CHAPTER 20

“R eady or not, here I come!” I uncover my eyes and glance around the empty lounge.

Sam and I have played about a hundred games of Sliders in the twenty-four hours since we hit light speed. Now we’re on to hide-and-seek.

With the confusing mix of shame and anger I feel around Vince, the scary-as-fuck threatening stares I get whenever I cross paths with Ballga, and the idiotic flip-flopping thing my stomach does when I catch Mitchell looking my way, I’m keeping my distance from everyone besides the kid.

Tori’s keeping to her bunk, and even though I miss her company, I can’t blame her. Her empathy mods are going haywire, and the drama I’ve unleashed only causes her pain. She might not know the details of what went down between me, Mitchell, Vince, and Ballga, but she can feel the tension.

I make for the door and hit the rounded hallway that circles the ship. I heard Sam tiptoe to the right, so I intentionally take a left, clomping to the cargo hold louder than necessary for his benefit.

“Bet he’s hiding in here,” I muse aloud .

Down the hall, a gleeful snigger bubbles from the kid’s real hiding place.

I can’t suppress a half-smile as I step into the hold to “search.”

The door slides shut behind me, enclosing me in a dimly lit landscape of decoy cargo towers. I wander a shadowed path between secured pallets stacked with metal kegs, letting my fingertips drift along a row of the barrels’ rounded bellies. They hold authentic Silver Oil, a liquid biproduct of the Delirium mining process, but the crew never offloads the barrels at their bogus destinations.

Sam took me on “cargo duty” yesterday, and talked my ear off while we polished barrels.

Despite never having been boarded before I brought the heat down on them, the crew still prints new barcodes for each barrel after every single run. They dust, too, and polish the metal kegs with naval gel, so the shipment always looks fresh.

If I didn’t know Mitchell, I’d be surprised at the overkill. But of course Captain Perfect would be meticulous.

Even as I roll my eyes, the corners of my mouth are curling upward of their own accord. I slam them flat. Mitchell’s tendency toward militaristic precision is annoying as hell, not endearing.

The man probably folds his goddamn underwear. He probably requires perfect hospital corners of his bedsheets. He’d be appalled at the way I kick the linens to the foot of the bed and never bother to straighten them.

Not that I’d have any reason to be in Mitchell’s bed. Stupid flip-flopping stomach.

“So. You and the captain, huh?”

The careless drawl stops my stomach mid-flop and sends it shuddering to my toes. I spin around to dark eyes, thick brows, sardonic lips.

Vince must have been waiting for me in here, sneaky bastard. And I didn’t hear him. I stab him with a glare. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Wouldn’t have had to ambush you if you weren’t avoiding me.”

“I’m not.”

He leans against the tower of kegs opposite, crossing his arms. “Yeah. And I’m not wanted in three systems.”

Ugh . What is he, bragging? “I’m going to find Sam.”

I turn toward the exit, but Vince puts a wall of T-shirted, tatted muscle in my path.

I sidestep, moving to shoulder past, but he shoots an arm across my chest like a barrier at a toll station. His hand closes around my shoulder. “I’m not some fanboy you dragged backstage for a damn post-rave road gig, Gemma. We’re on the job, here. And we need to talk. ”

So he blames me for the shower. Whatever. As long as we don’t have to talk about it, he can think what he wants.

I grind my teeth, eyes still on the door. “You have something work-related to discuss?”

“Yeah.” Vince releases my shoulder and looks me up and down. “I want you to tell me what’s going on between you and Captain Stick-Up-His-Ass.”

“Nothing.”

“You can’t think I’m that oblivious, DJ Girl. I’m fully aware of your little hand-in-hand stroll on the beach.”

I bristle. “It’s none of your business.”

Vince’s look sears. “You want to screw around, fine. You’re right. It’s not my business.” He leans forward. “You go looking for a shoulder to cry on, though, spill your whole goddamn sob story—spill details that could jeopardize the Oralia job—now that’s my business.”

My inner hackles lower half a notch. The job. The money. Of course.

This is why Vince is so much safer than Mitchell.

I shrug. “What do you want me to do? He cornered me. I couldn’t not talk to him. It’s not like I told him anything important.”

“Whatever you said, it’s got him flying out of his way so you can meet with his personal head hacker, no extra charge.”

“Hack Town’s only a system from Oralia. It’s practically on the way. ”

Vince glowers. “What the fuck did you tell him, Gemma?”

