Hijacked by Lolita Lopez

Chapter Six

Relieved, Camila washed her hands and eyed her reflection in the mirror over the sink. That short nap had left her face puffy. Her hair was an absolute mess, and her skin was oily from all the running and fighting earlier. Wanting to feel clean again, she flipped the lock on the door and turned on the shower.

“Camila!” Her cyborg captor knocked on the door. “You can’t hide in there forever.”

“I’m taking a shower!” she shouted indignantly. “Unless you need to come in here and watch me do that, warden?”

“Be quick about it.”

“Be quick about it,” she repeated, mimicking his voice and rolling her eyes. “Be quick about this,” she groused and flipped him off. “Jerk.”

She deliberately took her time in the shower, washing and conditioning her hair and applying a mask to nourish her strands. She exfoliated every inch of skin and wasted as much time as possible. She didn’t care if she was inconveniencing him. His presence on her ship was an inconvenience.

And, why, exactly had he and his band of criminals hijacked her ship? Out of all the thousands of ships streaking through space why this one? What was their endgame? Did they really intend to use her for ransom? Or were they going to use her as leverage to ensure their safety?

As she pondered those questions, she dried off and wound a quick-dry towel around her hair. She slipped into her robe and unlocked the door. When she stepped out of the bathroom, Camila expected to find him hovering by the door. Instead, she found him sitting on the edge of her bed, his head in hands, looking exhausted and defeated.

Her ire toward him faded as she tried to comprehend what he had been through in the last few days. Arrested. Tried. Sentenced to hard labor on Tyurma. Branded. Almost blown up in space. That kind of stress would break even the strongest person. Even after all their fighting and arguing, she didn’t think he was cruel at heart. He was a man with his back against the wall, trying to save himself and the people who counted on him.

“Why did you hijack my ship?”

Seeming surprised by her question, he lifted his head. His eyes widened at the sight of her in a robe. He swallowed hard, and she almost laughed at the scandalized look on his face. Glancing away, he said, “You need to get dressed.”

“After you tell me why you hijacked my ship,” she bargained.

“Because it was the first one to cross our path,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Now. Please. Put on some clothing.”

“You are the first man who has ever told me to put my clothes back on.” She dramatically frowned at him. “Honestly, I’m a little offended.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, obviously missing her joke. “I do not—.” He halted. “I am unused to sharing quarters with a woman, and I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

“If you didn’t want to make me uncomfortable, you shouldn’t have hijacked my ship,” she replied, heading for the closet. The door slid open as she approached, and she stepped inside to pick out something to wear. Considering how strange he was about her body and his reaction to it, she decided to be kind and pick an outfit that covered all of her. She selected one of her comfiest lounge sets and a pair of panties but no bra. When it came to a bra, she wouldn’t compromise. She hated the damn things.

“We had a good reason,” Misko stated when she emerged fully dressed.

“For?”

“Hijacking your ship.”

“Oh.”

“We fled the prison transport ship with women and children,” he continued, now rubbing his forehead as if in pain. “Our shuttle was low on power, and the life support system wasn’t calibrated for the number of bodies we packed into the ship. If we hadn’t hijacked your yacht, we would have died.”

She couldn’t fault him for that. Even so, she insisted, “You could have asked for our help. We wouldn’t have turned you away.”

He scoffed and gestured toward the brand on his face. “We’re criminals. The emperor won’t stop until he kills every last one of us, our families included.”

“And I’ve told you how I feel about the emperor,” she replied. Thinking on what he had said, she asked, “Is your family on the ship?”

“My brothers,” he said. “Andro and Branko.”

She couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose at their names. “Your mom really had a thing for names ending in ‘O’, huh?”

His lips settled into an irritated line. “Are you making fun of my mother?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I’m just teasing.”

He frowned. “I can’t always tell. I’m not good at understanding nuance. It’s a problem among my kind.”

“Not all of you,” she said, thinking of other cyborgs she had known. “I used to visit a bar near the main base that had always had cyborgs mixed in among the crowd. They were lots of fun, especially on sing-along night!” She plopped down beside him and started tugging on a pair of non-slip socks she usually wore when following her barre class workouts. “One time, two squads of cyborgs crashed our annual mixer with the Sovereigns. Those rich pricks had no idea what they were up against! I’m pretty sure the cyborg record for crowns still stands.”

