Allowing no reaction to show on his face, Dirk watched without lifting his lashes. The ability to observe his surroundings, even when he looked less than engaged, was a skill perfected over many years. Even if it hadn’t been useful in scouting missions, he’d found no end of satisfaction in the ability to linger in Valda’s workspace without disturbing her. Watching her work was one of his rare joys. She had no idea how truly captivating her expressions grew as she worked her way through a problem or how often she scraped her teeth over the plumpness of her lower lip.
No, if she had any idea how much he savored each nuance, she’d probably have kicked him out of the lab on principle. But he kept it in check, as he had everything else, because it allowed him to be near her, and over the years, not only had she accepted his presence…
She’d begun to crave it.
The soft hush of metal opening pulled his focus back to the present. The door to the interrogation suite opened, and two men dragged in a limp Hatch. His head lolled between his shoulders, bobbing with their movements. Another man followed them, this one wearing a familiar white lab coat. Disapproval radiated the air around him, but he said nothing as he set a heavy case down on a table that was carried in behind him. He keyed the locks and then opened it to reveal a high-powered tech syringe.
It was the kind Oz had used when they were first working out how to jack themselves into the memoriam. It inserted nanites through the base of skull by creating a port. After, activating them only required plugging in.
The machine did the rest.
Rather than string Hatch up, they dropped him into the abandoned chair and lashed his hands to his sides when they couldn’t get him to stay upright. He kept slumping from one side to the other. Fresh bruises littered atop older ones, giving him a technicolor appearance. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack enough to let a thin string of drool trail down into the growth of the beard lining his jaw.
The suit moved over to him and lifted his head manually. The doctor in the lab coat frowned. As far as shows went, they were putting on a hell of a one to get his attention. As yet, Smithson hadn’t asked any more questions, but he glanced at the lab coat and then motioned to Hatch.
“He needs to be awake. If we do this in his current state, it could result in the same issue that trapped Dr. Bashan for so long.” More bait for the hook.
“We don’t care about his survival. We merely need her to cooperate.”
Not. Subtle.
“Dude,” Hatch said, barely moving his mouth. “What’s with the yelling? Last call was an hour ago. If you’re gonna scream in my face, at least buy me a beer first.”
The corners of Dirk’s mouth tipped up before he could stop them. The conversation between Smithson and the doctor all but ceased as they both stared at Hatch. The former smuggler—well not so former, but that was a debate for another day—squinted open one of his bruised eyes, a moue of distaste on his face.
“Fuck, you stink.” Hatch peered at the suit. “I mean, damn, man, have you ever heard of a shower? I could smell you a mile away, and trust me, that’s not a compliment.”
Lips compressing, Smithson stared at him. “Mr. Benedict, it is my understanding you were refusing to cooperate?”
Somehow managing to quirk an eyebrow, Hatch looked past the suit to where Dirk hung. He gave him a once over and then looked at the suit. “Who the fuck are you?”
Smithson blew out a breath. “Mr. Benedict, I’m the man you stole from.”
Forehead crinkling, Hatch made a face, then lifted his shoulders as much as he could for how he was bound. “‘Fraid you need to be a bit more specific there, you smarmy cocksucker. Some of us work for a living, and that means I’ve stolen from a lot of people.” He grinned then, revealing bloodied teeth. “Though to be fair, I was mostly borrowing.”
One of the men behind him snarled, and it earned Hatch a punch to the side of his head. The little shit just laughed, and the man struck him twice more before the suit could splutter out a halt the blows, but it was too late.
Hatch was out again.
Just like he’d wanted.
They couldn’t question him if he wasn’t conscious, and they couldn’t use the nanites either. At least not based on what the lab coat said. Dirk kept his reactions in check as Smithson glared from Hatch to him and then back.
Their move.
Again.
That was fine.
Dirk would get his.
And then he would be sure to pay back every single blow.
With interest.
Chapter 4
“Do not grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.” - Rumi
VALDA
Weeks.
It had been weeks since the last time I’d seen Dirk or Hatch. The machine in front of me hummed as it processed the blood and tissue samples I’d trayed up to send through. Arguably, I hadn’t seen them in the flesh in far longer, but for me, it had been weeks.
Then…then it had been my asking Dirk to yank Hatch out of the memoriam. To make him safe and to abandon me so I could get free. I hadn’t even had a chance to apologize to him. Not that I would ever apologize for trying to save him, but my choice had hurt him.
Weeks spent first learning to walk again as we waited for them to dig us out of my destroyed compound. The loss of the house left a bruise on my soul. I’d loved that place. Not that one should ever put so much value in a structure. Structures could be torn down. They could be destroyed. They could also be rebuilt.
People.
People, once lost, were gone.
No, weeks of that. Then Oz left.
The lance of pain shredding through my tired heart sent a fresh bruise with every squeeze of that vital organ. Arguably, we could replace most organs. Or we’d had the capability of transplants, mechanical hearts, and had been on the cusp of being able to possibly program and grow cloned hearts, when the world lost its collective mind.
Some of that knowledge was still stored here. I glanced over at the wall of silent servers, blinking with their icy cold, indifferent lights. They had become the keepers of expertise the purges erased if the pandemic hadn’t. My morning yoga had left me refreshed in a way I hadn’t been since waking. My mind quieted under the steady practice as the sun rose over the water. Andreas had joined me, more to sit and soak in the sun than to do the poses.
The weight of his appreciative gaze hadn’t been lost on me. Nor had the lingering concern he sought so desperate to shelter in his dark eyes. I grew stronger with each day, and with each passing day, we seemed further away from those who should be with us.
Steam curled out of the bathing room as Andreas emerged from it. Shirtless, he rubbed a towel against his damp hair. It had grown out over the last few months, or maybe it was the last few years. He’d asked me to cut it two days earlier, or he could shave it off. I’d taken care of it, and now it still fell against his nape and below his ears, but he seemed more comfortable.
He’d also taken the time to shave while showering, and for the first time since we’d arrived on the island, he was clean-shaven and looked so much younger than the darkness in his eyes. That was true of all four of them. They were younger than me, but years didn’t matter as much when they’d each lived so much before I found them.