Page 2 of Jump or Fall

Mara

A cross the hall from her office was the fitting room, which featured a floor-to-ceiling black glass window, flooding the space with natural light.

The walls showcased an array of samples—helmets, pauldrons, and chestplates—while a dedicated section held the soft armors and gave it the appearance of a high-end clothing boutique.

Her new client, Jasper, stood examining a helmet. “What’s with the eye on this one?”

Goosebumps prickled across her arms.

Only a voice. There was no reason to get anxious.

She stepped closer to see which he meant. “That is our God’s Eye helmet. It has advanced thermal imaging and scope capabilities. The eye provides an expanded field of vision available through the heads-up display.”

Jasper nodded, still staring.

He was young—early twenties at the most and had bleach-blond hair with dark roots near his scalp. His cool beige complexion and sharp features were familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. Regardless, something about him made her uneasy. Maybe she could reassign him to her apprentice, Asher.

“Well, I’m Mara,” she said. “I’ll be making your suit. My notes say you’re an enforcer recruit. ”

That was probably it—he was a Silver. There was always at least one in every enforcer squad. They were like a secret force, monitoring everything.

Jasper pushed his hair back. “Yeah, I gotta go get my head shaved after this too.” His eyes found her and scanned thoroughly. “Are all you tailors this hot, or am I just lucky?”

She stared blankly at him. If he was a Silver, he was a stupid one. Good thing he had no say in the specifications of his suit since it was a uniform. The less time she had to spend with him, the better.

“Go ahead and stand on the platform over there so I can start your measurements.”

With a click of his tongue, he sauntered over and hopped up onto the platform.

“Please stretch your arms straight out to the sides,” she instructed.

He complied, a wry smile across his lips.

As she scanned him with the tablet, he asked, “Just gonna ignore my question?”

“The attractiveness of my colleagues is not for me to comment on.”

“You’re pretty stuck up for a Silver bitch.”

Mara lowered the tablet and stepped away. Heat crept up her neck as each word chipped at her composed facade.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” she said mechanically. “Your suit should be ready for a fitting next week. Good luck with your training.”

Jasper jumped down from the platform and closed the distance between them. “Relax, I’m just messing around. Don’t be shy, I bet you’ve got a few stripes. Why don’t you let me see one?”

He reached out to tug down the collar of her shirt, but she slapped his hand away.

The corner of his mouth curled up into a mischievous smile. “Oh, I don’t think you're supposed to hit your clients. But maybe you can make it up to me. ”

He took a step forward, boxing her in against the wall with a hand on either side of her head. The heat of his body pressed in, making her skin crawl.

“Step away from me.” She tried to sound firm, but the command rang hollow.

He brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes, making her tense and jerk her head away.

Breathe. Just breathe.

“How’d you get this job, anyway?” he asked. “You’re older than I thought, and Silver bitches don’t usually last long.” His eyes trailed down her body. “And you must be one if you look this good. There’s no way we'd let a pretty thing like you slip by.”

“I’m the Master Tailor and I've earned this position,” she argued. “Please refrain from touching me.”

“Yeah, I bet.” He snickered. “He must be important since you’re freezing me out like this. Your Silver doesn’t have to know.”

Jasper reached for her arm, but she shoved him back and drove a fist into his jaw. Pain shot through her hand as she hurtled away.

He caught her wrist and twisted it to pin it behind her back.

“Stop!” she pleaded, trying to wrench herself free.

His grip only tightened, the pain going deep into her muscles.

Stop fighting. You’re making it worse.

She couldn’t. There was something about him that she hated to the core.

His hand clamped over her mouth. She sank her teeth into the heel of his palm.

“Ah! Bitch!”

Before he could retaliate, a gritty voice cut through the commotion.

“Enough.”

He released her so suddenly that her knee slammed onto the floor, sending pain radiating up her leg. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts as she got back to her feet .

Jasper’s face had turned pale, his cocky persona gone.

Dawson crossed the room, slowly with his hands behind his back. He stopped in front of her, his cold, gray eyes taking her in. “Mara, I see you’ve met my nephew.” His face darkened as he turned to Jasper. “Leave—and make sure you don’t slip up with anyone else here.”

Jasper darted out of the fitting room, leaving her alone with the man who kept an entire city under his metal thumb.

Mara tried to steady herself. Punishment was coming. Hitting a member of his family would be inexcusable. It didn’t matter what had started it.

Dawson looked down at her with a blank expression. His soft armor suit was different from the one in the news report. Both sets had been made by her. The smell of his cologne and aftershave mingled together, creating a knot in her stomach.

“My nephew is new and doesn’t always know what is and isn’t his to play with.” He let the words hang in the air before adding, “He will learn.”

Gently, he tilted her chin up. If he wasn’t such a monster, he wouldn’t be bad looking—maybe even attractive.

The years had been generous to him and the lines around his eyes weren’t as pronounced as the average man in his late forties.

Only a few grays grew along the sides of his head, adding texture to his almost black hair.

A claw emerged from his index finger, gleaming under the light.

“You know this means another stripe.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I know,” she answered quietly.