“I have absolutely no idea what any of that means,” he said with a shake of his head.

“You didn’t go to university?”

“I went straight from secondary school to the military. Two years after joining, I applied and was accepted to the cyborg corps and had my transition.”

“Oh.” She studied him. His strange behavior made sense. He probably hadn’t ever had a wild night of drinking and debauchery. “Well,” she said with a prim sigh and turned to sit cross-legged on the bed to see him better. “I was part of a sorority, the Patrician Society. Our brother fraternity was the Sovereign Brotherhood. Every year, our two houses would throw a mixer, a party. At that party, there is lots of drinking and dancing and revelry.”

“I see.”

“Crowns is a game where you take a crown coin,” she touched her forefinger to her thumb in an estimation of the size, “and you bounce it off a table. If it lands in the shot glass in the center of the table, the other team has to drink. Needless to say, your cyborg brethren wiped the floor with the Sovereigns.”

He digested all of that information. Eventually, he said, “I am absolutely sure that was against every single regulation in our military’s code of conduct.”

“I’m sure it was,” she agreed with a laugh. Suddenly, a sobering thought struck her. “Jennevieve.”

His brow furrowed. “Who is Jennevieve?”

“She was my little.” She caught his confused look and explained, “Older girls in the sorority take one or two younger girls under their wings. We look after them and call them our little sisters or littles.”

“Like a mentor?”

“Pretty much.” A wave of sadness and worry engulfed Camila. “Last year, Jenny married one of the cyborgs we met at that mixer. I was a bridesmaid,” she added, offhand. “She just had a baby boy a few weeks ago. I was planning to go visit after my vacation.” Her stomach churned as she imagined Jenny and her little baby on that prison ship. “Do you think she was on that ship? Do you think Hadron was on it?”

“I don’t know,” he said carefully. “It is likely.”

“But maybe not?” she asked, desperate for a reason to hope.

“If she was connected politically, she may have been shielded from the emperor’s arrest orders. We heard of some families making it off of Kirs before they could be taken into custody.”

“But Hadron? Her husband? Do you think he managed to escape?”

Misko hesitated. “It would be highly unlikely.”

Camila let that sink in for a moment. Furious anger burned away the sadness. “I hate Shui.”

“You and me both.”

Thinking of Jenny and her baby and Hadron, Camila swore, “I’ll do whatever it takes to help you get those women and children to safety.”

“Careful,” he warned. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I do,” she assured him.

He nodded. “Very well.”

They sat side by side for a few moments of companionable silence. Wanting to know more about him, she asked, “What’s it like?”

“What is what like?”

“Being you,” she gestured toward him. “Having metal bones and processors in your brain.”

“I don’t have metal bones,” he corrected. “I have metal plating over my bones and reinforced tendons and musculature.”

She rolled her eyes and waved her hand. “Details, schmetails.”

“To answer your question, I’m not sure how to explain it,” he admitted. “I can hardly remember what it was like to not be enhanced.”

She pouted. “Well, you’re no fun! I mean—I know you have amplified senses, right?”

“Yes.”

“So—like—can you smell the chemicals in a bomb from two miles away or hear terrorists whispering from the other side of the city?”

He snorted and laughed, the sound making her heart do that silly flip again. “No.”

“Really?” she asked, disappointed.

“Really,” he confirmed. “There are some of my kind who have upgrades like that,” he clarified, “but they’re specialized. In my case, I have more standard upgrades in those areas. Although, I suppose compared to your natural biological hearing and sight my abilities would seem extraordinary.”

“Wow, you are so humble.” She poked him playfully, and he tensed. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he said. “Far from it.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t touch you like that. It’s a bad habit. I’m touchy-feely.”

“Is that an official diagnosis?”

She grinned and smacked his shoulder. “Look at you! Making a joke!”

“I am capable of making jokes. I simply choose not to most of the time,” he replied. “My brother, Branko, on the other hand...”

