Page 42 of A Cyborg for the Alien Mercenary

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed from behind the door, followed by a muffled cry of pain. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filtered through the wood, followed by a whimper that made his blood boil.

What the fuck?

He burst into the doctor’s office, his hand already reaching for the inner door, but it clicked shut before he could grasp the handle. He cursed under his breath and then froze as movement caught his eye. A small figure stood near the desk in the outer office, and he turned to face her.

The doctor’s PA stared back at him, her blue eyes wide with surprise and something else… fear? Anger? She quickly slipped a crumpled tissue into her pocket, but not before he caught a glimpse of red. Shit. Was that blood?

His jaw clenched as he took in her appearance. She was petite, with blonde hair pulled back in a neat bun, but strands had escaped to frame her face. A face that, despite its delicate features, now bore a hardened expression as she glared at him.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of tension. She straightened her shoulders, as if preparing for a confrontation. Her hands shook as she smoothed down her skirt, and his eyes narrowed.

“What happened?” he demanded, gesturing toward the closed inner door. “I heard?—”

“Nothing,” she cut him off sharply, her chin lifting in defiance. “Nothing happened. And you shouldn’t be in here. This is a private office. I’ll call security?—”

He was across the space between them in a heartbeat, his hand wrapping around her slender throat.

“No. You won’t.”

Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Now that he was nearer, he could see the faint traces of a bruise on her cheekbone, expertly concealed by makeup. His blood simmered.

“Let… let me go,” she choked out. Her pulse raced in her throat, a frantic flutter against his palm that betrayed her fear despite her attempt at defiance.

He loosened his grip slightly. “We are not done here,” he growled. “Not by a long shot.”

Davis turned his attention to the inner office door, his jaw clenching so hard he was surprised he didn’t break his teeth. The thought of someone laying hands on this woman—on anyone smaller and weaker—made his vision blur red with rage. He’d seen too many bullies in his life, watched them prey on those who couldn’t fight back. It made his blood boil.

“Stay here,” he ordered her, finally letting her go. She stumbled back a step, gasping, but he was already moving toward the inner door. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles white with tension. He was going to teach the asshole doctor a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. See how he liked being on the receiving end for a change. But she got between him and the door in a heartbeat. “You can’t go in there!” she hissed, her voice low but sharp.

“Watch me, sweetheart,” he growled, moving her aside and reaching for the door handle again.

Her hand shot out, gripping his wrist. She barely managed to get her fingers halfway around. “Isaid, you can’t go in there.”

He jerked his arm back, annoyance flaring through him. “And who the hell are you to stop me?”

“Someone who knows what’s going on in there better than you do,” she fired back, her chin jutting out again defiantly.

“Then enlighten me, princess.” He crossed his arms, looming over her. “What’s so damn important in there?”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “That’s none of your business. Just turn around and walk away before you get yourself into something you can’t handle.”

He barked out a harsh laugh. “Sweetheart, you have absolutely no idea what I can handle.”

Without waiting for a response, he pushed past her and through the door.

Rettnor was hunched over his desk, speaking in hushed tones into a comm unit. As Davis burst in, the doctor’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in shock. A guilty expression flashed across his face before he quickly composed himself. As soon as he saw Davis, he cut the call instantly, a smug expression settling on his rat-like face.

“Can I help you, Mr. Peters?” he asked, his voice dripping with false politeness. But Davis saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes darted nervously toward the door.

Davis glared at Rettnor, his eyes narrowing. “Cut the crap, Doc. Who were you talking to just now?”

Rettnor’s smug expression faltered for a moment. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Mr. Peters. Doctor-patient confidentiality, you understand.”

“Bullshit,” Davis spat. “I know you’re in bed with Maxim Martell. So who else are you selling us out to?”

The doctor’s face paled slightly, but he didn’t crack. “ I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, if you’ll excuse me?—”

“Not a chance,” Davis growled, stepping closer to the desk. “You’re going to tell me who was on that call, or things are going to get very… unpleasant for you.”

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