Page 29 of Dustwalker
The door burst open, and Ronin was suddenly in the room.
Lara looked up at him with rounded eyes. There was a small gun in his right hand, its dull black metal absorbing the overhead light. He held a waded-up piece of cloth in his other hand.
Their eyes met.
His gaze dipped. “Are you all?—”
“Get out!” Lara screamed, crossing her arms over her chest, snapping her legs together, and drawing her knees up.
As though the situation was totally normal, he shifted his attention to the tub. Steam gathered at the ceiling as drops of water landed on Lara’s back from the spray behind her. He placed the cloth—a shirt, she realized—on the counter next to the wash basin and stepped over her, reaching up to draw the curtain closed.
She watched, paralyzed by anger, embarrassment, and fear, as heheld a hand in the water. Then he reached in and turned one of the knobs.
“Should be fine now. Soap is in the corner.” He hadn’t looked at her as he spoke, and he seemed to make a point of fixing his gaze on the hallway wall as he exited the room.
Lara sat on the floor a long while after the door was closed before she finally uncurled from her position. He’d taken a single look at her bare-ass body, adjusted the water, and left. Not only had he upheld his promise not to touch her, but he hadn’t even leered at her when she was at her most vulnerable.
She placed a hand on the side of the tub, using it for support, and stood up. Groaning, she rubbed at her aching backside.
Mimicking Ronin, she stuck her arm through the curtain to check the water. It was pleasantly warm now. Lara carefully reentered the tub and stepped into the water streaming from the spigot overhead. Blissful heat surrounded her, and she let herself melt in its embrace. Eventually, she found the bar of soap he’d mentioned on a little rack in the corner.
She’d clean more than her legs, after all.
Ronin lingered in the hallway. The sound of the shower changed subtly, and he knew it was now caressing her naked body.
He forced himself to walk toward his room, forced himself to think about how strange running water sounded after all his time in the Dust. Working plumbing was as out of place in this world as functioning electric grids and undamaged buildings.
Closing the bedroom door behind him, Ronin struggled to maintain that chain of thoughts.
An image of Lara rose to the forefront of his mind—her bare skin moist and pink from the hot water, her pert breasts round, nipples erect. Though her ribs were visible at her sides, her narrow waist led to flaring hips and long, lithe legs. The legs of a dancer.
And between her thighs, a tantalizing patch of red hair had beckoned his gaze lower, to the pink flesh of her labia.
That single second before she’d covered herself and Ronin had looked away would be emblazoned in his memory until he was disassembled. He wasn’t sure if even a second Blackout could strip it away.
One glimpse of Lara awoke more in Ronin than anything he’d seen at Kitty’s.
Were it in his power, he would’ve dumped the memory. It would’ve been more respectful to her, and having an image of her naked form to summon at will wouldn’t help him keep his end of their bargain.
No touching.
He removed his gear, laying it out piece-by-piece atop the chest at the foot of the bed. First his rifle. Next, the pistol in his hand, along with its spare magazine, which held its last six rounds of ammunition. Then a knife with a serrated edge, various hand tools, and an almost empty lighter. His belt followed. Dust was caked on the rugged material of its many pouches.
Ronin stared at the objects, adjusting their lay to achieve something close to symmetry. True balance was impossible with this eclectic array, but it all seemed right together, like mismatched pieces of some greater, cohesive whole.
His thought-chains took strange, whimsical twists from there.
Sometimes, out in the wastes, he’d uncover items that couldn’t possibly have had any practical use, and he knew they’d been created long ago by a human. Had the Creators shaped humans first? Were they the flawed children who’d inspired the eventual crafting of bots, a more perfect reflection of the Creators themselves? Despite the similarities between bots and humans, the differences were so stark, so undeniable.
Humans were fragile, irrational, nonsensical creatures with more weaknesses than strengths. And Lara was one of them.
Why had a human so suddenly caught his interest? All Ronin had craved since waking was knowledge of his purpose. He’d never discover the truth while obsessing over a human woman.
He undressed, blocking the onslaught of simulations that sought to depict Lara removing her clothes. Such things weren’t real, no matter how they appeared. She was much more than data in his memory. Lara was a living, breathing creature. Everything she said and did would always belong to her.
What failed paths of logic had brought him to this point, to him hiding in a room he rarely used to avoid the temptation of a human woman he’d brought into his home?
She would dance for him, and he’d provide for her needs, nothing more. He’d watch her. Over time, he would discern why he’d been soenthralled by the way she moved. Then, with that foolish whim fulfilled, he would part ways with her. He’d purchase supplies he required, give Lara the remaining chits, and leave Cheyenne far behind.
