Broken Toys (A Robo Fizz Romance) (18+)

Chapter 23: Parallel Conspiracies

The next morning, the moment after Samara headed to the office after kissing him goodbye, Robo Fizz tugged on his hooded disguise, pulling it low over his eyes, and slipped out the door, plucking up the extra key Sammy kept hidden that she'd told him about in case of emergency. To him, this newest development certainly constituted as a goddamned emergency. He quickly texted the new number in his phone and set off down the backstreets headed toward the park at a clipped but measured pace so as not to arouse undo attention, casting paranoid, darting glances behind him at every intersection.

He used his extendable limbs to pull himself over the freshly rebuilt wall, careful not to bust any of the small lights they'd run across the top for extra pizazz and avoiding the front gate and its shiny, fancy shmancy new security cameras, and slinking toward his tent. Pulling the thick brightly colored flaps aside, he entered and sat down on the main platform, tapping his fingers impatiently against the rim and jiggling his legs, whistling one of his brand new tunes to himself and daydreaming about his first upcoming performance in about a week. He didn't have to wait long before another similar figure slid through the entrance, also wearing a hoodie pulled up over their hair.

"How's it going, matchstick?"

Fizz cracked, summersaulting backwards and rising to greet his guest with a showy flourish.

A lopsided grin lifted his fellow conspirator's full lips as Damien pulled his hood back, shaking out his shaggy, blood-red locks which fell into his eyes.

"'Sup, sparkplug?"

"Heh. Anybody follow you?"

"Nah, I was super careful, man. How about you?"

"As far as I can tell, we're fucking golden. Now, you know why I called you here, right? What we need to discuss?"

Damien's smile dropped into a deep scowl, and his tattoos flickered, threatening to burst into shimmering flame again at the thought of the subject of their little secret meeting. His hair also sparked at the tips, casting drastic shadows across his chiseled features. As much as it pissed Fizz off, he had to admit that he could understand why Samara had fallen for this guy. He might be a little jealous, but he wasn't fucking blind. His optics were in perfect working order, and that was a certified Rench guarantee. Even Damien's demon form was devastatingly freaking handsome.

Why couldn't he get more clients that looked like this one instead of the bloated slimy weirdos that normally slicked Mammon's palms with their ill-gotten cash for their free use of his body, putting him through the paces on so many sickening nights where the rooms couldn't get dark enough to hide his shame and the washing machines couldn't knock him around hard enough to allow him to feel clean again or wash away the new unwelcome memories sealed into his mind?

'It just ain't fuckin' fair. Ah, well.'

"Oh, yeah." Damien said. "And, I'm in absolute one hundred percent agreement with you." The two men met eyes, mutual respect and determination between them. "We have to find Pamela before she finds her way to Samara and keep her from hurting my fiancé."

"And my girl."

Fizz warned him, flexing his metal claws, and making sure to hold them at an angle that let the dim lights glitter across their razor-sharp edges.

"Fine. And your girl. So long as she's safe, I don't even care what's going on between you two. If you make her happy, so be it. But, I'm not giving up on us either. I fucked up before, I'm well aware, but if there's any chance in Hell that she'll forgive me, and I can have any place in her life at all, then I'm going to find it and take it."