The Exchange Part 1 (3 page)

En route to New Chitose Airport Terminal

Kamikawa National Highway, Kamikawa, Hokkaido, Japan.

SHE DIDN’T ASK ME ABOUT my conversation with Dr. Allen. I had expected her to.

Instead, she spent the first twenty minutes of our ride to the airport staring out
the window and fidgeting with her hands.

Clark turns on the lights for two seconds, searching for his cell phone. He turns
them off, leaving us in the dark once more.

Her nails are painted pink. They match the goth teddy bear on her bag. The contrast
between her nails and her dark clothing intrigues me.

Light and dark.

It reminds me of a badass rocker chic. Or in this case, bad ass punk chic.

I pretend to work on my tablet, but in reality, I’m staring at her out of the corner
of my eye. Her thick hair obscures her profile.

The highways leading toward the airport are sparsely lit and empty at this time of
night. 

My eyes remain focused on a single thing.

Black and blue.

I like it. Seen it before but never paid much attention to it. On her, though, it’s
different.

She’s different from the girl I believed I was picking up.

The black and blue of her hair combined with her gold-green eyes and almost pale skin
—
Damn. It’s sexy.

No, fuck that.
She’s
sexy.  So attractive to me that I’m having a hard time dealing with it.

Admitting that to myself does not help my situation. At all.

She moves, lifting her bag off the floor.

Curiosity has me alert. I shift as subtly as possible, sitting straighter. First,
she pulls out a book. I squint to catch the title.
“The Birth of the Mind—How a Tiny Number of Genes Creates the Complexities of Human
Thought.”

My eyes widen and that blasted curiosity expands. There’s a bookmark tucked about
a quarter of the way into the book.

My heart pounds. It seems to be multiplied by the eerie quiet of the vehicle. She
reaches back into the bag and pulls out her cellphone and a small book light. The
light is clipped to the book, headphones are slid into her ears, and she starts playing
music on her phone.

By the time she turns on the small book lamp and begins reading, I find myself battling
back annoyance.

She’s shut the world out.

I’ve
been shut out.

And I don’t like it. Not one bit.

When did you turn into such a whiny bitch, Deimos? You have your own shit to take
care of.
True. I can’t start looking into her while she’s sitting next to me, but I have other
things that need my attention.

I’m tempted to try running another scan on her body.

Hah. Yeah right. She’d block it, and she’d be inside me again.

I shift at the thought, my cock stirring in my pants. Shit. Am I turned on by the
thought of having her inside my systems?

My cock twitches and my eyes are drawn to the girl. I want this sexy little thing
next to me.

I’ve been far from celibate recently, and yet, I want this girl in a way I haven’t
wanted someone in a long time.
Which is why you’re going to get back to work and ignore her unless necessary.

Right. Good plan. Probably isn’t going to be as easy as it sounds but what else can
I do? She is my cargo. The fucking mission. I pick her up, protect her en route, and
deliver her to her father. End of story.

“Please help her.”

Crap. I’d forgotten about that.

Frustrated, I log onto my email, determined to ignore this shit situation I find myself
in as much as possible.

YOU KNOW WHAT'S PATHETIC? When you realize that—at twenty-eight years old—you've never
watched a woman sleep. Weird thought right? There’s been so many of them in the last
few hours that I stopped questioning them. I'm not getting any answers, and Einstein
wasn't lying when he gave us the definition of insanity.

It's now almost 4AM and we’ve pulled into the airport's parking lot. Clark is already
out of the car. Gage and the rest of the team as well. They're all standing outside,
waiting.

I'm still inside, leaning back on the door. Watching. Studying.

Fascinated.

I've been a soldier since the age of seventeen. It's been an eleven-year, 24-7 career
for me. I don't like to get into what it was like before that, but I lived a sheltered
life. All that was missing was the padded room and plastic bubble. As a result, women
and I didn't get acquainted until after I was eighteen and on my first tour.

Relationships? Not possible. I'm a soldier, as I said. Well, now I'm what people consider
a special agent—God damn that 007 bullshit—but I see myself as a soldier. Always will.

When you live the life I live, you don't stop to think about the things that didn’t
happened. What's missing. You don't care, either. Eat, sleep, sex. Keep myself in
top shape. The endless medical visits to make sure I'm at one-thousand percent. And
the mission statistics, planning, analyzing.

And most important of all: survive.

