Page 7 of Jump or Fall
She took an antiseptic wipe and cleaned herself off. The cuts weren’t deep—not like the new stripe carved into the back of her left arm.
“Easier for you to stitch, doll.”
So kind of him.
Mara shook the can of Rapiderm medi-spray and coated the jagged cuts. Dawson was a major shareholder for Ascleon Therapeutics, the company behind both Rapiderm and the SynThera healing infusion. Nothing like keeping up the demand for your own products.
The familiar sting spread across her skin as it worked, rapidly closing the wounds. Fresh scabs faded into dark new scars, stark against the older, silvery-white ones.
Would Jasper have stopped if he’d gotten far enough to see them? The long, pale threads of scar tissue tracing from her hips to her lower back marked her as the property of a high-ranking Silver.
As the Secretary’s nephew, he probably thought he was above their code. Idiot. Even Dawson played by his own fucked-up rules.
She pulled on a tank top she’d found on the couch. The saturated bandage fell off the new stripe with hardly any effort. She cleaned the wound with gauze then affixed the stitcher. Rapiderm was good for minor cuts, but stripes were usually deeper.
The device clamped down with a sharp pinch. She bit her lip, then pressed the button. With a quick swipe, the wound was closed.
She tossed the stitcher into the sanitizer and leaned back, closing her eyes for just a moment—
A creak came from the direction of her bedroom.
It almost sounded like a footstep.
Her eyes flew open.
“Who’s here?”
A tall figure stepped out of the shadows into the dimly lit living room. He was dressed in all-black motorbike gear, though he had no helmet. His wavy shoulder-length hair was wild and swept to one side.
The man’s voice was a low rumble. “I want to buy a suit.”
Her pulse hammered erratically. “Then make an appointment like everyone else.”
He stepped forward slowly, hands open. “Unfortunately, that’s not possible.” He took a seat in the armchair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
Mara shifted to the far edge of the couch. Now it was obvious why he couldn’t walk into Hyperion—he shouldn’t even be in Division Two. A jagged scar ran from the corner of his mouth nearly to his right ear.
She subtly searched around for a weapon, but the only things within reach were the glass and a small pair of scissors from the kit. Maybe she could run for the door and call for help.
But then Dawson would know another man had been in her apartment.
The stranger followed her wandering eyes. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just need a suit.”
“Who are you?”
“My name isn’t important. What matters is your discretion. Do you have a separate tablet from the one you use for work?”
Her stomach flipped. This had to be a trap.
She shot up to her feet and pointed at the door. “Get the fuck out. Now.”
He put his hands up. “Okay, I see I touched a nerve. I only ask because your tablet has spyware installed. I traced it to a tablet registered to a piece of shit named D. Knight.”
She still didn’t trust this man, even with the insults against Dawson.
“Why would I help you?”
His scarred cheek twitched. “Because I think we want the same thing—to root out the Silvers and destroy them.”
