Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Gage stood on the second-story walkway, the chill in the air converting his exhales into wisps of vapor.
He surveyed the motel parking lot and the street out front, noting the few cars and a bit of human activity.
The other side of the overpass where he’d walked earlier to get some food was busy, but that traffic didn’t turn down this road.
Daytime was downtime for this area. Unlike last night when he’d heard the scream of tires and engines racing the strip of road past the motel.
And the alcohol-induced revelry in the parking lot, yelling and bottles smashed and bodies flung against vehicles.
And above it all, the high-pitched laughter of women drumming up customers to enjoy a business transaction in the privacy of their paid-for-by-the-hour offices.
Fortunately, Audra had slept through it all, waking this morning with a splash of the spirit he’d seen her wield at the Pentagon.
A good night’s sleep wouldn’t solve all her problems. Neither would a shower or a hot meal.
But they never hurt, especially when the world—and the body—was going to shit.
Gage knew. Getting his leg blown off had been the tip of the agony iceberg.
Months of torturous rehabilitation with a cybernetic leg, learning how to walk, acclimating to the sight of his wounds and scars and the new appendage that wasn’t him, yet…
was, calibrating his leg with his internal eyescope, downloading and validating all the software to the CPU which now shared space with his brain to help control and regulate his cybernetic parts…
He had often questioned his fate, his humanity, and his will to continue suffering through it all.
In truth, he still did.
Audra wasn’t a cyborg. And he couldn’t divulge his cybernetic secret to her.
But he understood what she might be going through—physically and emotionally.
Then again, maybe not. He’d enlisted with complete acceptance of the possible consequences and still resolved to serve his country.
Audra hadn’t voluntarily assumed the risk of cancer; she’d merely been born with a body that hadn’t accepted the childhood vaccine.
He’d been injured by a bomb someone else had planted.
She’d been betrayed by her own body. He had to live a solitary life, keeping his injury and cyborg status a secret from everyone.
She had the support of doctors and Mags in HR…
pretty much anyone who she’d felt comfortable in confiding with.
He sighed and clasped the wobbly handrail.
The rusted metal creaked in its crumbling cement foundation.
If anyone stumbled into it, the frail structure would provide barely more than a pause as they fell to the pavement below.
The railing was merely a pretense of safety.
Just like Gage was merely a pretense of help for Audra in what she was going through.
He'd be wise to remember that. And to remember he had a mission to fulfill, and she might not like the part she would play.
The door behind him creaked open. “Gage, I’m out of the shower. Come back in for lunch.”
One last glance at their surroundings, he followed her back into the dimly lit room.
She settled onto the bed with a container filled with a thick hamburger, shoestring fries, and a handful of chicken wings.
He picked at the offering she’d spread at the foot of the bed, a smorgasbord of food choices he’d ordered because he truthfully had no idea how hungry she was or what kind of food she’d like.
All he knew was that he wanted to provide for her so she didn’t have to worry about anything as fundamental as sustenance.
“This is delicious.” Audra mumbled around a mouthful of burger.
Its juices dribbled down the side of her hand and forearm, and she lifted her arm and angled her head to swipe at it with her tongue.
Gage bit back a groan, remembering their morning in the boardroom and how delicious her own juices were as they dripped down his throat.
He needed to get his libido under control or she was going to be the death of him.
She grunted, her tongue not quite reaching the trickle of liquid, and huffed in frustration.
She seemed to struggle, like an elderly woman who’d lost mobility for a simple action.
Muscle soreness was one of the stated side effects of her combined chemo-radiation procedure.
It reminded Gage of himself during the early weeks after his leg surgery when his muscles had been weak, joints had lacked their normal flexibility, and pain had hindered simple movements.
Before Audra hurt herself, he grabbed several napkins and wiped her hand and forearm. Then he folded the wad and handed it to her. She smiled, but didn’t meet his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make a mess.”
“Audra.” He lifted her chin with two fingers so she would meet his gaze and see the truth of his next words. “You just enjoy every single bite and don’t worry about any mess. I’ll clean it all up when we’re finished.”
Her lips trembled in a relieved smile and her eyes teared up.
According to his research, her treatment should have been pain-free with no side effects or lasting reactions.
Then again, he’d been told his cybernetic leg would integrate seamlessly with the rest of his body.