I bite my lip, then sigh. “He knows what kind of work we’ve got lined up. No names or details. It’s a big planet. What does it matter?”

“That’s it? You sure you didn’t tell him anything else?”

“Nothing else.”

Vince eyes me. “He offer you some kind of trade?”

My eyes jump to Vince’s. He can’t know about my wager with Mitchell. Can’t know I have a burn-blade down my shirt and a blaster under my pillow. I force my tone to stay flat. “Like a refugee runner could have anything to offer that’d top Oralia.”

Vince still eyes me with suspicion.

“Look, Mitchell has this ridiculous sense of responsibility for his passengers. And I need this hack. So does Tor. The state we’re in, we can’t do the Oralia job without it. What does it hurt if I play the damsel in distress, let him hold my hand, cater to his bleeding heart if it gets me where I need to go? Where we need to go for the sake of the job?”

I’m not just trying to sway Vince. This needs to be the truth. Mitchell and the crew, they’re a means to an end. Nothing more. I’ve been an idiot to start seeing them as anything else, and it’s only made everything worse for everyone. Especially them.

Vince looks me up and down, deliberating. “Fine. Hack Town, then Oralia. But we get a whiff of anything fishy, we ditch these bozos and hop another ship. ”

My heart pangs. Hack Town might take a day if we have to wait for an appointment. Oralia’s only an hour from there. Whether we split in Hack Town or drag this mess out for one more ride, goodbye is inevitable. I’ll be leaving Mitchell. I’ll never see him or exuberant Sam or overprotective Granny Cat again.

It’s what’s best for all of us.

Vince must see the pain on my face because his expression darkens. “Don’t let emotions get in the way of this job, Gemma. The captain might feel sorry for you. Might even stoop to trade a fuck for a hack job. But a bleeding heart like him doesn’t date a contract killer.” He gives me a long, hard stare before his expression softens. “You and me, though… we almost had something good going on. Maybe we still can.”

Vince’s gaze trails down my body and back up. He leans closer, lifts a hand and slides it around my waist.

I close my eyes. Breathe in his spicy scent.

Self-preservation-wise, hooking up with Vince would be the smartest option right now. Distract my heart from flopping around in my chest, bruising itself needlessly against my ribcage before the inevitable goodbyes. Prove to Vince that I’m still on his team.

It’s not like I haven’t been used before. Not like I haven’t done my own fair share of using. Maybe it doesn’t matter that I was high and Vince was sober when I pulled him into the shower .

Or maybe it does. Maybe I should call him out. Slap him in the face. Quit the job. Drag Tori away from the biggest payout of our lives on principle.

I don’t know.

But as much as Vince is the exact definition of my type, I don’t find him attractive anymore. Not one tattooed, muscled, pretty-faced inch of him. Not for a casual hookup. Not even for a desperately needed distraction.

And it’s not that I’ve developed a taste for a different type. A type who treats me with respect. A type who gives a shit about the worlds and does something about it. Who makes me question whether I might give a shit, too.

It’s just that I’m done bouncing from hookup to hookup to hide from reality. I may not deserve Mitchell, but that doesn’t mean I need to throw myself at Vince to pretend away the truth. Ballga’s right. I’m broken. And I have no chance at ever repairing the damage if I refuse to acknowledge it’s there.

I open my eyes, step back, and push Vince’s hand away. “The shower’s not going to happen again. You and me aren’t going to happen again. You’re right. This is business. So let’s keep it to that from now on.”

Vince looks at me for a long moment, then steps back. “Fine. Just business. But when I say it’s go time, we go. There’s no room for hesitation in this line of work. That clear? ”

I force myself to nod. Force myself not to show how scared I am as Vince turns and leaves me alone in the shadows. Maybe saying no to him should feel like a victory. But all I feel is hollow panic. I’m going to have to face this debacle of an interpersonal melodrama I’ve unleashed head on, with none of my usual coping strategies.

No sex. No drugs. Just glitching, fucked up, stained and broken me, face to face with the problems I’ve caused.

The door hisses and I tense. If Vince has come back with more to say, I might break down and cry.

“There you are, Gemma!” My whole body goes limp with relief at the sight of Sam. “You were supposed to be looking for me !”

I force a smile. “You had me stumped.”

I think Sam catches the strain in my voice because he searches my face, then takes my hand in his smaller one. “It’s okay. You can have a turn hiding now. You’re better at that.”

