Page 71 of Dustwalker

“Back? Were you a dancer there before?”

“Yeah. I tried, because I really wanted to help more. I liked dancing, so how hard could it be? Lasted a couple weeks before I walked out. Nobody kept their hands to themselves, and they didn’t give a shit about the humans getting felt up or the degrading things that were said.”

Ronin recalled what she’d told him when he had proposed their arrangement.

God damn it, I said I don’t do that anymore!

Those words made sense now. He should’ve known based on the way she’d moved the first time she’d danced for him, with the vitality leeched from her face and the light drained from her eyes—just like the women at Kitty’s.

Lara traced her fingers over his chest, sparking sensations throughout his sensors. “I knew how hard it was on Tabitha when I quit. I went out every day looking for scrap, but I never got much. She never said anything, never complained, but… It was on her face. The burden. She tried to hide it, but I knew. So, I…I went back to Kitty’s.”

She laughed. It was a hollow sound, devoid of humor. “Just my fucking luck thathewas there that night.”

Ronin’s processors blazed through stored data, collecting cryptic comments she’d made and slotting them into her story. They fit together neatly, like the pieces of a puzzle.

He forced himself to remain still. “Warlord.”

Her chin dipped in a shallow nod. “He offered me more credits than anyone ever had. For just an hour of my time, he said. I agreed because it would have been stupid not to. That amount of credits would’ve kept me and Tabitha fed for a month, at least. So, I followed him out the back door. It was dark, and quiet, and I…I froze. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”

Lara clenched her jaw, face pale, brow furrowed. Her eyes wereunfocused, as though she were watching the scene play out in her mind.

“I felt…sick,” she said, voice strained. “Knowing that I was going to trade the only thing that still belonged to me, the only thing I had any say over, for some plastic chips… I just felt so sick. So ashamed. Because Tabitha did it, but I just…couldn’t. I told him no, that I changed my mind. And he…hit me.”

The statement hung in the air, cold and heavy.

Ronin had spent most of his time in the Dust, roving from one violent encounter to the next. He’d been attacked by bots and men. In most cases, he’d ended his attackers. It had been survival, just as he’d once told her. But what Warlord had done to her… His existence hadn’t been endangered. His actions had been unjustified, unnecessary.

“I’ve been hit before, but never like that,” she continued. “I don’t know if I blacked out, or what, because when I opened my eyes, my clothes were torn away and he was there above me, looking pissed. He said, ‘I gave you a chance to make this easy, but you’re just like the rest of your kind. Untrustworthy, weak, spineless sacks of meat. So, I’m going to fuck you in the dirt, where you belong.’”

Her eyes glistened. “He held me down as he raped me, and every time I screamed or whimpered or made any damn sound, he hurt me more. There was pain. So much fucking pain. And he didn’t stop.”

Fire blazed along Ronin’s circuits, consuming him. It invaded his operating system, spiraling through his processors, growing larger and larger like a virus spreading to every file. This was rage like he’d never felt before. Like he’d never known possible.

When Lara blinked, tears rolled down her cheeks. “He kept me there for exactly an hour, and when he was done, he threw the chits on the ground and walked away. There was blood everywhere, and I could barely move. I lay there a long time before I dragged myself home. And, as sick as it made me, I took the credits. The night you brought me here…that was the first time I’ve been in the market since.”

What words of comfort could he offer her after what she’d experienced? Words couldn’t even begin to set such a thing right, couldn’t take away the memories and pain haunting her.

Already, he was running simulations, calculating probabilities, of a direct attack on Warlord. But even if there were a way to eliminate Cheyenne’s tyrannical ruler before his gearheads could intervene, it would not undo what had been done.

Ronin’s anger could not help Lara.

“I failed that night.” Her words hitched on a sob. “I failed my sister.”

More tears spilled onto his arm, dripping to the bedding below. Despite having every reason to hate Ronin for what he was, she lay back down and curled against him.

“Everyone has limits,” Ronin said, combing his fingers through her hair at the nape of her neck. “Everyone has lines they will not cross. You didn’t fail.”

He held her until she quieted, until her breathing slowed and evened out. Until she was asleep.

As slowly and carefully as he could, he withdrew his arm from beneath her and eased back. The temperature on the surface of his skin plummeted. Lara stirred, making a soft, indistinct sound in her throat, and nuzzled her cheek into the bedding.

She was no longer crying, but the skin around her eyes remained pink and irritated. Her lips were in a similar state thanks to the kisses they’d shared.

Even in sleep, she wasn’t still. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed fascinated him. Her breasts were so soft, so supple, and though their purpose was to provide nourishment to human young, she’d reacted strongly when he’d touched them. Especially her nipples. And he’d responded in turn. Touching her and experiencing her reactions had heightened his arousal beyond anything he’d ever felt. Nothing was as it seemed on the surface when it came to humans.

At least not with Lara Brooks.

He poured over nearly two centuries of memories, over the faces of hundreds of other females. Ronin had encountered many attractive humans, with only one true commonality between them—all had borne some mark left by the harshness of the world. For most, it had been in their eyes, a dullness, a distance, that suggested they were staring off at something unseen. It was a look that hadn’t been replicated by any of the many synths he’d come across, who were embodiments of physical perfection, possessing exact symmetry in their features and idealized proportions.