Necrotech (35 page)

“What makes you doubt what you saw?”

Pulling my thoughts back roughly to the present, I turned away, pulling on one boot and kicking it up on the edge of the table to fasten. These tied, with real laces and everything. Quaint. “A few minor details,” I said, forcing my tone into something close enough to calm to fake it. “Individually, no big deal, but all together, they don't add up.”

“I'm listening.”

I'll just bet. “That vid showed me imprinting my thumb on a tablet. A contract, maybe, or some kind of employment record.”

“So?”

“So, that's bullshit.” I yanked the knot hard, surprised when my metal arm nearly snapped the lacing.

Enhancements
. Right.

I went through it again with my left shoe. “I'm a saint, but I was born a sinner. There is
no
way I'd ever let my fingerprint end up on some corporate rap sheet. I may as well write home and tell them where I am.”

“You don't think that you're setting up an elaborate lie to tell yourself?” His tone gentled, but only a fraction. “I'm not here to judge you. If you betrayed your team–”

“Suck my balls, Malik.” I stomped both feet, surprised and gratified by the comfort, and turned again, hands propped on my hips. “I didn't do it. You don't just throw away a decade of conditioning.”

“Anything else?”

I hesitated. “Nothing I can pinpoint.”

“Why?”

I eyed him. “Because I can't, okay?”

“So you're willing to ignore visual evidence in favor of… what? A hope?”

“I don't know,” I said, probably the first blatantly honest thing I'd ever said to him. I shot him a slanted smile that promised nothing by way of gentling. I still wasn't made for soft. “I risked my ass for all that information, and I'm not convinced the vid is real.”

“You aren't convinced it's not.” Eerie, how well he had me figured out. “What will you do?”

I focused on the question, ignoring the knot of anxiety threatening to lodge in my chest. “I'm going to do what I do best, Malik. Wreck everybody's shit until I get to the bottom of that hellhole. Whatever went down, somebody has answers.”

He didn't move. He didn't lift an eyebrow, or look at me like I was insane. Malik was a watcher, and as creepy as that should have been, it only made me very much aware of his gaze on me. “How do you propose to start?”

I shook my head. “I don't know yet, but I can tell you one thing. Whatever was down there, MetaCunts, Inc wanted it bad.”

“Do you plan to do this alone?” he asked me, a furrow forming over the bridge of his nose. It pulled at his freckles – which wasn't nearly as disarming as when Orchard's did the same.

Malik's instincts, I decided, were scary as fuck.

I ran my hands through my hair, forcing it behind my ear. Until I found out for sure what was wrong with my memory, I wasn't sure about running with anyone – especially my team, who probably still hated my guts. Indigo and I had worked out a kind of mutual ground, but Tash and the others might be harder sells.

There was no shortage of mercs eager for corp targets, at least. The problem was sifting through the mess for quality.

“I'll figure out something,” I finally said, glancing at him with a shrug. “Right now, I don't trust myself.”

Something sharp glinted in his gaze, twitched that muscle in his jaw and was gone. “Why?”

My mouth slanted into a grim slash. “Chunk off, Malik, you know why. When my chipset shorted, I damn near lost my shit for good down there.”

“Don't you want to find out what caused it?”

“And stick around here?” I swiped my flesh hand at the lab as I passed Malik, dismissing them both in one sharp gesture. “Ass, no. I've had my fill of labs to last me a long time.”

He turned to watch me, and his tone dropped to a mocking octave. “So it's easier to run.”

“I'm not running,” I snapped, but I stopped dead in my tracks.

Yes, I was. Damn it.

I turned to find him still watching me.

“What the tits is your malfunction?” I snarled. Annoyance, frustration.

His lips curved into a deeper smile; an edge in it that battered at my already fraying sense of grounding. “You're running,” he stated, like he was the authority on all things me.

I swiped my hair back from my forehead. “What do you want from me, Reed?”

His arms dropped, easing his silhouette from nonchalant patience to something harder, more aggressive. Like he prepped for a fight as he approached me, closing the distance I'd put between us in my rush to get the hell out. “I can respect your need for answers.”

