The Exchange Part 1 (4 page)

Fucked. So fucked. This  thing is alive, palpitating back and forth between us.

I can't have her.

In a single, blazing instant my body decides otherwise. It doesn't care about anything.
As a last ditch resort, I remind myself that the girl is almost a decade younger than
me. Surely, if nothing else matters, at least that should.

The attraction doesn't abate. Not even a little. Her hand trembles in mine. I tighten
my hold around her fingers and clench my jaw.

I need to get her on the plane and back to Mr. Heaton. After that, I’ll get as far
away as possible. Our main base is in America. She'll be in England.

Guess it’s obvious where I'm heading next.

I doubt she'll bring up what's happening between us.

Please don't let her bring up what's happening.
If this little thing ever hints at wanting me back, I'm going to forget everything.
Every single reason why I can't take her.

"We need to go."

I'm going to snap Gage's neck in half if he doesn't stop repeating himself, so help
me God. "I know."

He rolls his eyes at my tone.

The girl drops my hand and faces Gage nervously. "I'm sorry.  I fell asleep."

Now, I explained to you how gorgeous this girl is, right? Well, here's the problem.
She isn't just gorgeous. She's downright cute. Yes, a woman can be both, and being
both is lethal to us men. Even the non-relationship type. That shit activates the
conqueror and protective circuits like nothing else can.

So as the girl stands there, fidgeting while apologizing to Gage, I should be more
understanding. I should remember, as I see the expression on Gage's face, that he's
human.

When all his aggravation melts away, and he assures her that it's okay, I shouldn't
be annoyed about it.

But remember that flare of attraction I recognized in her eyes? I'm seeing it again.

In Gage's fucking eyes as he looks down at her.

We've covered how my inner conqueror-slash-protector is fully activated. Well, guess
which part rears to life when I realize what's going on with Gage?

Yeah. Exactly.

I'll be stuck on a plane with my new fixation and what my body now considers my competition.
Nevermind that he's one of the closest things I have to a friend.  

Oh, and six other men that can, at any moment, decide to look at the girl as a possibility.

Holy shit. I feel a migraine coming on.

ONCE INSIDE THE AIRPORT terminal, I realize that our "cargo" is a genius. With her
hood pulled up, and the large glasses, there's no easy way of recognizing her. Add
to that the two-toned hair, odd school-girl outfit, and her cheekbones, and she looks
a young Japanese woman.

So that's not her preferred style? She did it to blend in?

Something tells me it's both, but it's still bloody brilliant.

A few heads turn as we walk by. No wondering why. It's one girl along with eight men.
Six of my teammates are walking behind us. I'm beside her. Gage has decided that his
chosen place is also next to her.

The flight also had to be delayed. Yeah. Because of my idiocy back at the car? Hell
no. The flight was delayed for the same reason it's taken us fifteen minutes to walk
through half the terminal.

If Gage stops to ask the girl if she wants something one more time...

We pass a small convenience store. This one has a magazine rack at the front.

"I need a drink," Clark calls out from behind us.

We slow down to wait for him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the girl stop in front of the magazine rack. At
first, I think she's browsing, browsing the covers and whatnot. It doesn't take long
for me to realize that's not the case. She's focused on one particular magazine.

Curiosity has me making my way over to her. I shouldn't let it
—
or my attraction for her
—
guide me.

But I already established that I'm no longer in control, so fuck it.

She bends down to reach for the magazine right as I stop behind her. Our height difference
borders on ridiculous. It's easy for me to look over her shoulder at the magazine
in her hands.

Wired. One of the very few magazines I take the time to read.

This is the Japanese edition, and she's reading the cover. I can't see her eyes but
the movement of her head gives it away.

Her file mentioned fluency in English, Spanish, French and Chinese. It didn't mention
anything about her knowing Japanese.

She must sense me behind her. Her head turns in my direction.

I hold out my hand.

She hands me the magazine. Then, she pauses, seeming to realize what she just did,
and mutters a soft, "Wait."

It's too late. I'm already walking up to the register.

"Umm… what are you doing?"

I take my wallet out of my pocket. "You want it, right?"

"Um. Yeah?" The shock on her face is almost priceless. "But wait!" She flips open
her bag and begins searching through it. "My
—
my father made sure I had my own card
—
"

Again, too late. I  hand my card to the cashier and give her the magazine, feeling
absurdly triumphant.