“Is the difference in cyborg personalities part of the enhancement process or does it come down to how you were before the procedures?”

“Generally, yes,” he said with a nod. “I was always more serious, quiet. The process of implanting our chips causes some injury to certain areas of the brain. Typically, these heal without issue, especially once the nanobots get to work. Some of our responses—emotional and social—tend to be blunted. Muted,” he explained. “In my case, the areas where my implants were placed didn’t heal as well as expected. It makes it more difficult for me to behave in what you would probably describe as a normal way.”

His description of his transformation left her wondering if that was why he acted so embarrassed earlier when he had an erection. Never one to shy away from tough questions, she asked, “Does that extend to your personal life?”

“My personal life?”

“Sex.”

His gaze jumped from her face to the far wall. The tips of his ears turned red, and a splash of color crept above the collar of his uniform. “In what way?”

“You described things as feeling muted. Does that extend to orgasms?”

“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “I don’t engage in those activities.”

“Oh,” she said, finally understanding. “So, you’re ace?”

He tore his gaze away from whatever was so interesting on the wall to look at her. “What is ace?”

“Asexual.”

He glowered. “No.”

“Oh.” She shrank back, realizing her misstep. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” he assured her, but she didn’t believe him. “I am not asexual. Not by choice, at least.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the damage from the insertion of my implants included my sexual response and receptors,” he explained in a calmer manner than she would have ever been able to employ if the tables had been turned. “I have wanted to feel those things, but I could not feel those things—until today.”

“Today?” she asked, surprised. “Why today?”

“I was electrocuted during the escape.” He touched his head. “Somehow, that jolt of electricity reset my brain or jarred something loose. I’m not sure what exactly happened, but I can feel. And,” he sighed, “it’s confusing.”

“I bet it is,” she agreed, trying to imagine going years and years without feeling arousal and then suddenly having feelings of desire running wild in her brain and body. “It must be like waking up one day with the ability to see color after a lifetime in black and white.”

“Yes!” He breathed out a sound of relief. “Thank you! That’s it exactly.”

“So, earlier, when we were grappling on the floor and you...” She gestured to his lap. “That’s why you jumped up and apologized?”

“I would have removed myself and apologized regardless. It was wrong of me to make you feel threatened like that.”

“I didn’t feel threatened,” she said, gently touching his surprisingly warm arm. “I was surprised—and curious,” she admitted.

His gaze snapped to hers. “Curious?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. There was a moment there. A connection. Or a glimmer of one, at least.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers.”

“Why would I eat crackers in bed?” he asked, his brow scrunched in confusion.

She laughed. “You wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t. It’s unsanitary.”

“Yes,” she said, patting his hand. “It is.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I missed something again.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She thought about how much he had missed in his life from the damage caused by his implants. “Do they warn you about that risk before they take you into the program?”

“They do, but most of us are young and patriotic and dream of being a member of an elite team so we sign away without truly understanding what the risks are.”

“Do you regret it?”

He seemed surprised by my question. “No.”

“Not even after what the emperor did to you and your brothers and all the cyborg families?”

He shook his head. “I made the choice to join the ranks because I believed in the mission. I still believe in that mission, in protecting humanity, the people of Kirs. The emperor is a separate issue to me. Frankly, being a cyborg means I have a better chance of saving those women and children we rescued. So, for that alone, I don’t regret it.”

She tilted her head and studied him with a soft and slightly sad smile on her face. “I wish we had met differently. I think we could have been really good friends.”

“We could still be friends,” he pointed out.

“You’re my captor.”

“I don’t have to be,” he said. “Not if you want to help us. You could be our ally.”

“You trust me to be your ally?”

He nodded without hesitation. “I’m generally a good judge of character. You strike me as a wholesome, kind-hearted woman.” He glanced around the cabin. “Perhaps a bit vain and materialistic.”

“Hey!” She flicked his upper arm. “That’s rude!”

“But not untrue.”

She frowned. “I take it back. We’re not friends.”

He placed his hand over his heart. “My apologies.”

“Oh, sure,” she replied sarcastically. “I bet.”