I snort. The kid’s righter than he knows. “I… I think I’m done hiding for a while. C’mon.” I steer him toward the door. “Let’s find another game.”

-X-

Tori grips me around the ribcage with a sweaty hand, fingertips digging too hard into the bare skin below my short-cropped top. “This is the good part of town? ”

“Apparently.” I raise my voice against the noise of calling vendors, beggars, and bustling overhead traffic. “It’s where Mitchell got his work done.”

Hack Town isn’t really a town at all; it’s a tumour of an indoor city that started with a few hack nerds taking up residence in an abandoned space station. As demand for their illegal services grew, more hackers joined, welding on like parasites until the station metastasized into the amorphous metal dystopia that surrounds us.

I crane my neck, squinting upward into the black vault above me, but I can’t see the ceiling. Just facades of indoor buildings that jut up, up, up out of sight, unregulated indoor air traffic buzzing around them like insects around a hive.

The Underground was dismal, but this? It’s complete anarchy. No laws. No building codes. No public sewage or public garbage or public anything except the poorly filtered recirculated oxygen that’s currently choking my lungs.

Tori and I press tighter together, arms glued around each other’s waists, as if melding into one can bolster us against the onslaught of sights and sounds and smells bombarding us from all sides. We stick tight to Mitchell’s heels like he instructed when we left the ship. Vince presses in behind.

Neon signs and animated billboards demand attention from everywhere at once, rising along the facades of businesses as far as I can see. Bio Identity Swap Full Package 99.99 cycles across an animated reader board; stacked above Nude Girls, Girls, Girls in neon pink; beside Ocular Mods No Appointment Necessary with holographic eyes that swivel to follow us down the street.

My ears tell me people are dealing and pissing and fucking and far, far worse in the shadowy spaces between buildings.

Tori and I wince as the bright flash of a blaster slices through the dark recess between a shop advertising One Hour Sex Change and another boasting Animated Tattoos Full Colour Best Price.

“I miss our last stop. The one where everything only wanted to eat us,” Tori murmurs in my ear.

“Yeah.” I squeeze her poly-clad waist. “Me too.”

The truth is, I’ve missed Tori so much it’s almost worth the scary surroundings just to be reunited. This is the first time she’s left her bunk since lightspeed except to eat or use the bathroom. It’s also the first time I’ve been in close contact with the captain since our beach walk, and with Vince since our little rendezvous in the cargo hold yesterday.

For Tori’s sake, I’m trying not to make it more awkward than it has to be.

And I’d never admit it aloud, but I’m honestly pretty damn glad for the two men’s combined presence right now, messed up as things are between us. It’s clear they know more about how to avoid getting pulled into one of those dark alleys than Tori and I do—especially with Tori’s ability to sense peoples’ motives down for the count.

Mitchell and Vince may not have the ability to sense peoples’ emotional signals, but they sure as hell know how to give off signals of their own. Everything about the men’s body language practically growls “fuck with us and die.” They don’t walk, they prowl. They don’t look, they take in every detail from beneath glowering brows.

Mitchell has shaved the hair at the nape of his neck to make his triple atlas plugs visible, sending the intimidating message that he was of high enough rank in the military to merit superior-grade body gear. Not sexy in the slightest. He’s also armed to the teeth, and he’s even begrudged Vince a pair of blasters locked on stun.

As backup, I’ve got the reassurance of my hidden weapons. I run my free hand over the bumpy sequined fabric that flares from my natural waistline, the short skirt puffed up by a fluffy underlayer of tulle. I’d normally reserve this outfit for a performance, but it’s the only thing I packed that disguises the blaster holstered at my thigh. Black boots rise above my knees, concealing my burn-blade within easy reach.

True to my agreement with the captain, I haven’t told Tori or Vince about my weapons. And, looking around, I wonder if our pitstop in Hack Town is the reason Mitchell bet me my blade in the first place .

“It’s not much farther,” he says over his shoulder. He leads us around a corner with a big statue of the Vitruvian Man, spread-limbed in its circular cage.

It’s an advertisement for the skeletal modification specialist operating out of the building on the corner, but in this place, it feels more like a warning of what’ll happen to you if you piss off the wrong people.

The street we turn onto is narrower, with no overhead traffic—at least not of the hover variety. Instead, some kind of aerial performance is in full swing. A crowd of gawking spectators crams the street, slowing our progress.