Yet he still had moments when the connective tissue pulled painfully or when his leg twisted awkwardly, shooting shards of pain up his spine.
He’d once been at the height of strength and fitness, but these days he felt more like a car rebuilt after an accident.
He still worked, but not as well as he once had.
Did Audra feel the same way?
His arms itched to enfold her until whatever thought or emotion made her cry had passed. Instead, he pulled back and grabbed his own container of food.
“Leave room for dessert.” He handed her a ramekin of blue cheese dressing for her wings. “I got brownies.”
Her hand, laden with a wing on the way to a blue cheese bath, paused and she pursed her lips. “Um, I already found them. They were the first to go.”
Gage chuckled as he eased his weight onto the chair. “Did you save any for later?”
She shook her head, looking less contrite than she had when he’d handed her the napkins. “Uh, nope. My new motto is always eat dessert first.”
That was a gut punch. Actually, more like a cock stroke.
Blood surged at the thought of making a dessert out of Audra, and he gripped his container of wings against his lap, forcing breath into his lungs.
Images from the day they’d made love flashed in his head, and he fairly choked.
“That’s, um, a really good motto to have. ”
“Sorry I didn’t save you any.” Her shoulders drooped.
“Don’t be. I got them for you.”
“Ask her why she ran away from the Pentagon.”
The damn voice was in his head again. It had been blissfully silent through the night.
“Ask her what she did with the information.”
Whoa. That was new. Information? Why would the voice in his head think she had information? And what kind of information was she supposed to have?
“Gage, are you okay?”
Audra’s worried voice pulled his attention back. He shook his head as if he could extract the voice that way. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
She slanted him an unconvinced look, a sly grin on her lips. “You were glaring at your wings like they stole your girlfriend. You’re not fine.”
He waved at his head. “Just thinking. Nothing important.”
“Hmm. Gage Austin thinking unimportant thoughts.” She scooped some fries through a pool of ketchup. “That seems uncharacteristic.”
He watched her eat, unnerved by her assumption he only pondered important thoughts. He was a grunt. A low-level Pentagon employee. A cyborg. A desk jockey little better than a simple machine compiling rote work orders and passing them along. A man with no friends. No life.
No one who would ever classify his thoughts as important.
“Ask her why she’s here.”
Damn voice. Couldn’t he have a few peaceful moments with Audra? He wanted to enjoy this semi-normal conversation with another person.
“Ask her why she left the Pentagon.”
He took a bite of wings and chewed.
“Ask her what information she stole.”
He watched her lick ketchup off her lips before taking a bite of pickle spear, her eyes closed and small moans of contentment drifting in the air. If she kept that up, Gage could ignore the voice in his head all day.
His cybernetic eye dimmed, flashed red, then night vision crosshairs activated. What the fu—? He hadn’t initiated this. His heart raced and his muscles tensed. A bead from his laser targeting system appeared on her chest. His thigh burned, the telltale sign his weapon was about to engage.
He wasn’t armed, but Audra would freak at the sight of his thigh splitting through his pants and swinging upward like some alien appendage.
Gage jackknifed out of the chair and beelined to the bathroom. “Sorry I’ll be right back,” was all he could manage in the three strides it took to get him safely behind the bathroom door and his pants to his ankles so the machine-gun barrel didn’t rip the fabric.
He braced his arms on the walls of the tiny bathroom, panting and staring at his right leg.
The ammo loading mechanism which reached into his hollow lower gut cycled silently, making him queasy like on a roller coaster.
It was a sensation he’d never gotten used to.
Fortunately, there was nothing in his internal ammo magazine to load.
He was empty, a useless weapon, and Audra was safe from him.
But why had his system activated? What sort of horrific glitch was he experiencing?
First the voice in his head, now this? Was he self-destructing?
Was he going rogue? Was this what other cyborgs experienced when they went rogue?
When cyborgs went rogue, they usually ended up as a meat pile, riddled with bullets while being filmed by news cameras. Society got to keep their fear of his kind, and the cyborg got to die.
His muscles shook with rage and fear.
“Now. The next time I tell you to do something, you better fucking do it.”
The voice in his head… could control his cybernetics? Shit. This was bad. He dropped to the toilet seat and buried his face in his hands. How could he possibly defend Audra—how could he keep her safe—if someone else pulled his strings?