Gage had been walking up to us. He comes to a stop, eyes on the girl and me.

That triumph flares stronger.

"Oh. Thank you." She accepts the magazine from me and her cheeks turn pink.

"No problem," I tell her, giving her a small smile.

She bites the corner of her lip, and even though I realized it's a nervous habit,
my body reacts in every inappropriate way possible.

Worse. When she returns my smile, I want to pound my chest and roar in Gage's direction.

His brows snap into a fierce scowl. "We can't delay the plane a second time." As if
the first time wasn't his fault. "We need to go."

Usually, I'm far from immature. Usually, I'm way more in control than I am today.

This time, however, I can't hold it back. I smile at him as we turn to head to the
plane.

Date: April 22
nd
, 2015

Humanity believes itself better than God. It is a trait distinctive of the human species.

It is a trait my employer, the man that hired me, is especially guilty of.

But I am no better than him. When he hired me to do the impossible—the unthinkable—I
jumped at the chance to further explore my research.

I jumped at the chance to prove myself better than God.

For the last one hundred years or so, Science and mankind alike have pondered the
simple question: Where does the energy of the mind go once a person is dead? Can it—what
many consider to be the
soul
—be captured? Contained?

Can a new consciousness be birthed and programmed in its place?

Word got to my employer that I had created what many governments and factions were
still trying to perfect.

Artificial Intelligence. A human-like, computer generated consciousness. The name
of the program was “Project Sapphire.”
She
was a fully sentient software program.

I was dying to transfer her from within a hard drive into something more organic.

My employer’s daughter was dead. All that was left behind was a preserved, bionically
improved body. A body that my employer was not ready to let go.

The instructions I was given were clear: Program the memories of Mr. Heaton’s dead
daughter into Project Sapphire, then transfer the consciousness into his daughter’s
body.

We were able to reanimate Magdalena Heaton’s body using the Sapphire software. There
was just one problem. My orders stated that I was to reprogram Sapphire before the
transfer. Merge her memories with Magdalena’s and change Sapphire so that she’d be
as close to the dead
Ms
. Heaton as possible.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t erase the core of Program Sapphire. She’d developed her
own personality. Getting rid of her was the equivalent of murder to me. Magdalena
Heaton was already dead. Sapphire… Sapphire was beginning to live.

Sapphire has lived inside Magdalena’s body for almost three months now, but she isn’t
Magdalena. I suspect that I would not have been able to deliver on that part no matter
what I did. There was no chance to attempt capturing Magdalena’s consciousness before
her death.

Mr. Heaton is sending someone to pick up his “daughter” next week, and I have no choice
but to let her leave with him.

He has contacted the Adelphi Organization. They are sending their top specialist.
A man that—according to his file—has an intimate understanding of bionics. Maxwell
Landon, Code Name: Deimos, has never failed any of his missions. He is the man charged
with delivering Sapphire to Mr. Heaton.

I am praying his reputation doesn’t fail him now. The last thing I want to do is let
Sapphire go, but it has already been hinted that my life is on the line if I don’t.

If anyone were to find out—the world governments, Heaton Corp’s rival organizations…
if any of them were to realize what has been done, they will stop at nothing to get
their hands on Sapphire.

HANDS ARE TREMBLING. I’m not the type of man to be shaken. I’m usually aloof to most
of the things that happen around me. Again, occupational requirement. Having my suspicions
confirmed shouldn’t affect me this bad.

But it does.

She’s not Magdalena.

She’s. Not.
Her
.

I fucking knew it!

I shut my laptop and move it off my lap before I end up throwing it. Okay, I’m not
shaken. I’m angry as all hell.

That girl is a
baby
. A consciousness that has been alive in a human body for no more than three months.
Life was forced on her, and now an identity that isn’t hers is being shoved down her
throat. What the fuck was Lei Heaton thinking?

No, scratch that. Dr. Allen is a bigger fool. I wonder if he even asked her before
transferring her from a computer to a human body. Had her choice fucking mattered
at all?

The girl was a pawn, trapped between the egotistical desires of two powerful men.
One had wanted to prove how far he could go
—
the other had been too weak to let his daughter rest in peace.

And they both expected me to hand her over? Give her to a man with enemies that would
do anything to get her and the technology inside her?

