.

  What was she going to do?

  Chapter 8

  Chance

  Chance looked around the basement of the Ball & Joint which also served as the setting for his real job, managing the illegal cyborg cage fights that drew in crowds enough to make him and Garvan rich men. He didn’t always like what he did, but he was fuckall good at it. Fighting was in his blood. He loved watching them even though he didn’t fight himself anymore.

  Besides, who would risk getting in the ring with him?

  He wondered what Verity would think if she knew about this part of the establishment where she worked and frowned, but it didn’t last long because soon he remembered that kiss. If he'd been intrigued by her before, he was downright enamored now. What kind of girl kissed like that after being raised by the ecovangelists? Thoughts of her overtook his mind, until energy and violence coursed through his blood.

  He quickly changed into a pair of workout shorts he kept in his office and pressed the button for the punching bag to drop down into the ring. He needed to work off some energy. He stepped into the ring, rolling his shoulders back and shaking out his arms. The plesh pulled taut over his cybernetic enhancements.

  Chance hated what he was, but when the moments presented themselves to use his arm for what it had been designed for, he had to admit even to himself that he relished the power it contained.

  He moved around the ring, warming up and feigning punches into the air. He didn’t wear gloves or wraps, it was just his knuckles and the bag in front of him. The memory of a fight. The bag had been adjusted to accommodate cyborg strength, so when he punched, he didn’t hold back. A cyborg fight club had to have the right equipment to handle a cyborg punch. His human knuckles were soon raw, blood seeping into the fabric of the bag and adding to the rusty stain and familiar smell.

  He attacked the bag as if it were an opponent, lashing out, ducking down. Moving his body from side to side and punching in fast motions. Speed had made him the best in the ring. Fast and hard, he hit with enough power to down almost any opponent, but it was his speed that kept would-be contenders off-balance, so he rarely even took a direct hit himself.