Chapter Four
Bodyguard. Jab. Jab.
Phukking nursemaid. Jab.
That scent. The feel. Jab-jab-jab.
Korsan. Jab. Phuk. Jab. Him. Ruyn struck the hanging bag extra hard.
Phuk me. Jab!
“Your heart rate is rising above target range; it is recommended you reduce your speed and force to avoid overexerting yourself,” Apt said.
“That’s not going to happen.” He pummeled the bag.
His next punch struck air as the bag retracted into the ceiling.
He wiped the sweat from his eyes with the towel around his neck and regarded the android personal trainer. “I can punch the bag—or I can punch you. You decide.”
The bag lowered.
Androids couldn’t die or bleed or hurt. Or even experience fear.
They were not sentient; they had no self-awareness—but they were programmed to avoid destruction.
Robots were expensive, and an advanced model like Apt cost as much as a luxury hovercar.
The gym where he had his physical therapy and worked out would not appreciate Apt allowing itself to be used as a punching bag by an angry client.
He returned to pummeling the bag. The tried-and-true method for diffusing his anger and frustration didn’t work today.
It wasn’t only that his brother had gone behind his back and hired a bodyguard, or the irritating presence of Michaela Perine herself, it was…
his life. The doctors had implied he’d need to adjust to the “new normal” as if it was as good as the old normal.
He hated the new normal; he wanted his military career back, his fit and healthy body, his pride, his… face.
A random twist of fate had altered the course of his life.
Changed him—and not for the better. If he’d left the convention center a few minutes earlier or later.
If he’d called for a hovercab instead of walking.
If he’d taken the phukking main thoroughfare instead of a shortcut.
If he hadn’t agreed to give the speech. If he’d scheduled his furlough earlier or later.
After his presentation to the charity, he’d cut through a back alley. He didn’t know if the four thugs were already there or if they’d followed him from the convention center, but suddenly, out of nowhere, there they were.
If not for a malfunctioning patrol drone, they would have killed him. Some programming glitch in the flying bot had caused it to go off course into the alley. It registered the attack, sounded an alarm, and sent for help.
In his darkest moment in the hospital, he’d wished his attackers had killed him.
Physical therapy and workout sessions had helped restore strength and function, but he would never be what he had been. A man. A member of a respected, decorated elite force. Now, he worked behind a desk and needed a wisp of a woman to protect him.
And despite his utter humiliation, his body had reacted to her, his cock hardening for the first time since the attack.
He’d allowed her to break free of his hold before she noticed.
She had some competence—she’d known what to do when he grabbed her. And few would-be attackers would have his training and reflexes. She could probably fight off an ordinary man. But not four. With his training and abilities, he hadn’t been able to do that.
He had killed one attacker before the others took him down. The three were still at large somewhere, having vanished into the ether.
Jab-jab. Jab-jab.
Why her? He didn’t even like her. Damn sure didn’t want her here.
If he had his way, she’d already be on a spaceship back to Earth.
She was attractive enough for a human, if a man liked soft reddish-brown hair, creamy skin, and too-large, innocent-appearing blue eyes.
Not his type. Given a choice between her and a pleasure bot, he’d take the pleasure bot.
So, why had his body reacted to her? Why now? He punched the bag.
It’s been too long, that’s all. He hadn’t been with anyone since well before the attack.
Since his last furlough on Dorsa 9 two years ago.
Phuk if he didn’t wish he’d gone back there this time instead of coming home.
But he hadn’t been back in ages, and he and his brother were close—or had been before Korsan snuck behind his back and hired a diminutive human to be his bodyguard, a female with distracting breasts, shapely legs, soft hair, and a scent—
“Your temperature and heart rate are rising. I must reiterate it is time for you to take a break. You have exceeded the parameters of your exercise session,” Apt said.
Jab. Jab. Jab. Jab.
Too long. That’s all. It’s been too long.
He hadn’t been promiscuous in his sexual behavior, but he hadn’t been celibate either. He’d been with…a few women, some of them aliens, although no humans. Humans were rare in the sections of the galaxy where he’d been deployed.
The physical release, the mental shift of sex provided a necessary relief from the stresses of the battlefield.
Some men used pleasure bots, but he preferred a live warm body.
Robots had heating elements under their synthetic skin, but it didn’t feel the same.
Synthetic skin was akin to a cheap suit.
You could tell the difference in quality. Not that pleasure bots came cheap.
He craved connection with a live person. He needed banter, laughter, affection. He desired unprogrammed interaction, even if everything she told him was a lie.
He’d had a few relationships, but they’d crumbled under the demands of his military career. His longest deployment had lasted two years, his shortest, six months. Women promised to wait for him, but eventually the Dear Zahn hologram found its way to whatever remote planet he’d been stationed at.
He didn’t have to worry about the military interfering with his love life now.
Jab-jab.
Now that he had time to devote to a relationship, no woman would have him. What woman would be interested in a cripple with a scarred face? He’d never been vain about his appearance, but he’d been aware women had found him attractive. He’d turned heads.
Those same heads would turn away now.
And the only one who looked at him, a human, didn’t do so with desire, but dispassionate assessment because she was a phukking bodyguard hired out of pity.
And he’d gotten hard. Pathetic phuk! Jab!
He went to punch the bag again, but it retracted into the ceiling.
“What did I tell you?” He whipped around.
The gym’s medical director stood beside Apt. “I have been informed your vital signs have exceeded the normal range. I must insist you take a rest. If you do not comply, your membership will be suspended. We must ensure the health and safety of all members.”
He’d like to tell him what he could do with his rules.
He knew better what he needed than some medical-director desk jockey, but he needed this gym for his continued rehab and peace of mind.
There were other facilities, but this one came highly rated—despite the stupid rules and the android snitches—and it was close to his flat and his brother’s company.
“Fine!” He wiped his sweaty face with his towel and stalked to the showers.