Advertisers push through the crowd, snapping flyers in the faces of loitering onlookers. I’m fast enough to catch the words Spider Dancers on a pamphlet flapped in my face before Vince shoves the advertiser away.

I look up, expecting to see a performance by some spiderlike alien species I didn’t learn about in school. But no. Scantily clad human and humanoid females twirl, twist, and swing above the street, suspended from threads that glisten and stretch like spider silk.

I cock my head. “How are they—”

A woman, legs splayed in a wide V, drops from a pair of tightly coiled threads attached to her ankles, flipping over and over in her descent as the silken cords unwind. She stops directly in front of Mitchell, legs wide open and… wow. Thanks to my near-photographic memory, I’ll likely be processing what I glimpse between her legs for a very long time because that is not… standard equipment.

“I don’t want to know what those body mods are meant for,” Tori whispers in my ear.

Neither do I.

The spider dancer flips so she’s facing Mitchell and tucks some sort of business card in the collar of his shirt. Then she shoots something from her wrist. It connects to the side of a building so she’s suspended by three strands, parallel to the ground. Her naked waist grazes Mitchell’s cheek and her breasts dangle between me and Tori as she stretches her free hand to offer Vince a card. It all takes less than a second, then she’s rocketing skyward again.

I don’t care what Mitchell thinks about the eyeful he just received. Nor do I care what he may or may not do with that card.

What I am intrigued to know more about are the plug-like black circles I spied on the woman’s inner wrists and on either side of her Achilles tendons, because it appears that’s where the spiderweb stuff is coming from. And that is freaking cool .

Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have access to my bank account. With my high threshold for risk and no vendor here likely to check whether I’m of legal age, I could see myself leaving this place hacked to pieces with nifty modifications.

Possibly to die from serious infection soon after .

Mitchell glances back and takes my free hand, tugging me, and by extension Tori, through the crowd. Vince sticks so close behind me that his breath heats my neck. We push through a group of heavily armed men who eye us but say nothing, then squeeze behind a cluster of Sevvies ogling the show. Strips of shaved fur run down their long spines, and bandages cover what must be the results of recent surgical procedures.

As we reach the edge of the thinning crowd, I notice the shops on this street look slightly more respectable. There’s a little less neon and a lot less grime. A sign for Traceless Banking Transfers, with a constellation of well-known bank logos beneath, catches my eye before Mitchell pulls us toward a clean, well-lit facade that advertises Dr. Agatha Reid, Cerebral Modification Specialist in reserved blue-on-white.

A pair of clear plexi-doors slides open, and a human man with a shaved head and well-manicured beard exits. He gives us a curt but polite nod as he passes. His posture is military-straight, and a white bandage covers the back of his neck where his skull meets his spine, the same location as Mitchell’s atlas plugs. A defected soldier, maybe?

Mitchell leads us through the still-open doors, and our little group crowds into a small, worn but tidy waiting room. It’s nothing like the glittering medical facilities I’m familiar with, but at least it isn’t scary .

A three-eyed humanoid looks us over from behind the front desk. “Dr. Reid is—”

Before they finish, a door sighs open and a woman in a white lab coat strides through. Dr. Reid, I’m guessing.

She’s a gorgeous, ebony-skinned human with a bone structure so striking that her shaved head only emphasizes the feminine grace of her features. Her golden-brown eyes slide over our group, lighting with recognition when they land on Mitchell. She gives him a dazzling smile, “Kon—wait.” Her eyes flick over me, Tori, and Vince again. “It’s… Mitchell, isn’t it?”

Mitchell smiles. “Agatha. I’m a little surprised you’re still practising out of this place.”

“Yes. Well. As you know, the Federation doesn’t exactly condone most of my specialties. How can I help you, Captain?”

“I know you prefer to work with ex-military patients, but I was hoping you’d make an exception for my friends.” Mitchell nods at me and Tori. “It’s a bit of an emergency.”

The doctor raises an eyebrow and glances between us. “Any friend of Captain Mitchell’s is a friend of mine.” Her eyes linger on my irises for a moment, and I know she’s assessing the silver stains brightened by my recent drug use.

I glare defiantly back.

Her lip quirks up.

The doctor’s gaze slides over my body. When her eyes hit my tulle-decked hips, her pupils narrow and widen mechanically. Ocular mods. Top notch. She can probably see my concealed blaster, but she doesn’t say anything.

Dr. Reid’s gaze finds mine again. “Beginning stages of mod sickness. And an interesting signature on those trackers.”

