Chance’s address hadn’t been hard to find, but now that Verity stood in front of the massive building, glass broken out of the windows of the first 10 floors, rubble and debris scattered around, she second-guessed her decision to come here.

The money from Garvan screamed inside her purse, announcing its presence to everyone she passed. It burned in her bag, pressing its heat against the side of her body. She wanted to get home and find a place to hide it, pay Wicksham what she owed, and make sure Imogen got a full healthy meal after everything she'd been through. Not that her friend had said much since she’d arrived.

The first item on her to-do list though was to make good on her promise to Chance. She would pay him back for the medicine he'd gotten for Imogen, and then she wouldn't owe him anything. As much as his magnetic charm drew her in, instinct told her to run as far from him as she could get. She’d witnessed him paying off a cop, and overheard whispers about blood, grease, and some kind of fight ring with which he was intimately involved. That kind of trouble wasn’t what she’d run away from everything she knew for. She wanted a simple, safe life.

She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She would drop off the money and be on her way, free and clear. Owing him was the very last thing she wanted. At least with Garvan, the terms had been clear and upfront. With Chance, she never knew what to expect, or what he expected of her.

Out of habit, she opened the shattered glass door to enter the building. She could've just stepped inside the gaping hole doing nothing to restrict entrance. The lobby of the building had clearly once been impressive. Marble floors clicked under her feet, but smears of grime—which she refused to look directly at for fear they weren’t just dirt or grease but blood—were spread across the floor. The vacuous room was the kind you saw in outdated magazines of high-end elegant living. Once there were probably sleek leather couches and a reception desk where a doorman with a hat would announce any visitors. Now it was merely a wind tunnel which did nothing to protect her from the dangers lurking outside.

Glass crunched under her feet, as she approached the elevator. When she pressed the button a dim light glowed beneath the up arrow, and she exhaled in relief. It worked. The mechanism of the elevator’s gears churned loud in the relative silence of the lobby.

Verity’s heart thumped in her chest. She couldn't stop the vibration beneath her skin—excitement to see Chance again or fear? His untamable sandy hair and brown eyes were as kind as they could be cruel.

Verity jumped when the elevator binged, unused to such amenities. The doors slid open with a creek, and she stepped over the gap into the metal box. She pressed the button for the 23rd-floor and took a deep breath.

Please let it work. Please let this elevator get me to my destination without dropping me down to my death.

The lights over the elevator doors had been long smashed, but a soft chime announced each floor it passed. She clutched the railing and counted as the elevator rose, leaving her stomach on the ground floor behind her.

As the elevator lurched to a stop, Verity had mostly regained her composure. The door slid open, and she stepped out onto red and yellow patterned carpet. The hallway within was lit only by the sunlight streaming in from windows at the ends of the hall. All the overhead lights had been shattered or removed, but no glass scattered across the carpet. Instead, the floor and walls were cleaner than anything she'd seen before in Cyn City. As if the horrors of the streets below hadn't reached this high yet.

The voice in her head kept telling her she shouldn't be here. She didn't owe him anything. If she was intent on getting him money for the kindness he'd extended, she could do it that night at work.

But her pride and the pull of her heart moved her forward, as she walked down the hall. She checked the numbers on each door until she found herself standing in front of Chance’s apartment.

Number two hundred thirty-six on the twenty-third floor.

It was the address she’d found riffling through some of the paperwork behind the bar after meeting with Garvan. Was she insane to intrude on Chance’s personal time? She’d come to invade his home just to make herself feel better. It wasn't that she wanted to see him. It wasn't that she longed for the heat of his lips against hers again. She would return the money and leave, no longer owing him anything.

She knocked on the door lightly but couldn't hear anything behind the thick wood. What if he wasn't home? Like a fool, she stood there in the hallway waiting for him to answer. Should she knock again? Would that make her seem overeager?

She was about to leave. It would be better if he never knew she’d come here. But the door jerked open, a shirtless and sweaty Chance filling the space completely.

His hair was mussed as usual and droplets of sweat beaded on his chest.

“Almost didn’t hear you. You have to be louder than that if you want to catch my attention when I’m running.” He stepped back and opened the door further gesturing with his arm that she should enter his home. His smile was crooked, as if something about this whole situation amused him.

Verity hesitated, her bag now in a vice grip between her hands. “I didn't come to visit.” She blurted out louder than she intended.

Chance’s smile faltered, and his eyes darkened. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then come in and tell me why you aren’t here to visit. We shouldn't be standing out in the hall anyway.”