That's my life and I'm freaking ecstatic with it. Supremely comfortable, in fact.
I never wanted anything more.

Yet here I am, unwilling to move, drinking in the sight of a young sleeping girl.

She fell asleep two hours ago. Did it in the middle of reading, too. One moment she'd
ben awake, immersed in that book. In the blink of an eye, her eyes snapped shut, her
head fell limp to the side, and she was out cold.

I caught her book before it fell out of her lap and made sure to place her bookmark
where she'd left off. The book is now next to her on the seat.

It’s the oddest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve never witnessed anyone falling asleep like
that. Is she narcoleptic? No, her file would’ve mentioned that. Maybe she’s developed
some weird sleep disorder after everything she’s been through.

File would’ve mentioned that, too.
It has to be her advanced technology.

The enigma that this girl is has me hooked. I’m sure of it. It has nothing to do with
those thighs. Or the fact that her profile while sleeping is even sexier than her
legs.

My head falls against the window with a loud bang.
Deimos, whatever this is, figure it the fuck out and get over it. You’re fucking up
the mission.

Someone knocks against the window, right where my head is. “Plane leaves in twenty-five.
You planning on coming out of there any time before takeoff?”

Fuck you, Gage.
Talk about proving my point.

Another thing I’ve realized about the girl is that she sleeps through any noise. There’s
no way I could’ve stayed asleep considering how loud Gage had been.

I reach behind me. A simple flick of my fingers opens the door and I fling it open.
The muffled “
oomph”
that comes from Gage makes me want to smile. I step out of the car. Eight pissy expressions
are aimed in my direction.

“The girl is sleeping,” I tell them, meeting each and every stare.

You need a psychological evaluation.
The words aren’t said out loud, but they’re written in every line on Gage’s face.
“And? You want to delay the flight until she wakes up?”

A.K.A:
What is wrong with you?

Let me pause here and state a fact that should be obvious by now.

I didn’t get the code name “Terror” by accident. Yes, when it comes to killing, I
am a surgical-steel, six-blade slicing machine. I am. I don’t regret it. It’s kill
or be killed in my world. Only regular civilians get the luxury of choosing otherwise.

And it’s because guys like me do the dirty work to protect them.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m no motherfucking superhero. Would never want to be equated
to one. If anyone comes near me with a cape, I’m shoving it up their asses.

Killing isn’t the only thing I excel at, though. Strategizing and being obsessed with
finishing each mission on time—while making sure everyone on the mission sticks to
every step of the plan? Guilty as charged. That’s me. The men came up with another
nickname they think I don’t know about: The Tyrant.

Is it original? Hell no. Is it accurate? Damn right it is.

I’m proud of that fact. I’ve worked hard to deserve both nicknames. And I’ve cracked
that whip enough times to give them all some sick version of Pavlovian Conditioning.
I’m sure of it.

They follow the rules, the plan, and make sure the missions go off without a single
hitch. It’s my M.O. and they have no choice but to stick to it when I’m in charge.

And now I want to delay the mission because the girl is
sleeping
? “I don’t think she can be woken up. She fell asleep pretty deep.” Yeah, it seems
so.

“Fine.” Gage again. “If she can’t be woken up, I’ll carry her onto the plane.”

The hell did he say?

My hand has never moved so fast. I’m a very fast man in general, but the sheer speed
with which my hand flies up to grab his arm leaves me shocked.

It seems that, at least on a physical level, I
am
functioning at over a thousand-percent.

Mentally, however…

“What’s the fucking problem now?” Gage snaps. His arm muscles bulge as he tests the
tightness of my hold.

I make every one of my fingers clench harder. “If I can’t wake her up this time, I’ll
carry her.”

“You
wanna
pound your fist against your chest next?” Gage rips his arm away and rubs his bicep.
“That hand is a metallic machine under that skin, did you forget that?”

“Stop bitching. So is that arm.” I nod at where he’s rubbing.

He mumbles something about how I’m being an ever bigger douche than usual.

No arguments from me.

I move to enter the car. Fuck, she’s already awake.

I’m not usually struck stupid by a woman’s beauty. I’m not that type of guy. My dick
and I came to an agreement a very long time ago. I make sure he gets off on a near
constant basis; he gives me complete control.

We had our deal solidified. That contract was iron-clad. We signed it in blood, for
God’s sake.

