by Pearl Foxx
Enver’s narrow eyes rounded. “I don’t know. He shouldn’t have been able to. There must have been a slim electrical current still running, but it must have hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.”
Verity looked down. He had fought for her despite what she’d said. He had done the impossible, again, and all she’d done was hurt him.
“That’s not the problem though. The cynker can fix the tech. The problem is his lung and the intertransversarii muscles and trapezius muscle. They got fucked right up from that blade. He’s going to need a new lung and we can’t use the one from the dead guy, it’s been cold too long, so it’ll have to be cybernetic, and we’ll have to replace most of his shoulder and back if we want him to live. You two were close, do you know what he’d want us to do?”
“You mean you have to make more of him into a cyborg?” Imogen asked but Enver ignored her, keeping his focus on Verity.
“Do it.”
“He hates what he is, you know,” he said.
“But I love him. All of him. Just do it. he can blame me if it’s not what he wants.”
Enver lifted his chin in agreement and returned to work.
The cynker used every tool Verity had ever imagined and even had a sterile synth cloth to lay Chance on, so they could perform the surgery. The little man took particular glee from ‘repurposing’ parts of Wicksham to help build Chance’s body back up. Verity couldn’t bear to watch as he stripped veins from Wicksham’s legs and dug into his chest for thicker muscles. Eventually, Verity and Imogen had to go sit outside and wait, the smell of blood and dissection of her former landlord more than she could handle.
The two women sat in silence as Enver and the cynker ran out to retrieve suns knew what materials. The titanium and plesh lung sealed in a bag full of viscus fluid that made Verity break out into a cold sweat. His injuries were serious. Hearing the words and seeing the cybernetic organ were two different things.
As the sun started to fade behind the Deluge and the streets filled with people escaping their sorrows in the night, Enver came outside. His clothes were soaked in blood, and his face set in a hard line that didn’t suit him. His high cheekbones and quirky smile were meant to twinkle, not brood.
“We’re done. We can move him to his place to recover, and then we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“So, he’s alive?” Verity let out her breath, and the tears she’d been holding back spilled down her cheeks, streaking her face with salt.
“Alive enough,” Enver smirked, and Verity’s heart soared.
“Thank you,” she stood and wrapped her arms around the tall cyborg. “Thank you so much.”
“He’s done more for me.” Enver turned to walk away but stopped, tilting his head at Verity. “I meant to tell you, Markus says hello.”
“Markus?”
“Yeah, the cyborg from the ring last night? He wanted me to tell you hello and apologize. Garvan threatened his little girl if he didn’t fight.”
Verity sucked in a breath. “That’s horrible.” She froze. “Wait. He was dead.”
Enver smiled again, lighting up his face, as the street lamps flickered above them. “Not completely. I have a few nanite tricks up my sleeve.”
“You mean Chance didn’t…”
“It was his idea, his credits bought the nanites, too. After this surgery, he’s gonna have an empty account, but he wasn’t about to let someone get hurt. Markus or you.”
“Can I see him?” Verity’s voice shook, and as soon as Enver began his nod, she took off into the building.
Her apartment was a war zone. Blood everywhere. Food and fabric scattered across the floor. Most of it trampled. Chance moaned when she sat on the synth cloth covering her mattress. His eyes fluttered open for a moment before he fell unconscious again.
“He’s heavily sedated, so the nanites can make the necessary connections between his nervous system and the new bionics,” the cynker said.
Verity took his hand and let her tears fall freely. “I love you. I’m so sorry.”
Chapter 23
Chance
Chance shifted in his bed, the sheet scratchy and strange against his new titanium shoulder that covered all the new wires, gears, and even a damn cybernetic organ. He wanted to be mad about it, wanted to pout about how he was becoming more machine than man.
But every time he did, his thoughts returned to Verity.
He couldn’t be sure if the pleasant warmth that tingled along his skin and metal were the nanites or the woman who had been nursing him back to health.
Enver stopped by every day to check on his progress. And Imogen was going stir-crazy stuck in the living room twenty-four hours a day, but Verity hadn’t left his side for longer than it took her to get him a glass of water or whatever else he needed.
He rolled onto his side and took in her sleeping face. So beautiful and strong. She’d fought hard for her friend, for herself, even for him. They hadn’t spoken much. He’d been in and out of consciousness at first, and every time he tried, she shushed him or stuffed food into his mouth, saying the cynker had told her to keep him still while he healed.
It had been almost a week, and he felt plenty healed.
He reached over and stroked her cheek with his rough fingers. They looked so out of place next to her delicate features, but her sleeping smile at his touch told him everything he needed to know. They belonged together. He remembered in a haze of pain hearing her say she loved him, and he held onto that during all of his dark thoughts and self-damning dreams.
But he’d recovered enough. He wanted to hear her say it again.
Fuck, he wanted to hear her scream it, as he made love to her.
He just hoped she’d meant it.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Verity’s sleepy voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“You.”
“Me? No, I’m not nearly exciting enough for a worry line so deep.” She ran a finger between his eyebrows and smiled. “What are you doing up? Are you in pain? Do you need something?”
