Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
All that was a no-go, so Daniel was making other plans. Staring into the face of the steel soldier, he began to do mental gymnastics involving risk management and the execution of strategies—all of it so spinningly manic, too manic to truly be effective. Then again, his brain had been centrifuging out even before he came here to try to do something that made a difference.
“Daniel?”
He shook himself back to attention and stared into those whiskey-colored eyes he loved so much. “I really want you to leave here.”
“Not unless you come with me.”
Her words were spoken softly, but they landed like a holler—because he wanted to talk sense into her. He was almost out of time. She had her whole life ahead of her. Their situation was already a tragedy—the last thing they needed was her getting herself killed in the middle of this mess they didn’t create, couldn’t escape. And yeah, sure, from a physical strength perspective, he probably needed to go to safety before she did, but he was hungry for an enemy he could fight.
He might be weak physically, but he could still hold a gun. And bullets worked against these cyborg fuckers if you had enough in your magazine.
“I’m not leaving,” he said remotely as he stared at all the metal and wires.
“And that’s one of the many reasons I love you.”
“Because I’m stupid?”
“Because you don’t run.”
At that, Lydia leaned into him and stroked her hand over his head. Then she kissed him. And kissed him again.
“And I’m staying, too,” she whispered against his mouth.
With the rushing buzz of Jack Daniel’s on an empty gut, a sudden surge of energy raced through him, and he pulled her in against his chest. Searching her face, with the warmth of her body registering against his own, he cursed. The idea that her vitality, her life-force, would be anywhere near one of those killing machines? He felt like shitting himself.
And that made the anger in him threaten to boil over.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
He couldn’t wait to get her away from the fucking vault, and when they were on the far side of the lead-lined cylindrical coffin, he shut the heavy panel with relief that struck him as shortsighted. She was right to worry about the unit waking up. He was worried, too—even though he’d now seen with his own two eyes that the lithium battery was compromised, and so was the circuitry that ran up the back of the neck into the CPU.
But more were coming for them. And the fight was going to be brutal because they were just that deadly.
According to Rubik, when the guy had designed the robots, he’d decided not to try to improve on one of Mother Nature’s miracles of invention: After five million years of evolution, with the process of natural selection solving problems left and right, why, the guy had said, would he reinvent such a functional platform? And then there was the advantage of it appearing to be a human.
Fit in well. Confuse the enemy.
Rubik had four units that he was working with, refining, testing. So all of his were accounted for. But someone, clearly from his program, had leaked the plans—as well as the sources of materials and know-how, including the propriety formulation of the skin and the programming of the CPU.
The loose lips was a big problem for the secret program, but it was not Daniel’s concern—and all things considered, it was nice to turf anything off to someone else. He also told himself that in claiming his favor, he’d done the man a favor in return. Rubik had had no idea that he had an independent actor on his ship.
“We’ll figure something out,” he murmured. Mostly to himself.
Putting an arm around Lydia’s shoulders, he drew her against him, and as they walked down to their bedroom, he tried to ignore the fact that he was split in half, only part of him with her, by her. The tactician in him was churning with defensive ideas and plans for the attack that was coming—maybe tonight, maybe at dawn. Maybe at twelve noon—maybe at three p.m.…
As they arrived at the foyer, he glanced over his shoulder. In that statue alcove across from the front entry, the guard standing at attention, so fit and strong, was a grim reminder that, sure-shot trigger fingers aside, the reality was he really only had thoughts to contribute to an effort he was not welcome to participate in for so many reasons.
He was totally on the sidelines, and not just of any attack, but of everything that mattered…
Regardless of what he’d promised to C.P. about going after Gus’s abductor.
Regardless of the vow he’d made to himself.
Yet here he was, a husk on fire with aggression that could go nowhere, the burn in his veins making his blood rush… a savage hunger enlivening him. This was not the healthy stuff, not the measured focus and determination to get to a goal. What he had now was the unhinged drive of combat, conflict, war.