9
“You don’t look like you do this very often,” Thomas said, loosening his tie.
I hovered near the door, my mouth dry as cotton.
“Um, yeah. It’s my first time.” The first rule of lying: stick as much to the truth as possible.
He paused in folding his suit jacket, raising an eyebrow. “Ever? That must have cost Andrei a fortune.”
My cheeks grew hot. “Not that. I mean, like this.”
“Ah. For money, you mean.”
I didn’t hear anything beyond the door. Shouldn’t Clark have disarmed those guards by now? How long would it take to kill Andrei? Would he come rescue me first, or after? If Thomas suddenly realized I wasn’t a real prostitute, would he guess what was happening?
“H-how do you know Andrei?” I asked. Maybe this guy was just as bad, possibly worse.
“Take off the jacket,” he said, ignoring my question. He was unbuttoning his cuffs and folding back the sleeves.
I took a step away, my back hitting the door. Thomas smiled.
“I knew I’d chosen correctly. I do enjoy having to work for it. You seldom get that with prostitutes.”
That didn’t sound good. At all.
“Take off the jacket,” he said, “or I’ll take it off for you.”
“Okay, okay,” I said hastily. “Just, um, you know. A little nervous.” If Clark didn’t get in here soon . . . Wait a second. I squinted at him. He looked . . . familiar. Screw it. I dug out my glasses and put them on.
“I like the glasses. They’re a nice touch. We’ll leave them on.”
“I know you,” I said, my eyes widening. Thomas froze. “You’re Thomas Driscoll.”
He froze in the middle of folding back his cuff. “How the hell—”
“The CEO of Psy-Gen Enterprises,” I continued excitedly. Psy-Gen was on the cutting edge of robotic technology. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.” I thrust out my hand. He took it automatically, his mouth hanging open, and I pumped a hearty handshake. “Humanoid robots are the way of the future.”
He regained his composure, his face flushing red as he snatched his hand away.
“Why is it that, with all the technology at your fingertips and genius engineers, the first thing robots are wanted for is sex?” I’d never understood that.
“Another judgmental layman, I see,” he said. “You Puritans think it’s so awful to have sex robots, well, let me tell you something. If sex robots were available—lifelike or even better than the real thing—don’t you realize the demand for human sex trafficking would bottom out? All those millions of women and children forced into the sex slave industry would no longer be needed. Robots would fulfill physical needs and desires, no matter how perverse, and no one gets hurt.”
“So you’re doing it as a purely philanthropic gesture,” I said. “Like I’m supposed to believe that? It’s all about the money. It always is all about the money.” Thoughts of my mom flashed through my mind, and I didn’t have to fake the bitterness in my voice.
“I’m saying that not all new technological advances are the harbingers of Terminator,” he tossed back. “And of course it will be lucrative. Extremely. It should be, as much money as has gone into development. The millions have to be recouped somehow.”
“What about using them for elderly companions?” I asked. “They can provide companionship while also providing health care and performing domestic chores.”
“That’s down the road,” he said. “Sex is more lucrative. There’s only so much money we can devote to a behavior that won’t be. You think old people are going to pay for a robot like that? That they’d even be able to? Some might be able to afford it, but most can’t. And there’s no way the insurance industry will cough up that kind of money.”
“But the software is more useful and can be tweaked for a variety of uses,” I argued. “Sex robots can fund programming of other types of robotics.”
His eyes narrowed. “How the hell do you know what software is adaptable?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Because I was the lead project manager when you outsourced to Cysnet. And programming how to tell if someone is experiencing disorientation due to the onset of a stroke is a hell of a lot harder than coding a blow job.”
Thomas looked as though I’d slapped him with a wet trout. “You’re joking,” he said.
“Nope. Did they ever work out the problem with the teeth?”
He sat down heavily on the bed, still staring at me in shock. “Not yet.”
I rolled my eyes. “It figures. Amateurs.”
“Why are you here? Doing”—he motioned to my outfit—“this?”
“Long story. You know, I had an idea for the teeth problem, but they wouldn’t listen to me. Jerry was in charge of that software, and there was no way some girl was going to tell him how to do his job. Idiot.” Jerry had been a real dick. No pun intended.
“The elderly-care robots work perfectly. The software is genius. Everyone says so. There’s just no way to sell them. We’ve got to get the sex robots working or we’re going to go bankrupt.”