She entered the space and was surprised to find a warm, well-decorated home. The main room consisted of a small old-fashioned kitchen, a seating area with a couch and chairs, and what appeared to be a manual geared treadmill up against the window.

“You got here just in time. In another few minutes, I would be done with my run and in the shower. I'd never hear you in there.” Chance smirked, and Verity let her eyes drift over his sweaty chest. His skin was slick and the spattering of hair across his chest called to her. What would it be like to be in the shower with him, water running down their bodies, wet and slick?

Chance led her to one of the couches, but Verity stood behind the chair, keeping the furniture between them. Temptation, thy name is cyborg.

“I’ll only be a minute,” she said in a rush, lifting her bag and setting it on the back of the oversized chair. It reminded her of the kind of thing wealthier families in the compound had in their homes. How much money did Chance make at the Ball & Joint to be able to afford something like this? She shook the thought from her head and dug into her bag.

“I wanted to pay you back for everything you've done for Imogen and me. Especially the medicine.”

Chance shook his hair a little and wiped his hands on his shorts. “I told you there's no need. I'm glad I was able to help. Is she feeling better?”

For a moment, Chance’s bright eyes and firm physique mesmerized her. What would it be like to be with a man who really did something kind without expecting something in return? What would it be like to let him take care of her? She dismissed the thought from her head. She didn’t need to be taken care of. She’d been doing fine taking care of herself her whole life.

“She's doing much better. Thank you. She still hasn’t said much but she will when she's ready.” Verity pulled some bills out of her bag and counted them out. “Please, tell me how much the medicine was. I want to pay you back.”

Chance stepped forward, and a squeak rose in Verity’s throat. His movements were an exercise in controlled violence. She could see the muscles rippling across his chest with each breath he took.

“Where did you get that money?” he demanded.

“It's just an advance. I arranged with Garvan to work it off.”

“How much did he give you?” He grabbed her bag and pulled out the stacks of bills, throwing them on the seat of the chair like they might catch on fire. Chance’s face darkened, and a thunderstorm brewed in his eyes. "What did you agree to? How are you paying it back?"

“Out of my shift hours, with interest. It's okay, and now I can pay you back.” She held out a wad of bills. Chance just stared at her hands, as if she were holding out a live viper.

“You shouldn't have done that.” He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing it back so she could see the broad planes of his face more clearly. He stepped away from her, turning around, his hands pulled into fists. “Do you even know what Garvan really makes his money on?”

“I don't care. I came here to make a life for myself, not to accept handouts. Whatever Garvan does is none of my business, and neither is whatever it is you're doing in the basement of the bar. If this doesn't cover what I owe you, just let me know.”

She reached down to grab the bills and stuff them back into her bag, but Chance came around the chair and grabbed her arm so fast she gasped. “You don't understand. Garvan does not keep his word. What he does, and what I do are completely different. And you shouldn't have anything to do with either of us. I’ve told you that a million times. But now you’ve gone and gotten yourself in deeper than you realize. Garvan doesn't just give advances. Now, he thinks he owns you until you pay it back. And believe me, he'll do everything possible to make it impossible for you to ever get out from under his thumb.”

He shook his head and looked down at her with softening eyes. “And you, so pretty and innocent, you're exactly the kind of girl he uses for trade. You understand what I'm saying?”

Verity tried to pull out of Chance’s hold, but his metallic fingers were immovable. “Let me go.” Her voice shook more than she wanted.

“I'm not going to hurt you. I would never—” His fingers released her with a clicking sound, and he stepped back. “I'm sorry if I scared you, but you should be scared. Garvan is never going to let go of you now that he has his claws in. However much money you got, I hope it was enough to cover the cost of your soul.”

Tears came to Verity’s eyes, and she sniffed trying to fight them back. “What are you saying?”

“Garvan doesn't just let the girls in the bar make a little extra money by getting paid for services rendered. The prostitution is a cover. He sells women. Don't you get it? He sells them. Women and little girls, sometimes boys depending on how much someone is willing to pay. He’s a trafficker. Most of the women who get run through his office are never seen again. And now he has an advantage over you.”

“No, no, that's not possible. It's just a bar. I serve drinks, and I work hard. Like you're supposed to. Eventually, that's supposed to be enough, I’ll be able to pay him back. I didn't agree to anything like that.”

Chance stepped closer and ran his human hand down the length of her arm until he gripped her fingers with his own. “It doesn't matter what you agreed to.”

She shook her head. "Why do you work for him?"