She began to sit up, his t-shirt hanging off her like a night gown. Damn, he liked seeing her in his clothes.
“Nothing like that, come back here,” he dragged her back down to the pillow and shifted again, so he laid against her side, his awakening cock loving the feeling of her leg against him.
“Oh, you shouldn’t put your weight on that shoulder,” she fussed pushing him to lay on his back. “I know you’re feeling better, but you don’t want to damage anything.”
“I’m fine.” Chance smirked.
“You were practically dead.”
“But not completely.” He shifted his weight and flipped her over, so that he hovered above her. His metallic shoulder bright and shiny, having never even been outside.
She hovered a hand over the new cybernetic chest plate on his left side. “Are you mad?” She looked up at him through thick lashes that made him want to kiss away all her worries.
“Why in the world would I be mad?”
“You hate being a cyborg, and now, you’re even more of one, because of me.” Her voice quivered as she admitted what must have been bothering her since being put in the impossible decision of letting him die or agreeing to this.
Chance sighed and rolled away from her slightly, giving them each a little space. He held his hand up in the air and flexed his fingers. “I don’t actually hate being a cyborg.”
“Could have fooled me, and Enver.”
“I just hate what everyone assumes about me because of it. You know I got it to could work on the Deluge.”
“Most people do.” She rolled toward him and wrapped her leg around his, as she listened. A small intimate act that made his heart surge.
“I was in love. Her name was Rayanne, and she got sick. The kind of sick you don’t come back from.”
“Oh, that’s horrible.”
“One of the doctors told us he could help, but we couldn’t afford the meds. I don’t have any family left. Her pare
nts were broke, like everyone else, so I signed up. One new arm, credits deducted out of my pay for six months to make good, and a high-paying, high-mortality rate job on the Deluge.”
“You did that for her?”
Chance nodded. “At first, she was so sick I’m not sure she even realized what I’d done. I worked on the top of the wall, and sometimes in the gear shoots. I’m big for that job, but with this,” he made a fist, “and already being stronger than most of the guys up there, I could unjam the cranks no problem. I worked extra hours, made as many credits as I could, and got her the medicine.”
“Did she get better?”
He nodded “It was amazing. She had so much energy and could get up and go out. But she hated what I’d done. She could barely look at me, wouldn’t touch me—and then the medicine stopped working, just like that. The doctor said it didn’t take with some people, and soon she was coughing up blood again. But this time she wouldn’t let me help her, wouldn’t even let me take care of her, because I had mutilated myself.”
Verity gasped.
“I became a monster to save her life, and it made no difference. She died afraid of me.” His eyes filled with unshed tears, and he bat them away.
“You aren’t a monster.”
“I’m even more of one now. Look at me.”
Verity ran her hand down his neck, over the thin plesh and across his metallic clavicle. He didn’t have control over his sensitivity yet, and the nanites in his system sparked at the feeling of her touch. “I don’t see a monster, Chance. All I see is a good man who has tried to do everything right, and every time you just get smacked down. But you’re so strong, you keep getting back up.”
“You aren’t still mad at me about the fight?” His eyes darted to hers in worry.
She continued to run her fingers over his shoulder and down along the planes of his repaired metal arm. “How could I be mad at you for spending every credit you have to make sure a little girl didn’t lose her father in a fight Garvan set you up to lose.”
“You know about Markus?”
“Enver told me.”
“I couldn’t tell you beforehand. Garvan had to believe it was real, and I didn’t know if you’d believe me after you left.”
“I didn’t give you a chance to tell me. I’m sorry.”
Verity continued her caress of Chance’s shoulder and arm until he turned into her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him.
“You really don’t see me as a monster?”
“If you are, I don’t care. I love you no matter how much of you is made of metal.”
He dipped down and pressed his lips to hers. “I love you too, Verity. You’re like no one I’ve ever met.”
They kissed for a long moment, their mouths and tongues working together. Their hands explored each other, rediscovering their bodies, as if it were the first time. Lying together like this, sharing a languid caress was bliss, but soon Chance’s need for her grew until he gripped her ass, pulling her tight against him. His cock throbbed against her thigh, and soon, Verity’s fingers gripped his hair and her breath sped up into a pant.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Verity whispered into his mouth.
“I seem to remember saying the same thing to you not too long ago,” he chuckled and maneuvered them, so she straddled his legs, his cock pressed against her core. He pulled the t-shirt over her head and ran his hands down her sides before reaching up to knead her pert breasts. He pulled her close to kiss her neck, nibbling and lavishing attention on her skin with his tongue. He was drunk on her, couldn’t get enough.
Nothing compared to her taste. She smelled like lavender and tasted like sunshine, and he wanted to devour every part of her.
“I love how you respond to me.”
“You make me feel so good,” she moaned, arching against him as he sucked her nipple into his mouth. He lapped at it with his tongue and sucked until she begged for more. Her breasts made him crazy. He never wanted to stop. He moved to the other one and despite the small whine of impatience, Verity cried out when he wrapped his lips tight around it and pulled the nipple deep into his mouth.
