CHAPTER 6
Evren
No Church In The Wild - Jay-Z & Kanye West ft. Frank Ocean, The-Dream
Sweat still clings to my skin, and my breathing hasn't quite settled. I'm sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown over my eyes.
That felt good.
Fucking that tight cunt always does.
A weight settles against me, and I sigh in exasperation.
A small, perfectly manicured hand—the same one that held my cock not long ago—traces the lines of my chest tattoo.
I lift my arm slightly and look down.
She probably thinks I'm going to cuddle her.
The hell I am.
“Evren,” Lira purrs, her voice soft and slightly hoarse from screaming my name. “Stay. I'll order food, and we could do it again... please—”
“No.” I shift and sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed as I shove her off. “I came here because I wanted to fuck. I've had a few days that pissed me off. Don't add to it.”
“But you always do this, Evren.” She sits up and crawls behind me, sliding her hand around my chest. “Come on... we could be good together.”
When she clings to me like this, acting like I'll give in every single time, it's getting boring.
“Lira,” I say, my voice dropping into a dangerous growl.
I grab her wrist, pry her hand off me, and turn to face her. My hazel eyes burn brighter with the spike of anger.
“You need to stop.” My voice comes out low and sharp. “You know exactly what I am. I don't do fucking cuddles, relationships, or whatever pathetic, lovey-dovey shit you keep asking me for.”
“If,” I lean closer. “You didn't want to be treated the way I treat you—like someone I fuck and walk away from—then you should've said no.”
Lira's expression crumples before her true self slips through.
A brat.
“You're a monster!” she shouts. “You think you're better than me? You are a Below.” She scoffs. “I'm an Upper, and I always get what I want.”
My eyes harden, I grab her hair and yank it back hard enough to make her cry out.
“Yes,” I snarl. “I'm a Below, and yet your Upper ass lets this Below fuck her whenever he wants—not whenever you want.”
I watch her eyes fill with tears.
She knew what this was from the beginning, I warned her.
“You are my whore.” I pause. “You are nothing else, and you never will be. You fucking know it, Lira. Stop pretending you don't, or I'll rip those injected lips right off your face. Maybe then you'll learn to keep them shut.”
I stay like that for a few seconds.
If she can't handle it, maybe I should stop coming here. But even if it's getting boring, it still feels better to bury myself in a pussy than use my own hand.
I could have anyone else, but she's the one addicted to me, and I like that feeling.
Being the one she needs, the one she won't ignore, the one she can't bring herself to refuse.
I like feeling like a fucking god.
I release her with a shove and straighten up, looming over her.
“Evren...” Her hand reaches for me. “You don't mean—”
My reflex enhancers kick in instantly, and I intercept her wrist before she can touch me.
My fingers close around the delicate bones of her wrist, fragile beneath my grip. I tighten just enough to make them shift against one another.
It would be so fucking easy to squeeze harder and snap it.
In this city, if you've got enough Ghost Credits and know the right people, you can have your body modified in a way the Central Authority doesn’t allow.
Implants, body modifications that make us stronger.
I did it for the races—and to make sure I was never in the position I'd already been in.
Weak and hurt enough to be defenseless. Unable to do a damn thing when caught off guard.
“Don't fucking touch me, Lira.” I yank her toward me and lean in until my face is only inches from hers. “This is your last warning.”
Her perfume—strawberries and that sickly sweet gloss thing she always wears—crawls into my nostrils.
“Are you finally going to be a good girl and understand?”
“Y-Yes...” she mumbles. “I will.”
“Then stop acting like a needy bitch. Am I clear?”
I grab her jaw, forcing her injected lips into a pout, she simply nods.
Good.
That's how I like her, obedient. Not some dependent, attention-seeking, needy woman.
I release her with a dismissive shove.
I straighten up and glance down at her naked body, perfectly sculpted by cosmetic surgery, before turning away without another thought.
I snatch my boxers and jeans off the floor, tucking myself back in.
I cross to the chair, pull on my black-and-red compression shirt, shove my boots on, and head for the door.
The night air hits my skin and the harsh lights of the Upper Layers make me squint.
I shove my hands into my pockets and start walking.
My Charger is parked not far from Lira's place, but I need to cool off and grab a fucking can.
Nitro energy drinks are my favorite—The sweetness, the chemicals. They're so fucking addictive.
Almost better than sex and racing.
Almost.
Around here, people change direction—or even cross the street—when they see me.
I look like someone who just got out of the detention complex.