My mouth drops open. She can read my tracking chips? Ocular mods aren’t supposed to do that. And even if they could, trackers are so heavily encrypted that only specialized government personnel can—

But she must be ex-military.

Shit.

I silently beg her not to say more.

Dr. Reid smiles, then winks. Winks. “We’ll go over your medical history in pre-op. Privately.”

I let out a held breath as the doctor turns her attention to Tor.

Her eyes glide over Tori’s skin-tight polymer bodysuit, doing the robotic pupil thing when her gaze reaches Tori’s boot. Maybe I was wrong about what she’s seeing, because Tori’s not carrying any weapons unless she stole a dull knife from the ship’s kitchen.

“You have a touch of mod sickness, too. With those empathic enhancements, chances are it’s affecting you more than you’re aware. I’m glad you both came to me.”

She turns back to Mitchell with a smile. “I’ll get your friends in at the beginning of my next shift. Aarin”—she glances at the receptionist—“I’ll need an hour with the Pink and three with Miss… Blue, here. Please move my appointments around accordingly.”

-X-

“Nine hundred. Nine-freaking-hundred credits.” And if Dr. Reid really did read my tracker, she knows who I am. “I saw another place offering a full ID package for ninety-nine.”

With twelve hours to kill before our appointment, we’re back in the ship, all of us crowded together in the lounge for the first time since I turned our already less-than-friendly relationship with the crew into one giant clusterfuck of awkward.

“You want to come out with all your organs?” Vince is back in slacker mode, taking up most of a sofa. He swigs from the flask Tori and I abandoned on the coffee table a few nights ago after draining its contents.

I glare.

Vince winks.

“He’s right,” Mitchell calls over his shoulder from where he stands at the sink washing dishes. “Only the desperate and na?ve fall for gimmicks like that. And it never turns out well for them.”

“I’m not desperate. Or na?ve!” Okay, maybe a little desperate. I cross my arms and continue pacing. “It’s stupid! I could get a mod update, a boob job, and those cool spider things for that price. Maybe a tattoo, to boot.”

It’s not exactly the cost that’s bugging me. It’s that Mitchell’s paying, and my private medical information—including the details the doctor may or may not be able to read from my tracking chip—might not be kept private from him .

“Boob job? What’s that?” Sam’s head pops up from where he was dozing over his homework.

“Nothing.” Ballga glares at me as she reaches for Sam’s tablet. “And it’s past time for bed.”

“But I wanna know what everyone’s talking about!” Sam complains.

“Exactly.” Ballga ushers him out of his seat. “Shower and bed. And I’m checking on you in twenty, so don’t dawdle.”

“Aww.” Sam shuffles through the automatic door, shoulders slumped.

Granny Cat’s tail twitches in irritation as she slides into the place left by Sam. If I had a tail, it’d be twitching, too.

Tori rises from the sofa opposite Vince. “I’m also headed to bed.”

She’s been looking pale and acting fidgety since we left the doctor’s office. I think she’s as nervous about tomorrow’s appointment as I am. Which is weird, because the chip removal is only a minor surgery, the mod stuff isn’t intrusive, and she doesn’t have the underlying identity issues to worry about .

“You okay, Tor?” I ask as she passes me. I furrow my brows at the stark contrast between her neon hair and the greyish-pink pallor of her normally rosy skin.

Tori’s eyes flick to Vince, then back to me. “Yeah, just… you know, mods acting up.”

I wish she wouldn’t leave me alone with these three, but there’s no arguing that she looks like she needs to lie down.

I drum the fingertips of one hand on the folded forearm of the other as I watch Tori slip through the door. The tension in this room’s about as thick and unpleasant as the reconstituted breakfast shakes Tori and I used to gag down in the Underground.

I want to grill Mitchell about his relationship with the doctor. He’s more to her than merely a former patient. She wouldn’t rearrange her busy schedule for him on that basis alone. No, Mitchell and Dr. Reid obviously have some sort of history, which doesn’t bother me, except that if they’re on friendly terms, it’s another incentive for her to spill my secrets.

Weird that she called him by a different name at first, though, if they’re so close.

I glance between the captain’s back at the kitchen sink and Ballga, watching me from her seat. Her cat eyes follow every pacing step I take. Every twitch of my fingers. They narrow to slits when my eyes linger on the captain. If I start a conversation with Mitchell, Granny Cat’s likely to consider it attempted seduction and flay me alive with those claws .