“I could just do this all day.” He murmured against her chest, running his nose against her sensitive flesh. He held on to her hips, as she rocked against him, grinding out pleasure.
“I might die. I might actually burst into flames and stop breathing.”
“Oh, is there something else you want?” He looked up at her from under hooded lids to see her kiss swollen lips open in a breathless pant.
“Make love to me, Chance.”
He’d longed to hear those words since the first time he saw her walk into the Ball & Joint in her long skirt and ridiculous button up blouse.
He pulled her down against him, taking her lips in his own, and pushing her hips lower so she sat with the tip of his cock against her opening. “This, this is mine,” he growled lifting up into her tight embrace.
“All yours, forever.”
She sat up, impaling herself with his full length and cried out, grabbing at his chest in abandon.
The look of ecstasy on her face made Chance wild. He lifted her up, almost all the way out, ignoring her gripping fingers and pleading sounds, before filling her up again in another long deep stroke.
She placed her palms flat against him, her hair falling over her face and shoulders like waves. She rode him with a torturous pace, sliding herself up off of him and then slamming back down so he was deep within her warm wet pussy.
Again and again, she tortured them both with her slow grinding, and then overwhelmed him with the pleasure he found in her body.
Chance rolled them over so he hovered over her, his cock still seated deep within her.
“I don’t want you to hurt,” Verity said, running her fingertips across his new cybernetics.
“As long as I have you, nothing can hurt me.” He dropped his weight down, pushing her into the mattress, as his cock slid deeper inside. She wrapped her legs up around his hips and he kissed her, his tongue sliding into her mouth as their bodies rocked together with mounting pressure.
Soon his pace was fast and beads of sweat rolled down his spine. His nanites hummed along his skin and everywhere Verity touched him felt like he was coming alive with pleasure. His need for her drove him faster until soon he slammed deep into her, his balls tight against her ass.
Verity bucked her hips up to meet him with every thrust until she could no longer keep from clawing at his back, her lips on his chest pressed against the metallic plate just as easily as she licked away the sweat from his neck.
Pressure and heat built up in his body, making him feel weightless, like gravity had disappeared leaving no up or down, only Verity’s body surrounding his.
He came with a roar, and as he spasmed against her body, he reached between them and stroked her clit, bringing her all the way to her own release. She clenched around him as she cried out, milking the end of his orgasm from his cock.
Chance collapsed on Verity, his weight balanced on his arms to keep from crushing her, but he couldn’t stand the idea of being any further away from her than this. Even pulling out of her would be a kind of torture he’d carry around with him until it was time to bury his cock inside her again.
He laid his forehead against hers, breathing hard. “I love you, sugar.”
“I love you too.” She smiled and hugged him tight, giving him the comfort he never knew he needed. Her strength finally giving him permission to let go of the past and open his heart.
Epilogue
Imogen
Imogen stood in front of The Ward with one plastic bag stuffed full of fabric and another bag with the clothes Verity had given her. Not that she would wear anything other than the shoes. But it had been a kind thought, so Imogen had taken them when she left.
Living in Chance’s living room had become untenable. Aside from the complete lack of freedom or privacy, there was also an issue of the ongoing athle
tics in the bedroom. She was shut up day and night with the love-birds and just couldn’t take it anymore. When Chance suggested coming here, she’d jumped on it without thinking.
The building looked deserted, completely derelict. The rickshaw that brought her here had insisted Chance pay the triple credits upfront instead of at the end of the trip, because he’d been certain it was a prank. But this was no joke. This was Imogen’s new life.
She stepped over broken glass and rubble, shook the collecting dust from her skirt, and entered the building. Her footsteps echoed in the open, vacant space. Here, no elevator would take her to the next floor, and no kind compound boy would carry her load for her. So, she ascended the stairs, stepping over blood stains, careful not to catch her clothes on ancient handrails that had pulled from the wall and dangled in the stairway.
At the third floor she passed through a set of double doors and everything changed. Lights shone bright overhead and people bustled around the room, most noticeably the handsome cyborg who had saved Chance’s life.
Enver.
His black straight hair hung loose around his ears and shoulders, wild with haphazard layers. He had on blue gloves, as he examined someone in a gurney, eyes narrow and focused. His small nose and broad forehead gave the achingly perfect cheekbones balance. It was like his bone structure was right beneath the skin, no muscle or fat at all, just stark contrasts and surprisingly full lips.
When he finished with his patient, he pulled off the gloves and turned to her. “I thought I heard the clomp-clomp-clomp of compound shoes.”
Imogen scowled.
“Aren’t you moving into Verity’s apartment?”
“I can’t. The floors are still stained with blood, and no one has claimed the building since Wicksham died. Chance doesn’t think it’s safe.”
“He’s generally a good judge of that since he seems to run right toward anything the least bit dangerous.”
Imogen allowed herself a demure smile and looked down. “Thank you for taking me in and offering me a room here.”