Chance’s lips turned down, and he gripped her fingers tighter. “We all have our own stories. We all have regrets. I do what I can to try and make things better now.”

“Like the doctor you brought in for that man?”

Chance nodded. “Like that. But don’t misunderstand. I'm under Garvan's thumb just as much of anybody else, and he knows it. Why didn't you just come to me? I would have loaned you the money. Fuck, I would have given it to you if I knew you’d go to him!”

The look of pain in Chance’s eyes surprised her, and the warmth of his fingers wrapped around hers soothed the frantic fluttering of her heart. "I didn't know if I could trust you," she admitted.

“Have I done anything to make you think you couldn't?” His eyes closed slowly, and he took a deep breath. “Besides, being what I am?”

“You mean being one of Garvan's men?”

Chance opened his eyes and looked deep into Verity’s. It was like he was scanning the inside of her brain and seeking information she didn't know how to give him. “No. You really don't see it?”

She stepped back and looked him over. His hair had dried and spiked out in all directions all over his head, his high cheekbones and strong jaw easily made him the most handsome man she'd ever seen. His thick neck and massive shoulders spread down to a broad chest that looked like it could stop a hovercar if he needed to. His stacked abs narrowed down to a tight firm V-shaped waist where a trail of hair led from his belly button down to low-slung shorts. He stood barefoot in front of her, and as she took the sight of him, she saw nothing but glorious masculinity.

“My arm,” he croaked. “You really don't see it?"

Verity's eye's darted toward the cybernetic appendage that hung at his side like an anvil. “Oh, I'd forgotten all about it.”

Without warning, Chance wrapped his arms around her and lifted her against his body. He brought his lips to hers hard, one hand tangled in her shoulder length brown hair, the other holding her against him as if she might run.

His kiss came on like a tidal wave, passion and need washing over her until she trembled in his arms. Her body coiled around him, unable to get close enough. She let her fingers roam across his tattooed flesh as his tongue worked its way down her neck. Tiny kisses and nibbles sent shockwaves through her body, and she couldn't get enough of touching him.

“Please.” The words drifted from her mouth as she submitted to his caress.

His warm hand came up and gripped her breast massaging and stroking her pebbled nipples until she was sure her clothes would set on fire and disintegrate into ash. She wrapped one leg around him, and her arms clung to his neck, pulling him back to her mouth. She could taste the heady sweetness that was Chance.

“We'll fix this,” he whispered against her lips and pressed his forehead against hers. “I promise I'll find a way to fix this.”

“I don't understand why you're so nice to me.”

“I can't imagine anyone being anything but. You’re the most amazing thing I've ever encountered. Strong and sweet. Soft and fierce. Everything I've ever wanted.”

Verity sucked in a breath. No one had ever spoken to her that way. No one ever valued her as an individual, only as a complication. She had been too strong to fit in with the girls and not allowed to be unrestrained enough to be one of the boys. On the compound, her life had always been one of disappointment.

“I need you in my bed,” Chance whispered with a gravelly edge to his voice as he sucked on her earlobe. His voice husky with need.

Verity nodded, melting against his heat.

As his hands worked their way under the hem of her shirt, he hesitated for a moment.

“What's wrong?”

Chance pulled away and eyed her with hesitation. “There are rumors about the ecovangelists, you know. That girls aren't so valued.”

His words were like a bucket of cold water over her head. “That's true. Not so valued at all.”

“There are also rumors that—” Chance hesitated and looked away. “The younger girls are taken against their will. Raped.”

Verity sighed. “That happens. More than it should. Are you asking if it’s happened to me?”

Chances eyes darted up to meet hers. “I wouldn't want to rush you or make you uncomfortable.”

Verity couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in her throat. “You couldn’t rush me if you wanted to. No one ever hurt me. I wasn't well-liked, and I wasn't much wanted. My life in the compound was miserable. But no, no one ever hurt me like that.”

Chance settled his forehead against hers again and took a shaky breath. “Thank God,” he whispered. “I wouldn't want to have to go on a killing rampage.”

She ran her fingers through his hair. “No killing. More kissing.”

This time Chance laughed, and the sound was full and warm. It filled all of the empty, broken spaces in her heart and brought her a step closer to understanding the man in front of her.

This time when he kissed her, his hands pulled up her shirt and lifted it over her head. He touched her with his human hand, tracing along her thin torso and gripping her side. "Definitely, a lot more kissing."

He picked her up off her feet and carried her out of the living room and back toward what she hoped would be his bedroom.