Page 27 of Skyn (After the End #3)

We need Josh at the Council Gala on Saturday.

Not just him—as many people from the half city as we can drag there.

Ben’s future depends on it. We need testimony, need to fill the room with proof that he’s not some unhinged, rogue idealist, but a man of reason, a man of logic, a man still worth listening to. This is the point. We have to focus.

I turn on my brightest, most affable voice. “Josh, we have an amazing invitation for you and Dru!”

That gets his attention.

I lean in, push forward. “We’d love for you to come to a superelite gala.” His brows lift. Good. “And we’d also love for you to share your thoughts on Ben with some important people.”

Josh’s face flattens. The intrigue evaporates.

“Why would anyone there care what I think?” he asks, dry. “I mean, Ben doesn’t have any peers who could vouch for him?”

I smile, tight. “The process is equitable. The council doesn’t calculate social rank in these testimonials.”

“Sure,” he says, nodding. “But why aren’t his peers testifying?”

A pause.

I consider lying.

Instead, I tell some of the truth. “Because all his peers have very specific jobs. And they believe—no matter how brutal the job, how impossible the burden—they have to do it.”

Josh folds his arms. “And Ben didn’t do his job.”

“Ben saved so many people.”

Josh’s voice is flat, final. “But he didn’t do his job. And now the upper crust has turned its back.”

Silence.

The people who should have fought for him, who should have stood by him—I’m thinking of you, Lily—closed ranks and left him to rot.

Which is why we need people, the masses, in particular.

“So,” he says, “you need a middle-manager rock mover to help your husband keep his job.”

I ignore the dig. I smile brighter. “I need an upstanding representative from our sector,” I say smoothly. “Someone who made it out in spite of the odds. It’s inspiring.”

“It’s desperate,” Josh says, and now I see my mistake.

I gave him too much leverage. “I’ve been listening to a few enlightening radiocasts, and they say that a true alpha cyborg wants a top-tier partner who’s an extension of their success.

Don’t you think your choice of partner is actually why your class turned their back on you? ”

“That could very well be. But I”—Ben glances at me—“don’t listen to radiocasts about how to be a man.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re a machine. You can buy anything, including women. Sweetheart,” Josh says, pointing to me instead of Dru.

Ben shoots up and leans over the table, taking the air out of Josh’s lungs. “You said ‘sweetheart.’” The table rocks, and the sauce spills out of the chipped container.

Great, we have chair-throwing Ben.

“What!” Josh’s smooth face looks like it’s melting.

Ben gathers Josh’s shirt. “Simple mix-up. You called my wife ‘sweetheart’ when you meant to call her my wife.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Fix it.”

“Fine, geez…Fawl, your wife.”

Josh backs away from the table, and Dru holds fast to the rickety thing before it thumps over.

This dinner is dead.

Dru, bless her heart, pops up, desperate to give the night CPR. “Dessert? We got cake!”

She and Josh shove each other into the kitchen, leaving Ben and me picking over the food in confusion.

“This is…going well, right?” I mouth.

Ben glares down at me with fire in his eyes, and I wonder if he even hears me. “It’s going just how I thought it would,” he says. His tone is inscrutable.

“The matrix?” I ask.

“Step by step,” he says.

When dessert is served, Dru nervously hands out slices of chocolate cake, her hands shaking slightly as she places a plate in front of me.

I reach for my fork, but before I can even take a bite, a dollop of frosting sticks to my finger.

I move to wipe it off, but Ben grabs my wrist and sucks my finger clean.

I don’t know how long I sit there with my finger in his mouth, but across the table, Josh’s eyes dart between us, wide and twitchy.

“I hear anybody above fifty percent can’t, uh…” He pushes his finger through a hole made by his thumb and forefinger. “Can’t get it up more than once a year.”

“Okay, I think we’ve overstayed—” I say, rising from my chair, but Ben’s hand lands on my thigh—not rough, but firm enough to let me know what he wants.

I sit back down midsentence, my heart now beating faster than I’d care to admit. I glance at him. At some point during this dinner, gentle Ben lost his temper. Josh has activated some part of him that’s up for a little bullshit.

“I’m not trying to get too personal,” Josh continues, “but the radiocasts say that a true detached alpha wouldn’t display such”—he searches for a word—“private depraved actions in front of anyone. It makes me wonder if your peers are actually right about…you know.”

My pulse quickens, anxiety producing—of all things—a sudden, ridiculous urge to laugh. It’s like watching a predator size up its prey, except the prey has no idea it’s already halfway down its throat.

“Josh,” Ben begins. His voice is sharp enough to draw blood. “I have a probabilistic interface I like to tinker with from time to time.” He sets his glass down carefully, like this whole thing is beneath him.

“In this probabilistic trajectory you’re on, you will keep testing the boundaries with me—seeing where you can poke, trying to find weaknesses.” Ben leans in, and Josh swallows air in a loud gulp.

“You look at my clothes and decide I’m civilized, but the Burn was not so long ago, Joshua. You remember your history.” Ben stands to his full height, and it’s a reminder of what he truly is. A conqueror. A war machine.

“The barbarians won. And some of us miss the feel of gristle between our teeth,” Ben says jaw clenched

The room falls silent, save for the tiny gasp Dru lets out.

Finally, Josh says, “I want you out of my house.”

“See, I love this thing,” Ben says. The only way I can describe his tone is cheerful in a very deadly way. “Look at the probability that you would say that.”

He shares a holographic 98 percent next to Josh’s face, which is spewing, I want you out of my house! The words were plain for everyone to see.

It makes everything Ben said before sound like a prophecy.

“Fawl, please.” He takes my wrist. But I’m not going to protest. I know what it means for him to grab me like this. And my heart is in my throat.

The walk to the railcar is quiet. Before we sit down, Ben looks down at me and sighs. “Josh is not an option,” he says.

I nod in agreement and pat his shoulder. We’ll have to face the consequences at the gala and board meeting on our wits alone.

“I’m so proud of you for not eating his heart,” I say.

Ben laughs, despite knowing that this time next week, he will be stripped of everything he’s ever loved.