They shared friendly smiles, and she was struck by how much younger and relaxed he look after simply sitting next to her and talking. Something in his eyes shifted as they smiled at each other, and she felt the impossible to ignore pull between them. Like an invisible string, it tugged them closer. She wasn’t sure who moved first. She thought it was him, but maybe he was just faster at responding to her cue.

When his lips touched hers, she whimpered at the heat and urgency. His big hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her still damp hair. His mouth was untested, unsure, as he kissed her. Not wanting him to feel restrained by his lack of experience, she let him dictate the pace, perfectly happy to exchange soft, chaste kisses.

He grew bolder when she gripped the front of his uniform. His tongue flicked at the seam of her mouth, and she made a kittenish sound as she opened her lips. Their tongues touched, and he shuddered, his hand tightening in her hair. The other hand slid to her hip, drawing her closer, and she wound her arms around his shoulders.

I’m kissing a cyborg who hijacked my ship. I’m kissing a man who tied me to a bed.

And it felt perfect.

It felt right.

It felt as if she had been stumbling around in the dark, waiting for this man, this cyborg, to turn on the light so she could finally see.

The hand on her hip moved to her bottom, and she gasped against his mouth. He groaned, the sound so rough and desperate, and she felt a clenching ache deep in her core. The pressure of his hand silently guided her to move closer, and she shifted on the bed so she could straddle him.

The chime of an incoming message interrupted their wild passionate kisses. She growled with annoyance, and he jerked back, his gaze tracking somewhere over her shoulder. It suddenly dawned on her that he was receiving some kind of communication via the link some cyborgs shared.

With speed that shocked her, he lifted her from his lap and deposited her onto the bed. “I have to go.”

“What’s wrong?”

Misko didn’t have to answer. A gruff voice overrode the privacy setting on her cabin’s incoming message system and said, “The crew is attempting a breakout and mutiny.”

Her blood ran cold. She shot to her feet and ran after Misko as he darted for the door. “Wait! Please!”

He paused and waited for her to continue. “Yes?”

“Don’t kill them,” she begged, tears of panic spilling from her eyes. “Please! They’re good people. Some of them have been in my family’s service longer than I've been alive.” She grabbed his hands. “Please. Please. Don’t hurt them.”

He wavered. “I will try not to bring harm to your crew.”

She suspected that was the best she would get and nodded tearfully. “Thank you.”

“Stay here,” he ordered in a commanding tone.

“Yes, sir,” she answered automatically.

His green eyes flashed at that, and then he was gone, rushing out of her cabin and leaving her to wonder why his command made her body shiver with desire. She pressed her thighs together and tried not to imagine him giving her commands to do other things, naughtier things, decadent things.

But thoughts of Captain Jantus and the crew tossed cold water on her amorous musings. If Misko hurt them, she would not forgive him or accept him back into her arms. There were some lines that couldn’t be crossed, even for a cyborg who made her heart race and her body tremble.

Refusing to let the worst happen, Camila ignored Misko’s command to stay here in her cabin. She walked straight to the hidden safe room and shifted aside the picture frame to reveal the retina scanner. Once she unlocked the room, the wall of shelves quickly slid down into the floor. She stepped into the safe room and tapped the control panel to make sure the shelves wouldn’t slide back into place and begin the lockdown security protocol.

She hesitated before using her thumbprint to unlock the weapon case mounted on the wall. The sight of her father’s latest weapon, a violently powerful particle beam rifle, made her gulp. She had fired it only once—and had then promptly vomited from the sheer horror it inflicted. In a blip, an entire ox had vaporized, leaving behind only a fine spray of bloody mist.

Not intending to use the gun her father had nicknamed the Vaporizer, she made sure the double safeties were engaged before taking it out of the case. It was deceptively light for its size, making it easy to carry as she ran toward the door of her cabin. Holding the weapon close, she peeked out into the corridor. Finding it empty, she stepped out of her room and fled toward the elevator.

Knowing Misko was going to be furious with her, she tapped the touchpad with a shaking finger. She hoped he would understand what she was doing and why. For once in her life, she was putting others before herself.