“Is that why you’re with Andrei?” I asked. “Looking for investors.”
He nodded, grimacing. “You gotta take money where you can get it. The timeline’s already had to be extended three times. We’ve got to have a working product before the end of the year.” He eyed me speculatively. “So you’re really a programmer. And you wrote that software. But you don’t code anymore.”
I shrugged, improvising. “I’m writing a book now. This is research.”
“How about you postpone your . . . research and come work for me?”
I shook my head. “It’s an intriguing idea, trying to program sexual behavior into a robot, but . . . ew. I don’t want to.”
“Think about it,” he said, looking desperate. “I’ll start your salary at five hundred thousand, and you’ll get company shares. If we’re the first to come to market with this, we’ll make more money than Amazon. You’ll be able to retire in five years.”
“Sorry. I don’t want to go to work every day trying to solve problems like how to make them ‘fight more.’” I gave him a look to emphasize my point.
He only looked slightly abashed. “Just take a look at this code,” he said, pulling out his phone. “My chief engineer sent it to me. There’s a flaw somewhere that’s causing it to behave erratically when it simulates orgasm. If you could just take a look . . .”
Okay, yeah, gross, but still. I hated turning away from a puzzle, which was exactly what coding was. Five minutes later, we were sitting side by side on the bed, and I was pointing out the lines of code that were causing the problem.
“. . . loops back on itself and causes a programming conflict—” I was explaining when the door was suddenly flung open.
Clark stood there, gun in hand.
“Get away from her, you fucking asshole,” he growled, his eyes a cold fury.
I jumped to my feet. “No, wait, it’s okay. This is Thomas Driscoll, the CEO of Psy-Gen Enterprises.”
“I don’t care if he’s the fucking king of England. He’s one twitch away from having a third eye.”
Thomas raised his hands, his face pale. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just here doing . . . research. Yeah.”
Clark rolled his eyes. “That’s a new one. Never heard it called that before. Does your wife buy that excuse?”
“He’s not married,” I said absently. “Look.” I held up Thomas’s phone. “I was helping him with this code for his sexbots.”
Clark frowned. “Sexbots?”
“Yeah, that’s what his company makes. Or, is trying to make.”
Clark frowned at Thomas, his dark brows drawn together. “And you’re here doing ‘research’?” His lips twisted in disgust. “Dude.”
Thomas turned red and his lips thinned, but he said nothing, his gaze still warily watching the gun in Clark’s grip.
“Here you go,” I said, handing the phone back to Thomas. “It wasn’t hard, really. It just took a woman to see the problem with a female sexbot simulating orgasm in the code. Perhaps you should put a few more women on your team.”
“So typical,” I said in an undertone to Clark.
“Get my jacket and get behind me,” he said. I obeyed while he spoke to Thomas. “Okay, here’s the deal, bot-boy. You never saw her. You never saw me. You call the cops before ninety minutes has passed? It’s going to be all over the news tomorrow that you were here and what you were doing. Stay in this room. I suggest drinking a lot of alcohol to account for not hearing anything. Passing out would be even better. Failure to comply with any of these instructions will result in pain and possibly dismemberment. To you. Just in case that wasn’t clear.”
Thomas’s throat visibly moved as he swallowed. “Yeah. I got it.”
Clark’s smile was thin. “Awesome.” He gave me a push toward the door.
“Wait a second,” I said, doubling back. Taking Thomas’s phone, I quickly dialed my own cell, then hung up. “Just in case,” I said, handing it back. “I may want you to return the favor sometime.” I scooted out the door.
“I’d suggest locking this,” Clark said to Thomas, tapping the doorknob with the muzzle of the gun, then closed the door.
The guards were out cold and in prone positions facedown on the floor, their arms and legs zip-tied. I didn’t ask Clark how he’d done it. He was already heading for the other bedroom. I followed hot on his heels, then ran into his back when he abruptly stopped.
“Stay here,” he said.
“No.”
“I’m not your employee anymore,” he insisted. “Do what I say.”
“I don’t want you to kill him.”
His face was a cold, hard mask. “Then you’re destined for disappointment.”
Clark didn’t throw open the door the way he had mine, but just opened it normally. The sight that greeted us was one I knew I’d never be able to scrub from my mind. The four women, in various states of undress, were in the middle of performing sex acts on each other and on the paunchy white guy who looked much less powerful and dangerous without his expensive suit and armed guards.