I sigh and collapse into the seat opposite Vince instead. I don’t trust the way he eyes me. I don’t trust him and that stupid flask. Something keeps nagging. Something he said when he and the captain argued over me was...

I shake my head. It hurts too much to dig too far into that godawful memory. And anyway, it’s not only Vince whose behaviour is unsettling.

I glance at Mitchell’s back again. Too nice. Too friendly with the doctor. At Ballga, still staring straight at me, yellow eyes unblinking. Back to Vince with his bullshit facade of indifference. Something’s off with everyone on this goddamn ship except Sam.

I lean forward, glaring at Vince. “There anything in that flask?”

He shakes the wood-and-metal container. Liquid sloshes. “Found the liquor cabinet.”

I stand up, move around the coffee table, and grab for the flask. Vince lets me take it.

Mitchell’s leaning against the counter, drying his hands with a dishcloth. His jaw clenches when I throw my head back and chug.

Ballga’s claws unsheathe. I slam the empty flask down on the coffee table and stand in front of Vince, arms crossed. Glaring at him .

He just smirks. He wasn’t planning on drinking that whiskey anyway. It’s nothing more than a prop. Instead of complaining that I downed his drink, he says, “You don’t need a boob job, but that spider shit is sexy as hell.”

My head buzzes faintly, but the reprieve won’t last. I roll my eyes. “Fuck you.”

He raises a thick brow. “That an offer? Thought you were a been-there-done-that kind of girl. Fuck and run, right?”

The pleather sofa I just vacated squeaks as Mitchell sits down, still holding the dishcloth. He says nothing, just glares daggers at Vince.

And I’m standing in the middle, caught between them again. I glance at Ballga, remember what she said about me playing the two against each other. Her hackles are spiked. She rises. Prowls a step toward us.

Vince glances at Mitchell, looks over his shoulder at Ballga, then rests his gaze on me. By the look in his eyes, I think he’s debating pulling me into his lap just to antagonize Mitchell.

Thankfully, he chooses the option less likely to end up with Granny Cat murdering us both. “Well, it’s awkward as hell in here. So…” He rises languidly, purposely putting his body in my space, and looks down at me. I refuse to give up ground. The way his gaze lingers on my mouth, I think he might try something monumentally stupid, but then he slides past, steps out of the sunken seating area, and saunters toward the door. He pu lls something from the pocket of his shirt. The spider dancer’s card. “I think I’ll attend to some personal business.” He salutes me and Mitchell with the card as he walks out the door.

Mitchell tosses the dishcloth onto the coffee table like he wishes it was a limb he’d ripped from Vince’s body, then looks at me. “God, I hope you reconsider working with that slimeball.”

“You two seemed all buddy-buddy when you were arguing with me about the cost of hack jobs.”

“He’s not an idiot, I’ll give him that. He’s clearly experienced.”

“In other words, I’m an idiot and inexperienced.”

“That’s not what I said. And it’s not what I meant.” Mitchell eyes me. “Don’t you care that he slept with you and not three days later he’s off to pay Spider Skank a visit?”

I can’t help grinning at Mitchell’s word choice. It’s something I would say. And I’m glad he isn’t into… whatever was offered earlier. He’s far too classy for a nude dancer, no matter how interesting her mods.

No, he’s more likely to go for a gorgeous, world-wise, intelligent physician who spends her time selflessly caring for veterans when she could be making quadruple doing vanity jobs for upper-crusters.

My grin morphs to a frown. The thought of Mitchell with Dr. Reid makes me far more jealous than the thought of him with a spider dancer. Because Dr. Reid, she’s someone Mitchell could want in a way he doesn’t want me. She’s someone he could love.

And I… I want that for him. After everything he told me about Alice, I want him to be happy. I want him to have someone. But I…

I bite my lip, trying to shove the feelings back under the bullshit blanket of lies.

But no. Fuck it. I give up.

I wish that someone could be me.

I wish I could be the one to make Mitchell happy.

Vince is right. I am that girl. I’ve always been that girl. Fuck and run. But Mitchell? He makes me wish I could be someone different. Someone who trusts, someone who stays. Someone capable of having a relationship.

But even if I weren’t so broken, even if I could somehow heal, even if I could make the captain magically attracted to me when he’s made it abundantly clear he’s not… I’d still be Mitchell’s enemy.

And if Doctor Reid can decipher my tracking chip, then Mitchell’s about to find that out.