Chapter Five

Her motivation for lying didn’t eliminate the complication; he’d still gotten saddled with a nuisance, but his anger deflated. He understood what it was like to have someone rich and powerful control your fate. Someone maleficent but with a reputation and public image of beneficence.

A cyborg created and owned by Solutions, Inc., a murder-for-hire company founded by and serving the deep state, he’d been forced to do their bidding—kill on command. He’d been assured he’d been performing a public service by ridding society of the dregs of humanity, and most targets were irrefutably bad people, but many others weren’t so clear cut.

He knew something about the Dorns Verity didn’t. They were clients of Solutions. He hadn’t worked on any of their jobs, but he knew others who had. You didn’t cross Nancy and Hakeem. They smiled in public, threw money at social justice causes, and sharpened the knife in private. Nobody cared or dared to probe behind the public facade .

Verity’s instincts had been dead-on. The Dorns would have anticipated she’d attempt to flee and would have monitored every mode of transportation. A mother traveling alone with a young child would have been flagged. She would have been apprehended before she could set foot on a hoverbus, let alone a spacecraft. Her attempt to flee would have been used against her in court.

She was damn lucky they’d only pursued litigation. If not for the Chicago mayoral massacre forcing the company to temporarily deactivate its cyborg line, Nancy and Hakeem might have sought an alternative solution to a court battle.

If she got sent back to Earth, they still might. It was only a matter of time before Solutions reactivated its assassin detail.

Sheet-white with fear, she appeared like she might pass out at any moment.

“I won’t break our contract,” he said. “But at the end of the probationary year, I intend to use the escape clause and then apply for another wife.”

Her entire body relaxed. “Thank you.”

Now would be the perfect time to reveal his omission, but she looked like she couldn’t handle much more. After all she’d done to protect her child, finding out she’d been matched to an assassin would not bring her peace of mind. That his killing days were over would offer little solace. She might decide to battle it out in court with the Dorns instead of remaining on Refuge, which could lead to the revocation of Fury’s sanctuary.

She had nothing to fear from him. The kid would be a huge nuisance, but Fury would never harm him. Targeting children was a line cyborgs did not cross. Solutions didn’t know it, but the cyborgs had taken an oath to end their own lives before they would hurt a child. The few exceptions had been pariahs among their own kind.

However, that didn’t mean he wished to have a child around who would claim her attention. He couldn’t compete with that, especially since he didn’t wish to compete at all. Call it selfish, possessive, but he wanted a wife for himself.

Never having had parents, Fury had never known a mother’s love, but he’d observed the strength of the bond from afar. In his rare introspective moments, he sometimes wondered if he’d craved the adoration of a wife because he’d never experienced a mother’s tender care. But he wasn’t seeking a mommy—not considering what he’d hoped to do with his wife .

Verity had made it plain she expected a marriage of convenience. Her sole reason for applying to Cosmic Mates had been to ensure safety for her offspring. At least one of us got what we wanted.

This would be a sexually frustrating year.

She rubbed her neck. “Um, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to shower and turn in. It’s been a long day.”

She did look exhausted, but the dark circles around her eyes and her messy hair transformed her beauty into something fragile, ethereal. She was still the most stunning woman he’d ever seen, and, if not for the boy, she would have been his. But the setback is only a year. Then I can try again.

“That’s fine,” he said. What else could he say?

* * * *

He stoked up the stove to ensure they’d have heat through the night and went to take his shower. Upon exiting the bath, on impulse, he peeked into the kid’s room. Covers kicked off, the boy sprawled facedown, one scrawny arm clutching a stuffed toy Fury surmised was an alien. None of the extraterrestrials he’d met resembled anything close to that toy.

The kid claimed every centimeter of the smallest bed Fury had ever seen. He could envision him outgrowing it in a year or two .

We won’t be together then.

He padded into the room and re-covered the boy with the blanket then tiptoed out.

Like mother, like son. Verity sprawled across the bed in the master, taking up more than her share of the mattress. He shed his shirt, leaving his pants on, and squeezed into the sliver of space she’d left him. Dead to the world, she didn’t so much as twitch as his much-heavier frame rocked the mattress.

He used the opportunity to study her. Dark hair formed a cloud around a delicate heart-shaped face. In repose—or perhaps because of their talk—her pinched expression had vanished, relaxing into serenity. Her left hand rested on her pillow. She had pretty hands, slender fingers like a pianist, the nails clipped short.

He inhaled. She smelled…wonderful. Like vanilla cookies and a womanly sensual aroma. He’d never noticed the scent of a woman. Or maybe none of them had smelled as good as she did. Or he hadn’t cared enough to notice. The one-night stands he’d grabbed between missions had been fleeting encounters no more significant or memorable than scratching his balls.

He reached out and wound a curl of silky auburn hair around his finger .

I waited so long for you, and you’re still not mine.

Disappointment and a sense of loss stabbed in his gut, but he couldn’t bring himself to repudiate her, and really, his reasons had little to do with losing asylum. Surprisingly, he empathized. He couldn’t abandon her to face the Dorns and a battle she was destined to lose. She’d be lucky to come out of it alive.

He’d never had to choose between right and wrong, between serving himself or serving others. He’d only had to follow orders. Shouldn’t doing the right thing feel better than this? People said doing the right thing was its own reward.

They’re fucking morons.

I’m the biggest moron.

Gently, he covered her hand. Her skin was soft and smooth, her bones slender. He hadn’t intended to sleep, but somehow oblivion claimed him.