“Ladies, leave us,” Clark said. All of them immediately stopped what they were doing, grabbed their clothes, and filed out. They were calm and unhurried, as though this was not an unexpected occurrence in their profession.
Andrei was sputtering from his position on the bed. “What is the meaning of this? The girls are not harmed, and I purchased the entire night.”
“This is about an old vendetta,” Clark said. “And a man you probably don’t remember. But he meant something to me.”
“Ach, Christ,” Andrei sneered. “Here for revenge, are you? Go ahead. Shoot. You will not make it out alive.” He leaned against the headboard, his arms crossed over his chest, seemingly unperturbed by his nakedness.
“You underestimate me.”
“And you underestimate me,” Andrei shot back. “I am no amateur, boy. As soon as my heart stops beating, all the men in the hallway will come in here, guns blazing. You will all be cut to ribbons.”
That sounded pretty foolproof to me. “Let’s call the cops,” I urged Clark. “They can arrest him for prostitution, and that’ll give them authority to search this place. Let them do their jobs.”
“You tortured my friend,” Clark said. “You didn’t even give him the mercy of a quick death.”
“Mercy is for the weak.”
“China, step outside with the other girls,” Clark said to me.
I swallowed. My hands were shaking. “Please don’t make me do that.”
“I have to kill him slow. You don’t need to watch.”
“Please—”
“Stop begging for this asshole’s life,” he snapped, cutting me off. “Do what I say. Go with the other girls.”
I still hesitated, and he cut his gaze to mine.
In that split second, Andrei lunged from the bed, latched onto my wrist, and yanked me in front of him as a shield. His arm latched around my throat.
Well, crap.
“Walk out while I will still let you,” he said to Clark, dragging me backward with him. There was a terrace off this bedroom, and he took us through the doorway. I stumbled over the threshold and choked as Andrei held me up by the neck.
Clark followed, weapon still pointing at Andrei, his eyes calculating.
“Give me the gun,” Andrei said, “or I’ll toss her over.” He shoved me into the railing and lifted me up off my feet.
I screamed, the vision of Fifth Avenue looming twenty-two stories below me. I grabbed hold of the railing as I dangled, bent at the waist over the side. Andrei had a hold of my belt, cutting me in half.
“If you drop her, I’ll kill you.”
“I’ll count to five and then I’m letting go.”
“All right, all right!” I could hear Clark’s urgent voice over the wind, whipping my hair.
I had a grip on the railing, but if he forcibly tossed me over, it would rotate my shoulders in their sockets, and I’d be forced to let go. If Clark gave up his weapon, Andrei would shoot him and probably me, too.
I let one precious grip go on the railing and tugged at the buckle on my belt. As soon as it was off, I squirmed over the railing to the outside, hanging on for dear life. My legs were dangling in midair, and Andrei was left holding my belt.
A shot rang out, then another. Andrei collapsed. In a flash, Clark was leaning over the side. He gripped my arms and pulled.
I was shaking with fear and cold when my feet touched the concrete terrace. Clark grabbed me by my upper arms and shook me.
“Are you out of your fucking mind? This was why I didn’t want you to come! Do you have any fucking idea what it would do to me to see you die?” He stopped yelling, his chest heaving. His eyes were wild, fear and fury in equal measure in his voice. “I’ve already seen it almost happen too many times.”
Tears were leaking from my eyes, and I trembled in his grip. “You’re h-hurting me,” I stammered, the chill wind making my teeth begin to chatter.
Much cursing followed as he pulled me inside. I spared one glance at Andrei, whose eyes were flat and glassy in a death stare.
“God damn it!” Clark exploded, slamming his fist into a mirror on the wall. I jumped about a foot, still shaking from head to toe. Splintered glass fell to the floor.
I sucked in a breath at the blood on his hand. “Clark . . .” Okay, no time for a nervous breakdown. Blood was dripping. I ran to the bathroom and wet a hand towel.
“Give me your hand,” I said to Clark.
He held it up and I wanted to start crying again. Shards of glass stuck out of his skin. I picked them out as best I could, wincing as I did. He didn’t flinch, but just watched my face.
“That was . . . completely illogical,” I said. “Deliberately injuring yourself in an act of anger or frustration accomplishes nothing.”