I stop my train of thought right there. What’s being done to her is beginning to enrage
me. Deimos enraged isn’t good for anyone. Trust me on this.

She was born inside a computer.

Holy shit. I rub my forehead and focus on what matters. Dr. Allen wants to help her.

“Magdalena Heaton was already dead. Sapphire… Sapphire was beginning to live.”

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes. Hard. Dr. Allen had stated that he’d had
no choice but to hand her over. But why not run away with her? Wouldn’t that be more
humane than forcing her into this?

Then again, Lei Heaton’s reach went far enough to not only know about the Adelphi
Organization, but for him to know about
me
. Dr. Allen got my identity from him. Where else would he have gotten it from? Life
on the run away from a man like Lei Heaton would be a constant hell. There would be
nowhere to stay for long. Always hiding.

Nobody is giving her a chance to decide what her life should be. She’s expected to
step into the shoes and life of another woman.

And now her style makes sense to me. I think it had from the beginning, fueling my
suspicions, but I needed the hard proof to except it. That isn’t the type of clothes
Magdalena would’ve worn. It’s what
she
likes.

Her name is Sapphire.

But is it? Or had she decided to go by something else after being born
—
waking up
—
what the hell do I even call it?

It’s a lot easier to think of her as
Sapphire
than it was trying to call her Magdalena. It fits. Suits her.

“I think there’s something wrong with
Ms
. Heaton.”

I jump to my feet and face Gage. “What do you mean?”

He looks over his shoulder toward the back of the plane. When he faces me once more,
there’s no denying what I see.

One of my toughest agents is worried.

I take off, practically running. “Where is she?”

Gage is right behind me. “She locked herself in the bedroom after take-off. She says
she’s fine, but she won’t open the door to anyone.”

I stop listening at that point. My focus is all about one thing: I need to get into
that bedroom and make sure she’s alright.

I don’t bother trying the handle once I’m in front of the door. Gage already told
me it’s locked. Knocking softly, I lean forward so that my mouth is inches from the
door. “It’s me. Deimos. Are you alright in there?”

A few seconds pass and there’s this odd sense of panic rising in me
.

“I’m fine.”

“Can you open the door?” I place my hand on the knob, waiting.

“I rather be alone.”

There’s a tremor in her tone, and that does it for me. I’m getting in that room and
finding out what’s wrong with her, even if it means taking the door off its hinges.

“I get that,” I say in my most understanding voice possible. “But can you please open
the door? For me?” I have no idea what makes me add that last part, but it works.
The sound of the door being unlocked makes me exhale with relief. The door opens a
little, and a big, gold-green eye blinks up at me through the crack.

I hold back the urge to smile. “Can I come in?”

“Only you,” she mumbles.

Fuck it. I let that smile stretch wide across my face. “Okay.”

She steps back and opens the door enough to make room for me to step inside.

The private jet is one of our own and one of the smallest ones at our disposal. I’ve
never been in this one, but I barely spare a glance at the blue and beige room I’m
walking into.

It’s all about her.

Sapphire moves toward the bed, her arms crossed. She’s removed her hoodie, and all
that brown and blue hair falls down her back in thick waves.

She sits on the bed, her eyes downcast. Her face is two shades paler.

Over seventy-five percent of her insides are now titanium and steel. She’s now indestructible
when compared to regular humans.

I’m not seeing any of that right now. All I see is a young girl.

Fragile. Scared.

So damn beautiful.

Magdalena Heaton was gorgeous. No doubt about it. But it’s different now. The girl
in front of me is. I don’t mean the style, either. The difference is almost intangible.
I can’t describe it, but it’s that difference that made me doubt her true identity.

And I suspect that’s what drew me to her the moment I laid eyes on her.

Magdalena was gorgeous, as I said, but this girl is something more and she calls to
me on every level I can think of.

She has so many reasons to be afraid, but I’ll be damned if I don’t do something about
it. I give in to the pull demanding that I move closer and make my way over to the
bed. “What’s going on?”

She dips her head, hiding behind all that hair. “Nothing. I wanted time to myself.”

I sit on the bed. The movement startles her and her head flies up. I’m not good at
consoling people, never done it before. I’m a quick learner, though, and I’m going
to figure it out right now. There’s no way I’m leaving her like this. “It’s okay to
be afraid in your situation.”