My gaze narrowed. I wanted to step back; screw him if I gave him that satisfaction. Instead, I raised my chin.

“I want answers, too.” He stopped a mere foot from me, so close I could pick out the individual freckles on his nose and cheeks. He smelled like something custom manufactured and expensive, which shouldn't have smelled delicious and did.

Shit on that. I moved back, after all.

Satisfaction flicked a corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, well,” I said tightly, “we all
want
stuff, big boy. Get used to disappointment.” I turned away.

His hand lashed out, wrapped around my scarred metal arm and I was suddenly whirling, spun like a thrashdancer caught off guard and pulled close enough that half of my body was plastered against his.

I blinked into intense dark eyes, aware that my pulse had launched into a rapid beat. I was a tall woman, but I didn't realize how tall Malik was until I stood almost nose to nose with him in four-inch boots.

I inhaled tightly, which dragged my chest against his. My snatch clued in right around the time my brain went nova in warning.

The fact I found him delicious annoyed the hell out of me.

“Let me help you.” It was practically an order.

I bristled in his grip. “What makes you think I want the help from you?”

“What makes you think you can afford to go without it?”

I could have shaken him off, probably would have enjoyed the chance to lay him out without his security team, but I didn't. His men had pulled me out of that hellhole and I'd already cost him four trained enforcers.

He deserved a warning.

I gave him
one
. “Let me go,” I said softly.

He didn't. He searched my gaze for something I didn't know, so close I could see each individual whisker making up his shaped goatee. I bet his hair would be rough against my palm.

I bet his skull would cave in beneath my metal fist.

His fingers tightened. I couldn't feel it, I just watched the numbers in my lateral display hike.

Hell of a grip. Arousal dragged rough claws through my unstable restraint. So did snapping restraints of fury.

His grip eased, like he knew. “My apologies,” he said, with the same level of calm certainty he did everything, and let me go.

I resisted the urge to rub the spot where his fingers had encircled cool metal. My phantom arm didn't need the encouragement. “Your wife must think you're a real catch,” I muttered, irritated.

He ignored me. “There's tech and intel you're going to need if you're planning to wander blindly into corporate warfare.” He cut me off before I could argue. “Don't delude yourself, it
is
corporate warfare. That lab was well funded, highly organized, and extremely covert.”

“I told you so.”

His eyes glittered.

Too late, I remembered that he'd already known.

My teeth gritted.

“Work with us, Riko. Mantis Industries has the funding, the tech and the resources to help you.”

“Never mind that you'll get your espionage fix, right?”

“And then some.” He shrugged. “If you need information on MetaCore, the tools to take them on, and resources you don't currently have, you're going to need a backer. I tracked you from that lab when no one else knew you were even alive. I have the means. You have the drive. Give this a shot.”

Shit. I looked down at the floor in front of me, blindly cataloguing all the pros and cons I could think of.

Resources, sure. Tech upgrades that Lucky couldn't get – and wouldn't give me now, even if he could.

Better funding than your average merc group.

What was Malik Reed's game?

I eyed him with blatant speculation. “You used me.”

“We've already had this discussion.”

I was running out of names to call him. “I thought you suits didn't trust easy.”

“You cost me four highly trained specialists. Is this your version of easy?”

Point well made.

Cons? The corporate world didn't operate by the same rules the street did. Working for a corporate's cred was one thing, but going on payroll was something else. It'd cost me the last of my hard-won street rep and then some

Oh, and there was that teeth-grinding fact that I found myself wondering if a married man's cock was as rigid as the rest of him.

Too many cons to list.

“I want to talk to your armor research team,” I told him, testing the waters.

“Why?”

Compromise wasn't a word I think Malik considered often. “Because,” I told him, “I've got first-hand experience on necro armaments that turned Mantis's suits to paste and chewing gum. If I'm going to be wearing the suit, it damn well better work.”

Maybe he got off on facts. He didn't argue. “Done.”

