Chapter One
Sin dropped his cigarette in a puddle as he passed, rings of reflected holographic signs radiating from the impact. Ignoring it, he yanked open the glass door and stormed inside. People in suits and lab coats moved out of his way quickly, probably because of the guns he wore strapped across his body. Weapons tended to have that effect, just like the sound of his boots ringing out on the marble floors killed the noise around him.
He even made sure to glare as he looked over each person in the overly-modern lobby. Yes, it was a show, but nothing made him happier than watching stupid corporate fucks scurry like rats to get out of his way. These people were used to everyone bowing and groveling before them. He was more than happy to remind them that they weren't really important; they only wished they were.
He made it halfway across the lobby before a brazen man in a bold suit walked toward him. "Sinclair Cassis?"
"Legate," he corrected. "Otherwise, yes."
The executive acted like he didn't truly care. "My apologies, Legate. Please follow me."
They walked up a single flight of glass stairs and through a chrome archway. As soon as they passed it, a small light blinked and two men stood straighter. Recognizing a security alert, Sin's fingers brushed the hilt on his thigh out of habit, ready to defend himself.
"You're kidding, right?" he grumbled. "I'm not losing the fucking guns."
"You aren't expected to, Legate," the executive assured him with a false smile. "Stand down, men - he's being assigned clearance now."
"Yes, Mr. Briggs." The guard nodded nervously.
Sin filed that away as they moved down the hall. This cyborg bitch must be pretty damned important if Daniel Briggs, the CEO of OutLink Corp., was meeting him personally. Granted, it wasn't every day the Legion accepted a contract with a corporation, either. For the millionth time, he wondered what he'd done wrong to be the one assigned to it. Unfortunately, he had a few guesses.
At the end of the hall stood a pair of massive wooden doors that led into a large conference room. Mr. Briggs gestured for Sin to enter, then followed. Inside, four executives sat around a curved table. An empty chair had been placed conspicuously before them. With a patronizing smile, the CEO walked past and motioned for Sin to take it.
"I'm fine." Sin fell into an easy parade rest.
Mr. Briggs moved around the table to take his own place. "We have a few things to go through."
"I'm sure."
"What do you know of the Ingénue Project?" a woman asked, jumping right into it.
"Brains for hire," Sin answered. "Cybernetically enhanced minds for increased computational abilities. It's assumed they're genetically modified to be more intelligent. All of them appear to be women."
"And?" a man asked, leaning forward.
"And I don't fucking care," Sin assured him. "So they're walking geniuses who solve your corporate screw-ups. You wantme to keep one safe, and God has decided it's my purpose to do just that."
"Mr. Cassis," the CEO said coolly, but Sin cut him off.
"I respond to Legate or Brother, Mr. Briggs. I am not amister."
Daniel Briggs nodded, moistening his lips with his tongue in an attempt to hide the frustration in his jaw. "This position is simple. Escort the Ingénue to her destination. Usually, that's once a day, no more than six days a week and no less than two. The contractor will provide the data ports where her solution will be downloaded into any terminal of their choice. It's the nuances that become problematic."
"Go on."
"Ingénues carry information, which is rather desirable. They're trained to trigger a data dump to prevent it from being obtained by anyone besides their contractor. In other words, this woman'sonlyconcern is fulfilling her contract. She will not even speak to you except to verify a direct order."
"That's preferable," he said, thinking this job might not be as bad as he'd feared.
The man lifted a brow as if Sin's comment surprised him. "You must also protect the physical body of the Ingénue. They're known for their mental acuity, not their grace."
He wanted to sigh, but resisted the urge. Dear God, he was going to be babysitting a stumbling, fumbling genius. If he had to wipe her ass, he would—simply because the Praetor had commanded it—but there had better be a damned good reason for this.
Their next line of questioning regarded his previous experience as a personal protector. They asked about his mission failures and he answered each question as honestly as he could, but left off the part about his enhancements. He had no interest in reliving how he'd lost part of his right arm, hisright eye, and the use of his legs. He'd saved the client as he'd been directed, which was all that mattered. Cybernetics had repaired the damage. He was as functional as any other man now.
Evidently, his answers worked. The group of executives seemed more than pleased and were damned near drooling on their expensive suits at the prospect of a true Legate guardian. The glint in their eyes was nauseating.
"We will need a retinal imprint to give you clearance into the Enclave, as well as a thumbprint," said the man at the end.