“Maybe it makes me feel better.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“At least it’s not my gun hand.”
“Oh yes, that makes it all better.” I wrapped his hand in the towel. “You’re going to need stitches.”
I went to step back, but Clark’s hand on my shoulder stopped me. I felt the press of his mouth on top of my head in a silent kiss. I squeezed my eyes shut, then it was over.
“Let’s go,” he said flatly.
Contrary to what Andrei said, no gunmen came storming into the suite. The other women were gone, and we hurried for the door. Thomas’s door was still firmly closed. When Clark opened the door to the hallway, only one guard remained. The one who’d led us into the suite.
“All clear?” Clark asked.
The guard glanced at his watch. “For at least another two minutes. I would hurry, if I were you.”
Clark nodded. “Tell Josef I said thanks.”
“Absolutely.”
In the elevator, Clark wrapped his coat around me, and I slid my arms into the sleeves. We didn’t stop on the bottom floor, but the second instead. His arm was around my back, moving me quickly along the hallway to the stairs. I barely processed everything that flew by before we were on the street. Clark issued a sharp whistle, and a cab pulled over.
“Waldorf,” he told the driver, once we were settled.
“Wait,” I said. “Why are you taking me there? That’s not your hotel.”
“No, it’s not.”
“We still have to go see my mom’s handler tomorrow.”
“And we will. But you’re staying with Coop.”
Panic rushed through me. “You’re mad at me. Is this your way of punishing me? By sending me away?”
His gaze slanted to mine. Passing cars’ headlights illuminated his face in flashes, but his eyes remained in the dark.
“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. I shouldn’t have let you come. It’s only one of the many bad decisions I make around you.”
This didn’t sound like it was going anywhere good. “What do you mean?”
“It means, I let our . . . friendship . . . cloud my judgment. I should’ve locked you in the hotel room and went on my own.”
“But you didn’t kill him in cold blood,” I said. “I view that as a win.”
I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel them. Swallowing, I glanced away.
“You were seconds from falling to a rather spectacular death, and you view it as a win?” His voice could’ve cut glass.
Okay, he was right on that point. I’d screwed up. Spectacularly. No matter which way I tried to spin it, I was just a liability in Clark’s world. Even when I just wanted to help.
I fidgeted in the seat, the pleather upholstery sticking to my ass and thighs. “I was just saying . . .” My voice was small and trailed away. I felt very small. Diminished. I hated being a screwup. I hated even more that Clark was seeing me as such when he’d always said how smart I was. Not looking so smart at the moment, now, was I.
After a few seconds, I cleared my throat and leaned forward over the seat. “Please take us to the nearest hospital. My friend cut his hand and needs stitches.”
“Okay,” the driver said.
“I don’t need you to hold my hand while I get stitches. I don’t even need stitches, just some Betadine and Band-Aids.”
I grimaced. “Maybe you should just do the stitches yourself while you drink whiskey and bite down on some leather?”
One half of his mouth lifted. “As if I’d need to bite down on leather. Please.”
I studied his expression and turned his words over in my head. He’d made a joke. “Does that mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”
His smile faded and he sighed, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “I was never mad at you. Just myself.”
I let it go at that. He wasn’t arguing about going to the hospital, and he was touching me. Sometimes it’s better to just stop talking.
Clark made irritated and impatient noises in the ER, but I ignored him. He was getting stitches. I had a suspicion that I was probably the reason he’d slammed his fist into that mirror, though I didn’t understand why he’d do that. Yelling at me if he was upset was preferable to hurting himself.
Jackson texted while we were in the waiting room. Where are you? Are you coming back?
Yes. Just got sidetracked. I’ll be back soon. Don’t wait up.
After a moment’s hesitation, I added ♥.
I got the read receipt, but he didn’t reply. I hid a sigh. I really didn’t need Jackson mad, now that Clark had gotten over his temper outburst.
After Clark had glanced at his watch for the millionth time, we were called back. He refused anesthesia, which caused me to berate him and then try to cajole him, but he was having none of it.
“I was just kidding,” I pleaded. “Really, I’ll still think you’re a badass if you take the anesthesia.”
“Can she be forced to wait outside?” he asked the doctor.
“Okay, okay,” I hurriedly said, before they made me leave. I grabbed on to his right hand and squeezed, watching as the doctor began stitching. I flinched every time the needle pierced his skin.
