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AX2 blinks as the panicked thought bubbles up from the most primitive parts of his brainstem.
He woulddie.
Just as surely as his chip would have ended him if he’d managed to take her life, his broken biology won’t allow him to live if she is killed by someone else’s hand.
An odd sort of elation mixes with the instinctive terror the thought of her death forces through his system. If she dies, his tormented existence will finally end.
As if disturbed by his thoughts, she stirs in the backseat, waking fully as the car comes to a stop in front of the steps leading to the double front doors.
“We’re home, sweetheart,” her mother murmurs. “Safe and sound.”
Her daughter chuffs a breath through her nose, but doesn’t word the uncertainty making their bond tight behind his ribs. She doesn’t feel safe.
When she reaches for the door handle, he’s moving before he’s decided to, exiting the car to double-check that the house is indeed secure. For her.
“Oh!” Mrs. Thompson makes a small, startled noise when he scales the facade of the old estate, intent on the roof.
“Leave him to it, dear. He’s bringing his new mate to an unfamiliar place—he’s going to be on edge for a bit.” Despite the somber drive, there’s now a smile in General Thompson’s voice.Hefeels safe here, AX2 realizes, in his own domain that he has personally ensured is secure.
But his daughter doesn’t share his sentiment, and even if part of AX2 wants Russian agents to swarm out of the damn house and murder her on the spot, his instincts won’t allow him to let her feel unsafe.
The roof is free of threats, and he jumps down the three stories, landing in front of the door with a dullthunkbefore his mate can reach for the handle.
She startles at his sudden appearance, a small huff escaping her lungs, and when he pushes in front of her to block her access, she narrows her eyes in warning.
AX2 ignores her and opens the door, ensuring he’s shielding her body with his own.
Warm light radiates out from within, and when he steps inside, faint traces of food, cut flowers, and domestic cleaning agents curl in his nostrils.
He’s been in houses like this on many of his missions, but the contrast to the cold light and stench of bleach in the compound where he’s lived for the past three years is still sharp. Grand and ostentatious as this house might be, it’s a home.
AX2 doesn’t wait for permission. He walks across polished wood floors and expensive rugs, scanning for threats.
There are none to be found on the ground level, and though his bond twangs unpleasantly at the separation from his female, he moves to the first floor to continue his patrol.
While the ground floor houses the communal areas, the first floor is dedicated to the family’s private rooms. He knows the instant he steps into her space, even if there is little to differentiate the layout from the four guest rooms he has already secured.
Herscent.
AX2 falters for a moment, stunned by the intimate sensation of her essence wrapping around his body and floating into his nostrils. It’s not fresh, and he knows immediately that she hasn’t spent time here for a few months, but… the layers of it run deep, stretching back years. This was her childhood room. This is where she grew up.
Became a monster.
It’s startling to think of her as a child. An innocent. Startling and unwelcome.
He moves around her room, checking the closet, air vents, light fixtures—any place a foreign object might be hidden. Nothing shows up until a floorboard squeaks under his weight. Frowning, he pushes the rug covering it out of the way with a foot and crouches to investigate.
The edges of the board are ever so slightly worn, suggesting frequent disturbance. When he pries it up, it comes easily.
Years of dust covers the items filling the cavity below.
AX2 brushes his fingers over them, and chuffs through his nose at the uncovered treasure.
Glass marbles; a number of sticks; a rock with a hole through it. A diary decorated with horses and protected by a flimsy lock. A tarnished silver pendant in the shape of a heart; several cut-out pictures of a young man that look like they come from multiple magazines; a folded piece of paper from a “Steve” with terrible penmanship, asking if she wants to be his girlfriend. The checkbox labeled “no” has been ticked, but the note is still safely tucked away among every little trinket the girl who grew up in this room deemed important enough to keep hidden.
AX2 thumbs an old coin that looks like it spent some time buried in soil before it made it to this hidey-hole. How can this be who she was? How can a girl who saw value in a rock with a hole, who kept a diary adorned with horses, have grown up and become someone who implants microchips into men’s brains and tortures them into obedience?
He eyes the diary again, hesitating for a moment before he plucks it from the dust and shoves it into a pocket in his cargo pants.
