I scowled. Was I so easy to read?
“Damn it, Shining. You want him. He wants you. You need a nest. What is wrong with you?”
Wishing I had an answer, I said, “Let’s get this done.”
“You need to freshen up, put on some lipstick, and do something with that hair. You didn’t even comb it when you got out of bed today, did you?”
I shrugged. I was fairly certain I had a comb. Somewhere.
Cupcake frowned at me and blew out a resigned breath. “Amos and Wanda and me need to armor up as your security detail. Might as well do it here.”
Without answering, I swung into the cab, spotting a meal on the minuscule table. Just the sight of it turned my stomach fast, suggesting that I was nervous or something. I ignored it and went to the tiny toilette behind the two seats. On the bunk were fresh clothes and a device as long as my opened hand, shaped like an old electric shaver. There was a tiny hemp-paper note stuck on it that said,“Here’s your new toy. Turn it on. Press the rounded end to a person’s skin and push the button, and it will measure the presence and amount of nanobots in the person’s system. Try it.”
I followed directions, and a tiny light glowed green until I shoved the rounded end against my own skin. Then the light turned red and the little dial flipped from 0 to100. Yeah. I had nanos. Big surprise.
When I left the sleeping cab, I sat to eat, forcing myself to down the salad, the vegetable protein, and some leftover roasted veggies. I drank reheated chicken stock Cupcake had made from the bones of the chicken at the fancy dinner. It was hard to get sufficient protein these days, and the stock was not only delicious, it settled my stomach. There was coffee in an insulated mug. So good.
An hour after I entered, I emerged, full of lunch and wearing fresh jeans; a clean shirt with the sleeves rolled up; a necklace with a religious medal for luck; un-stinky clean socks inside my worn, scraped, dusty boots; leather armbands I hadn’t worn in years; and black biker’s gloves with pointed steel knuckle rivets where they’d do the most damage if I had to hit someone. The nano detector was in a small sheath on my left leg. I was wearing orange lipstick to match my orange sunglasses. I figured I looked okay, though I had only a small mirror to see myself.
I swung down from the cab. The first thing I saw was my security detail wearing Dragon Scale armor in matching camo patterns. Then I spotted the matte black Harley parked beside the big rig.
My Harley.
I hadn’t laid eyes on her since the day I took over Smith’s. She had been in storage. Hadn’t been cranked. Hadn’t been touched in years. Someone had done some work on her.
If her name on the gas tank hadn’t still been prominent, I might not have recognized her. I’d called her Death’s Reaper, after the collector of souls, and her name had been painted in electric blue with a death sickle across the bottom of the name.
Something like joy flooded through me at the sight of her. Walking slowly, I took my bike in.
She was a wartime bike, a Harley Machinegun, a limited edition produced only for a few years. Bikes built for military applications now were larger, meaner, like Jagger’s One Rider. This Harley had been built for a much smaller me, with sleek lines for speed, camouflage, basic shielding, and minimal weapons. Well, several small weapons and one big-assed weapon. It had been built to hold a mounted M249 Para Gen VI, a magazine-fed machine gun with extended mags, a weapon similar to the one at the junkyard, but newer, fancier, built for fighting the PRC in the war. Currently, the Para Gen was not mounted on the bike. Probably a good thing at a negotiation.
Hubris, maybe, but my Reaper was still the prettiest thing I’d ever laid eyes on. And even with all the changes, she still looked like me. Someone had rebuilt her for my longer legs, chopped her a bit to add size and impact. And her shielding and camo patterns had been updated. There was a shotgun, along with a nine-millimeter and a brand-new military blaster in a multipurpose weapons sheath built into the bike’s frame.
I shook my head and let a smile cross my face. I met Cupcake’s blue eyes and said, “She’s gorgeous. Your work?”
Cupcake made a smallharrumphingsound. “Berger chips aren’t good enough for most of this work. I rebuilt the engine.ThatI could learn. The bodywork is Amos all the way.”
I looked at the big guy who had willingly joined my nest just for the possibility of being with Cupcake. “Nice work, both of you. I’m impressed.”
Wanda was standing nearby. Her kid was hiding behind her back with only their head facing the bike. “Ms. Shining,” Alex said, “that sure is pretty. Can I ride it?”
“Not this time,” I said. “But maybe someday.” To their mother, I added, “You look good in the armor. Dangerous. Follow Amos’s or Cupcake’s lead. Don’t shoot anybody. Keep your kid safe, preferably in the truck.” I looked at Alex. “You hear gunfire or see a fight start, you get in the cab and lock the doors until I tell you different. It’ll be scary, but you’ll be safe and I won’t waste time worrying about you.”
“I can shoot a gun. If somebody would give me one,” Alex said with a fierce expression.
“No.” I felt my command secure itself onto the kid’s nanos. For a good two seconds I hated myself and the fact that I had unwittingly made a thrall of a child. “Not today. Unless your mother says otherwise, your job is to keep the truck doors locked so we can get away, and keep yourself safe. Period.”
Alex heaved a dramatic sigh that made me thinkgirl, and their mother heaved a similar sigh, but of relief.
I straddled Reaper and pressed the start button. She purred to life, her engine reverberating through my body and right into my soul. I started to turn her, when Cupcake displayed my old, and far too small, OMW kutte across the seat behind me so it could be seen. My eyes filled with tears.Bloody damn. This felt good.
I pulled away as the cats, who had been everywhere underfoot, jumped back into the cab and the flatbed, and the rest of my nest hopped inside too. With Death’s Reaper rumbling beneath me, I motored down the road to the fortress where possibilities, both good and bad, awaited me.
It was time for my grand entrance.
* * *
Aware of the big truck behind me, I pulled slowly down the drive to the fortified mansion I had given to Marconi—after I shot it to hell and back and killed most of the men inside.