So tell me: Why am I standing here, leaning half-way into this car, slack-jawed as
I stare into her eyes?

I’m serious. Please tell me. I’m starting to think that something else is going on
here. Something beyond what I think it is.

“I’m awake.”

Her soft whisper makes my hand flex on the door.  “I can see that,” is all I say,
and I can’t help it. The corners of my lips stretch into a smile at her obvious statement.

Her face flares red.
Bright,
worrisome red. I can see it even in the darkness of the car.

She stares up at me, blinking, like she’s never seen me before.  I feel like a misshapen,
recently landed UFO. And when I say misshapen, I’m talking tentacles.

She somehow turns redder—I’m starting to worry about her health—and her head flies
around to stare at the front of the car. She nervously tucks her hair behind her ear
and fidgets.

The moment her incisor comes done and she bites on the corner of her plump lip, I
catch it. I so fucking catch it.

Flares go off inside me, a primal nerve reaction that rushes through every muscle.
I’m not a tentacle-infested UFO anymore. No. I’m a seventeen-foot tall God of Virility,
standing on top of a mountain at the peak of my prime.

Attraction. I saw it. My body recognizes it on all levels. That reaction speeds ups,
until my head is spinning from battling back every urge howling to life within me.
I jerk back from the shock.

The sound of my head hitting the roof makes her gasp.

“Oh my God. Are you okay?”

The tone of her voice. It does things to me, man. “I’m fine.”

She shot across the seat and is now in front of me, staring up at me with eyes full
of worry.
For
me
?

“Are you sure?” Her hair moves over her shoulders as she tilts her head, assessing
me.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I
—
” Have no idea what else I’m going to say. All I can do is take her in, getting sucked
further into something I don’t understand. At all.

Why is this happening? It can’t be about the sex. As hot as this little thing is,
I don’t understand why my body is acting so… so…
deprived.

It’s not like I’m not getting any. I had sex yesterday morning, in fact.

The reminder that there is someone else should dampen things a bit. Right?

No.

I already told you, I don’t do relationships. It’s only sex, and I made that very
clear from day one. Noemi knows the deal. But we work together. She’s part of the
Organization. Starting something else without ending it first wouldn’t just be fucked
up. It’d be straight up inconsiderate. Considering we work together, that wouldn’t
be a smart move.

You can’t start anything anyway, you fucking genius. Cargo. Mission. Deliver.
Pull out your phone and Google that shit if you forgot.

“Are we leaving? We have fifteen minutes before departure. And we can’t take the direct
route to the plane, as planned. They closed that route.”

I fly out of the car, this time managing to spare my head any damage. “What do you
mean they closed the direct route? Why?”

“Don’t know. No time to find out. We
gotta
go.” Gage stares pointedly at the car.

Alright, alright. I get it.
Stop delaying the mission with your bullshit, Deimos.

When I lean into the car, the girl’s in the process of putting her things back in
her bag. She slips on a dark hoodie next and lifts the hood. A black pair of Ray-Ban
glasses is donned last.

I have the same exact pair.

I see her hesitate, and it’s all the excuse I need to lean back in.

Frigging hell, I’m magnetized.

“Is everything alright?” I don’t like the tone of my voice. It’s suspiciously close
to sounding worried. Too intimate.

The girl shakes her head and stares up at me. “Yeah. I’m just a little out of it.”

Understandable. She’d died. Then she was brought back to life after countless surgeries.
She’s bionic now. Part human, part machine.

I know from experience how much of a mind-fuck it is to wake up to that.

So why does her behavior make me suspicious? There’s this niggling doubt whispering
like a devil in my ear.

I’m an idiot. I should’ve spent the time she was sleeping looking into that USB. Instead,
I spent the time staring at her.

I’m aware of how stupid all of this is. These thoughts are going through my head and
I hear them loud and clear. I am busy berating
myself for being the most
monolithic
fool in history.

And I still hold out my hand to help her out.

She doesn’t grab it and that hesitation is back. I’m about to pull it back and move
out of her way when she finally reaches for it.

Thick leather separates her flesh from mine, but the moment of contact reverberates
everywhere.

Every-fucking-where.

I forget about the mission, about everyone waiting for us outside, about Noemi, and
the million other reasons why I need to stay away.

I'm not the only one that feels it. Her glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose,
so I see her eyes. I watch as those long lashes rise, and her stare moves from my
hand to my face.