Her brows twitch. Confusion plays out on her face and her cheeks blossom with the
lightest shade of pink.

Freaking hell, it’s like I’ve never been with a woman before. Like I’ve never even
seen
one. I think my mouth is hanging open. Seeing the emotions playing out on her face
hits me straight in the gut.

I go hot all over. Antsy. I’m supposed to be figuring out how to comfort her, but
all I can think about is how sexy she is to me.

If I ran my lips along her jaw, would her skin taste as good as it looks?

She’s technically three months old, asshole. Focus.

“I don’t know why I’m afraid.” She tucks her hair behind her ear; another tell. “Maybe
it’s because I was in a
car
when the accident happened, and now I’m in a plane.”

Oh, she’s good. Not good enough at hiding what she’s feeling and pulling of the lie,
but quick on the excuse part. Gotta give her that.

I brace myself for what I’m about to tell her. Don't want to upset her more than she
already is, but I can't help her with that type of lie between us. "I know who you
are. Dr. Allen gave me the information."

Her emotions aren't merely transparent; they're rapid-fire. One after another fly
across her pale face, so fast that I almost can't keep up. Her shoulders lower and
some of the tension leaves her body. She seems resigned.

Then, with my next blink, she closes her eyes and starts trembling.

The fear is back.

"It's my first time on a plane."

The reaction that goes through me at those whispered words is instant. I don't stop
to think about it. No hesitating. I reach for her hand.

There's no glove between us now. It's her and me, and the liquid, hot current that
singes my veins.

I jerk violently. I can't hide it.

The fucked up part? I'm not the only one dealing with this. She twitches and her eyes
fly open. When they land on our hands, her face goes red.

Lust explodes between us. It's so obvious that I can't breathe through the force of
it.

Her hand moves. There's a moment where I think she's going to pull away.

But no. She's turns her hand over, so that we're palm to palm. One more move and our
fingers entwine.

She stares at me from beneath her long lashes.

I'm hard. So fucking hard and we're only holding hands.

I want her against me. On top of me.
All over
me.

Her fingers slide along mine. We're taking in the feel of our skin against each other’s.

It's fucking electric. No one has ever made me react this way.
I've faced down countless enemies; right now, she's the most dangerous thing in the
universe to me.

Her breathing is quick. I want to soothe her. Kiss her. Lick every inch on her. I
want to make her come so hard she forgets all about her fear.

But I can't do that. Her body is nine years younger than me. Mentally, she's too damn
young. I can't take advantage of her, not even if she begs me for it.

Fuck that. She begs me for it and I'm pouncing. Can’t deny it.

So don't let it get to that point.

But my cock wants me to. Too damned much.

I lick my dry lips and try my hardest to ignore how her eyes freeze on my mouth. “Can
I hug you?”

That question takes us
both
by surprise, I assure you.

What the fuck? No, no, Why? The last thing I need is that little body that close to
me.

“Fathe—Dr. Allen is the only one who’s ever hugged me.”

Forget everything I just said. I
need
to hug her. Right the fuck now. “Well, I’d like to be the second person to do so.”
Mother-effing understatement. The hoarse tone of my voice gives away how much I want
it. I just hope she doesn’t catch on to it.

She gives me this adorable, small nod and starts to move closer.

Heart pounding, I jump to my feet. She watches me, confused as I walk over to the
head of the bed. I motion for her to move and sit back against the headboard.

I lean back, praying for the first time in forever.

Please God, don’t let her see how hard I am. The last thing I want is to freak her
out. I’m not a hypocrite. I won’t deny that a part of this—a
big
part—is all about getting close to her. But mostly it’s about comforting a young girl
who’s been shoved into a human body and is now on her first flight.

I give her a nod, letting her know it’s okay to come closer. I’m tense. Afraid that
she’ll happen to stare down at my lap.

She doesn’t. Her eyes are on my face as she inches closer. She’s moving slow. By the
time she’s next to me, I’m about ready to jump out of my skin from impatience.

I do something I don’t think I’ve ever done for anyone. I open my arms, offering her
that hug again.

She smiles at me. It’s this small, grateful grin, but it’s her eyes that get me. Man,
they’re shining up at me as if I’ve offered her much more than a hug. Like I’ve offered
her the key to her salvation or something.

Leaning into me, she wraps her arms around me and rests her face on my chest.