They're not wrong.
I come from the Lower Layers, where people get killed for less than a dirty look. Where you can illegally replace your spine with full bionic vertebrae.
Where gangs run illegal races and control entire districts.
So, of course people avoid me. It's written all over me.
I'm not exactly in the mood for small talk either. Lira's little act pissed me the fuck off.
I step inside the store. Everything is so bright and spotless it feels more like an expensive clinic than a convenience store.
I head to the drinks section, and my eyes widen but not in a good way.
What the actual fuck?
The can costs six credits?
Fuck that.
Near my apartment, it's two.
Upper Layers, always so goddamn expensive.
I growl, grab the can off the shelf—it looks fucking tiny in my hand—and slam my palm onto the payment scanner hard enough to rattle the entire checkout.
I step back outside and head for my Charger.
Leaning against it, I crack the can open, and that sweet little hiss hits my ears.
I take a long sip, that's exactly what I needed after all that shit.
I exhale slowly.
I still have to deal with those fuckers, ones who owe my gang money.
Pay or lose a finger. Simple.
So why the hell do I have to explain it over and over again?
Don't place bets on races if you don't actually know how shit works down here.
A voice echoes through the night, and I tilt my head slightly.
“Let go of me. I'm going to see my friends. They're waiting for me—”
A woman's voice carries across the street.
My head snaps toward the sound, she sounds angry and definitely in trouble.
Probably trying to make excuses to get away from that man.
Maybe it'll brighten my night more than these shitty Upper Layers and their lights.
The man answers, but I can't make out what he says. I don't have hearing enhancers.
I head over and immediately spot the source, right in front of the convenience store.
The exact moment things are about to get either interesting or boring.
I take a sip from my can, one hand shoved into my pocket.
The woman has long black hair pulled back into a low ponytail, but what really catches my attention is the dress.
That thing probably costs more than my Charger.
My eyes glow a little brighter, I catch the reflection in the metal of my can.
Now this is interesting.
An Upper in this kind of situation.
She'll probably smile, throw some credits at him, or let him do whatever the fuck he wants. She's not very tall and he could snap her in half.
Especially with that bionic arm.
“Let go of me, you fucking freak!” She punches him square in the nose.
I almost choke on my drink.
Damn, she actually did it.
My smile widens, I've seen a lot of shit.
People getting into fights, heads cut off or skulls caved in. But I've never seen an Upper act like... Well.
Not an Upper.
I shift my stance and instinctively take a step forward, but then she runs.
Cute.
At least she's not stupid enough to go one-on-one with that fucker.
Then, completely out of nowhere—for him, for me, maybe even for her—she throws the bottle of water she'd been holding, then her shoes.
Her fucking shoes.
I shake my head in disbelief, it's a bold move, unpredictable, and it can work.
She manages to hit him right across the nose a second time, the man grunts as she runs.
There she is, running straight toward me, barefoot.
Her dress barely contains her breasts, leaving just enough to the imagination.
I grin.
Obviously, she's going to ask me for help.
I'll cave his fucking skull in.
Would be good for my nerves, would've been a decent end to my night.
And I'll probably get the girl, too.
Win-win.
She gets saved, I get to beat the shit out of a bastard... And get the girl.
“Fucking bitch!” he screams. “You desperate cunt!”
“Fuck you, motherfucker!” she yells over her shoulder.
Our eyes lock for a split second.
This is it, she's going to ask me.
A guy like me? Why wouldn't she?
She's barefoot, helpless, she might need a ride. Who knows?
I look dangerous. I am dangerous so I could protect her easily.
But then she turns her head and runs right past me.
One eyebrow lift, I turn to watch her disappear.
The glow in my eyes brightens, and my grin stretches into a full smile.
She didn't ask for help, that's new.
She probably didn't even register me, everyone else does.
Not her.
The warehouse, the one Crimson Velocity uses to deal with people discreetly.
I can hear the screams, the begging echoes through the warehouse.
Ah.
Now that's a sound I know how to control.
I step into the vast room, steel beams stretching across the ceiling, and there they are.
Two men who owe me credits hang upside down from chains hooked to the overhead beams, twisting like fish out of water.
I walk over until I'm beside Neo, who's already grinning as he cracks his knuckles in anticipation.
A literal tornado waiting for my order to unleash.
Next to him towers Varek—the calm one but also the biggest.
He's even bigger than me, his entire body reinforced with enhanced musculature and skeletal impact plating.
His modifications are enough to terrify anyone who doesn't know him.