He retracted the claw and grinned. He dragged his thumb down her cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of her throat.

Her jaw clenched. Jasper had been right about one thing—she had already been caught .

She fell to her knees and unclasped his belt. The soreness from hitting the floor and the harsh grip on her wrist would be gone shortly. All she had to do was step out of her skin.

Counting threads.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

How many colors did Araflex come in?

Five.

The numbers were easy. Mara needed to go over the synth-minds, something useful.

It was a major breakthrough—a technology that could be programmed into the suits to make up for delayed reaction time.

She had spent over a year developing it with data gathered from the current suits and security feeds from around the city.

She let herself disappear into the details, clinging to the calculations and possibilities.

A rhythmic sensation interrupted her focus on the sample she needed to test on her desk.

Reconnect.

She forced her eyes open. It was his finger tapping her cheek.

Dawson pulled her back up by her bruised wrist and kissed her. His teeth scraped across her bottom lip as his tongue darted into her mouth.

Unease trickled down her spine. Usually, that was all he wanted from her at work.

He unbuttoned her blouse with surprising precision, then slid it from her shoulders. The garment fell to the floor as he rotated her to face away from him.

“I wish you wouldn’t keep making me do this,” he said with a quiet tsk.

His thumb pressed against the birth control implant in her arm to confirm its presence. Then, with the tip of a claw, he traced the dozens of horizontal scars across her back.

Stripes. Punishment doled out by the Silvers for everything from annoying one, to petty crimes and serious offenses.

Starting from the upper back, the cuts descended as more were added.

If there wasn’t much space left, or the Silver was feeling generous, they’d cut the back of the arm.

The rich usually had the option to pay a bribe in lieu of a stripe.

But not Mara. No amount of money could keep Dawson’s claws away from her.

“Where shall we put the next one, doll?” His lips brushed against her neck. The smell of him thick in the air around her.

Silence was always the smartest option.

She locked onto the wall of helmets, settling on her favorite creation—the God’s Eye.

A triquetra symbol on the front framed a single lens embedded where the arcs met at the center, positioned like a third eye.

The eye was filled with advanced sensory tech and designed to integrate the predictive synth-minds, making it possible to act before the target even moved.

The ability to see the enemy’s actions before they happened could be the difference between life and death.

Dawson eased his hand around her throat and pulled her against his hard chest.

Count the helmets.

“This time,” he murmured against her ear, “give me a little fight. Seeing the old Mara brought back fond memories.”

She reached up and clawed at his grip as his fingers tightened.

She fought for air, nails digging into his hand. Stars formed in her vision.

Count the helmets.

One. Two. Three.

Disconnect.

***

Sluggish thoughts and sensations.

Toes. Feet. Legs.

Fingers. Hands. Arms.

Reconnect.

Nose. Mouth. Face.

It was taking longer than normal.

Muffled voices drifted around her, indistinct, instructing someone to take her home.

A car. She climbed inside.

Mara glanced in the bag next to her.

Her bag.

Good, her tablet was inside. Had she remembered to grab it? Maybe someone else had. At least her secret tablet was safely at home.

Home. That was close.

Dawson’s car. The familiar sights and scents.

He's watching.

Mara's attention drifted to the driver in the rearview mirror.

Max. Beady brown eyes fixed on her.

She rolled her neck, trying to work out the stiffness. Then she flexed her fingers and observed the bruise across her knuckles. If the soreness in her limbs was anything to go by, it was hardly the only one.

A faint itch along her sides caught her attention. Dried blood.

Dawson must have cut her again.

Why couldn’t that count as the stripe? It didn’t happen often, and the cuts were rarely deep, but he still drew blood.

Max remained locked on her. How could he even focus on the road?

“Getting a good look,” she said dully, “or do you just get off on listening?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “I don't see any silver on your fingers. Are you going to be his bitch forever?”

Max chuckled. “At least I don’t have to suck anyone’s dick to keep my job. ”

The car slowed to a stop, and she shoved the door open before he could make a show of holding it for her. She had no tolerance for the phony chivalry today.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered.

He moved to follow, but she spun around, her voice sharp. “I don’t need your help getting in or out of any doors.”

“I’m supposed to take you home.”

The words fuck off were seconds from leaving her mouth, but they weren’t supposed to let their mutual disdain show in public.

Instead, she jabbed a finger toward the building. “Mission complete.”

A muscle twitched under his eye, but he waved her off and climbed back into the driver’s seat. If he had continued to linger, she would’ve screamed. She couldn’t pretend anymore.

Mara pressed her thumb to the entrance panel, impatiently waiting for the click.

She took the stairs to the fifth floor. The elevator would have been too quick; the longer she could avoid being idle with her own thoughts, the better.

Once at her door, she scanned her thumb to unlock it and rushed inside, tossing her bag to the floor beside the couch.

Silence pressed in, heavy and all consuming.

What was that buzzing?

She ran a hand through her hair, but the sound only grew louder, swelling into a deafening roar.

Her vision blurred and her knees buckled.

She needed to sit—just make it to the couch.

A chill touched her cheeks.

Before she could take another step, a gray haze swallowed the room into darkness.