I pushed it. “And I want to freelance. No payroll, no paperwork, no news feed headlines.”

“Freelancing comes with certain restrictions,” he countered.

I shrugged. “As long as I get full disclosure on every offered contract.”

He studied me. I returned his scrutiny with poker-faced challenge, but my hand came up to cover the patch of metal he'd grabbed. By the time I caught myself doing it, it was too late.

His gaze flicked to the movement. Lifted again to meet mine without so much as a glint of recognition.

Seriously, he bothered me.

“No,” he finally said. “I get to choose what information is disclosed per contract, but–” He raised one dusky hand. “The final say on any job you're offered is yours.”

Okay. I didn't want to admit it, but that was reasonable. Any information he didn't disclose, odds were I knew somebody who could hack it. Assuming they'd do it if I was the one asking. Fuck.

I rolled my re-knitted shoulder, testing its reinforced socket as I pondered how much farther I could push.

Well, why the shit not?

I rocked back on my heels, sliding two fingers into the waistband of my snug pants in lieu of pockets. His gaze flicked to my exposed navel, the ink decorating my hip, then back up. “I don't answer to your board.” When he didn't immediately argue, I added offhandedly, “Oh, and I want a Valiant 14, fully loaded.”

His mouth shifted into that aggravating little curve, like I'd amused him again. “That's worth more than a freelancer's salary.”

I knew it, too. “Those are my terms.”

“Expensive terms.”

I grinned. “I'm an expensive date.”

“Noted. Now hear
my
requirements,” he replied, and my smile faded. “If you don't answer to the Mantis board, you answer to me. You'll have more freedom than most working under me, but only as long as I see progress. One wrong move, and I'll have your Mantis credentials pulled faster than you can say Jane Eyre.” That smile tightened to a taunt. “Much less spell it.”

My back teeth clenched. A little rough flirtation was one thing, but I did not like this whole control business. “It will be a cold day in the wastelands before I work
under
you.”

His eyes glinted. “Mandatory exams.” He ticked off a list on his raised fingers. “Training exercises and goals. You will work with teams and without.”

“Hold it.” I crossed both arms in front of me, a physical X of denial. “Fail. I am not your custom lapdog, Malik. I do what I do on my terms, or it doesn't work.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction, short black lashes flickering once. He didn't like that? Too bad.

“I'm not a bottom-tier suit looking to scale the ladder,” I said flatly. “I'm an asset and an equal partner or you can kiss this ass goodbye. And I'm not turning down outside runs.”

“Then you turn down the ones that target Mantis.”

“It depends on the pay.”

His jaw moved. “I'll give you a list of Mantis units that are hands-off. Anything else you want to hit is fair game, as long as you give me a chance to counteroffer.”

Okay, that surprised me. “Why?”

“Because other departments aren't my problem,” he replied evenly. “Come after mine, and you'll wish you'd taken the opportunity to work under me first.”

I couldn't decide if I pitied his wife or envied her. “Then we're agreed. I'm a freelancer, you keep your girly mouth shut about it, and I get a Valiant 14?”

“Acceptable.” He held out his hand, palm slightly tilted. I stilled.

What kind of bullshit challenge was this? Daring me to take his hand willingly?

Or being a jerk.

I'd put cred on the latter, but even as I considered it, I recognized the position he'd just put me in.

His eyes didn't leave mine, way more self-satisfied than I was comfortable with.

If I did this, that was it. I'd be another sellout merc turned by corp money. Working for the capitalistic fuckheads of the world.

But if I played it smart, I could use Mantis to shore up my failing cred. Milk it for all it was worth, and put to rest all this bullshit. Once and for all.

“Fine.” But I ignored his offered hand. Challenge denied, motherfucker. “You have yourself a freelancer.”

For the first time, something in his dark brown eyes lit.

“Welcome to Mantis Industries. And since you're officially on the roster,” he continued, like this was the most casual business meeting in the world, “you have authorization to know about the data you and Mr Koupra brought back.”