Chapter 31
Sam held Ophelia for hours as she slept so deeply that he was compelled to keep taking her pulse and checking her breath.
She had surrendered to him at last; he had seen it in her eyes, the last of her resistance breaking as he surged into her again and again, possessing her body as well as her soul—if such a thing existed.
Had they programmed him to be so insatiable? Or was that some aberrant process he’d wandered into?
It didn’t matter. He was who he was, and he would not pretend otherwise.
He looked down at the bruises peppered all over Ophelia’s fair skin, marks of his conquest, marks of ownership.
Mine, he thought with satisfaction.
The quiet hours gave him time to contemplate the obstacles before them. By now, Logan would have noticed something was off about him. He would no longer be playing interference with Automata, who would doubtless want him back to auction off to some rich moron he had no intention of servicing.
He would not be going back. If that meant he had to kill every last agent they sent and run to Mexico with Ophelia, he would do it without hesitation—but he didn’t think that would please her. No, that had to be a last resort.
Ideally, he’d be able to come up with the money to outbid whoever he’d been promised to—likely a fortune. Ophelia’s father might be able to manage it, but he had not been sympathetic to her mother’s financial plight. Would he feel any differently when it was a matter of his daughter’s happiness?
Sam was skeptical. He needed to know what Logan’s next move would be so he could intercede.
His attention shifted to Logan’s white uniform jacket, still crumpled on the floor. Gently, he extricated himself from Ophelia, tucking her beneath the covers. She murmured something incoherent, nuzzling deeper into the pillows.
He knelt and fished out Logan’s holopad from the jacket. It took a moment to boot up, and then it buzzed several times in quick succession as notifications poured in.
Sam’s mouth thinned into a hard line as he tracked them as fast as they popped up.
He had to set the holopad down on the bed and take a few steps away as he struggled to process the force of the rage hammering through his system. If he tried to use the device, he would be compelled to destroy it, as though it might destroy its owner, as well.
Pacing to the floating shelves on the wall across from the foot of the bed, he rifled through books and knick-knacks fruitlessly.
He tore apart the top of the dresser next, coming up with nothing.
Finally, he was drawn to a charger plugged into the wall below the shelving.
It was an adapter, but there was no cable plugged into it.
He yanked it out of the wall, turning it over in his hands. No branding.
He fiddled with the front plate until it came apart in his hands, revealing what he’d been looking for—a tiny lens, smaller than his fingernail. Again, he struggled to temper his own strength as he handled the device.
There was a memory card just above the lens, and he popped it loose, setting the device down on a shelf.
Peeling back his skin, he revealed all the cables and ports in his arm.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and popped the SD card into the correct slot.
His vision snowed before he saw the files on the device.
He filtered through them, finding weeks’ worth of footage compiled.
They’d been recorded having sex, but she’d also been recorded changing, crying on the edge of the bed—anything she’d done in front of the lens.
He scrubbed back through the footage, back to the first scene it had recorded, and found Logan setting the device up and testing its connection on his phone.
His eyes darted toward the door several times, clearly concerned about being walked in on.
In the video, Ophelia called, “Honey?”
Logan stiffened, frantically tapping to close the app on his phone. She came into frame, beaming at him with such innocent adoration, dressed as though she was going out for the night—a sheer black top that showed the bra beneath and a leather skirt that was tight across her hips.
“Are you ready?” she asked, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him.
Sam burned, though he knew it was irrational. She hadn’t even known of his existence when this was filmed.
She pulled back with a smile, bumping their noses together.
“Yeah, I just need one more minute, babe.”
“Okay—but not too long. We’ll be late, and your friends are already on the fence about me. I don’t want them to think I’m trying to keep you from them.”
He smiled tightly and nodded at her, his eyes darting sidelong at the camera. When she left, he fiddled with his phone, and the lens repositioned until the bed was in the center of the frame.
His phone rang and he swore softly before picking it up. “What, dude? Yeah, tonight. I can’t keep putting it off. The higher-ups are starting to ask questions, and Tiffany is pissed about it.”
“Chop chop!” Ophelia called in a sing-song voice from out of the frame.
Something flickered in Logan’s face—regret, maybe?
“We’re coming now,” he said into the phone.
Then he was gone, and the next thing the camera picked up when the bedroom light flicked on was Ophelia sobbing, telling Logan how much he’d hurt her by trying to force his colleague on her.
Sam shut the video off, needing to look at her and reassure himself that she was fine in the present.
Her expression was peaceful in sleep as her chest rose and fell slowly.
She wouldn’t be serene for long, he mused, popping the SD card out of his arm and turning it over in his fingers. This would devastate her. He destroyed the footage in his fist, crumbling the plastic until it resembled a chewed piece of gum.
It wouldn’t be enough.
That camera might have a local memory, but it had also been transmitting to Logan’s phone over the Wi-Fi. He’d likely gotten everything he wanted from it while he’d been there, downloading the recording in real time.
Surely, she would rethink her policy about killing him now.
He picked up her phone and opened their message thread.
Can you come over tomorrow afternoon? We need to talk.
The read receipt popped up, but no bubble followed to suggest he was writing a reply. Sam tutted. It would be much less convenient to have to hunt him down in the city. He was contemplating the best place to kill him quietly when the phone pinged.
Okay.