“If you break my right hand, we’re going to be in a world of hurt,” Clark deadpanned.
“Oh. Sorry.” I loosened my death grip.
Thirty minutes later, we were finally leaving. I’d managed to convince Clark to take some pain medication, but he refused anything that would make him sleepy.
It was late and I was starving, but too exhausted to think about eating, or to put up a fight when Clark took me to the Waldorf and deposited me in front of Jackson’s suite. He rapped on the door and we waited. Despite the hour, it swung open almost immediately.
Jackson took in everything at a glance: my bedraggled attire, covered by Clark’s leather jacket, smeared makeup from crying, Clark’s bandaged hand.
I held my breath, expecting him to explode, but he did something surprising. Stepping forward, he folded me into his arms.
“Thank God you’re okay,” he murmured. “I’ve been worried sick.”
Guilt hit hard, and I deserved it. I couldn’t keep juggling two men who not only brought on near-death experiences, but worried over me. Clark had had a meltdown earlier because of me. The hand thing had been my fault. The emotions between Clark and me, and Jackson and me, were driving both of them to the breaking point. And my tangled feelings were doing the one thing that I should have seen sooner: they were interfering with my logic. I never should have gone with Clark tonight, but I hadn’t been able to trust him to go alone—as I would have done just months ago at Vigilance. But I’d felt differently about him then, as just a rather obnoxious—albeit gorgeous—employee.
I gently extricated myself from Jackson’s arms. “I know you probably want to talk, but I’m so tired. Can we just crash and talk in the morning?”
“We?” Clark asked. “I’m not staying. I’m just the delivery boy.”
I turned to him and looked up, meeting his gaze. “Please, Clark. For me.”
His jaw tightened into bands of steel as he studied my eyes, and I knew he desperately wanted to refuse. I should’ve felt bad for manipulating him, but hopefully it would be for the last time.
Finally, he gave a curt nod. “But I’m not sleeping in the middle.”
No one, not even he, smiled at his deadpan joke.
“There’s a couch,” I said.
Jackson didn’t object, or say anything, as we followed him inside the suite. It was spacious, and there was indeed a long, comfy couch.
“I need a shower,” I said, leaving them both behind and heading for the bedroom. My things were there, along with a spacious bathroom. I stripped as I walked, leaving the shoes and Clark’s jacket in my wake, tossed my glasses onto the counter, and stepped into the shower.
The water was freezing cold at first, but I didn’t care. It warmed up quickly enough.
It was one of those rainfall showerheads, and I stood under it for a long time, thinking. I had a decision to make, and I didn’t want to. It would hurt. Not only me, but the men I loved.
The men I loved.
In the solitary bathroom, I could face the truth. I loved Jackson . . . and Clark. They had each done so much for me, including risking their lives. How could I not love them? They had kissed me, made love to me, and taken care of me when I couldn’t take care of myself. My problems became theirs—not out of necessity—but because that’s who they were. Clark had tried to hide that part of himself, but somehow, I’d been able to draw it out.
But even after everything, I was only in love with one of them.
It was a long time before I got out of the shower. My stomach was in knots and my heart ached. Jackson glanced up when I stepped out of the bathroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for me. He still wore slacks and a dress shirt, despite the hour.
I had a towel wrapped around me, and I’d left my glasses in the bathroom. My hair was wet and finger-combed.
“That’s twice in as many days I almost died,” I said quietly.
His eyes darkened and his lips thinned, but he didn’t say anything. I knew he wasn’t happy that I’d been in danger with Clark. He’d warned me before.
“I want to forget everything for a while,” I said. “My mom, her death, Danvers’s betrayal. Everywhere that I hurt.” Inside and out.
“What can I do?” he asked, his voice rough.
I dropped my towel and climbed into the bed. “Hold me?”
He took off his shoes and slid into the bed, tugging the covers up over us both. His arm wrapped around my middle and pulled me into him, spoon-style. I slotted my fingers through his and held his hand in both of mine, close to my heart.
I closed my eyes and savored the feel of his body against mine. Sex was chemistry and passion, and sometimes didn’t even require names to be exchanged. But holding and being held, asleep and vulnerable, that wasn’t something done with a stranger. It was intimacy on another level, and I desperately wished I didn’t have to give it up.