The Six: Genesis | A Reverse Harem Novel

Twenty-One

I'm up before Chris, scrounging for my pants in the rubble.

The howl of a missile striking caught the air, and screams echo. I fall to my knees and cover my ears, hoping to douse the harsh whistle and protect my ears. Chris lands next to me.

He's dressed again but covered in dust and dirt. Blood drips out of his nose and there's a scratch along his hairline. Roughly, his left hand closes around my right arm to pull me out of the way as a body crashes through the half-broken wall, aiming directly for me. Mid-air, they shift, flipping to land in a crouch.

Zhyv.

She glances over at us. Her eyebrow raises slightly, and she smirks. Without her speaking, I know she knows what happened between Gatlin and me. She'd always had a sixth sense about everything.

Sometimes, it was like she had a direct link to my thoughts or she'd heard every word I'd said. Luckily, she held no loyalty for Ryker or Catrina, and did things on her own terms. Since she was a child, she'd dealt with the judgments and opinions of others, and decided long ago not to give a single fuck about them. This little secret would remain between us until I wanted to expose it.

Neither she nor her men would speak a word.

Gratefully, I nod at her and slip my hand into Gatlin's. His worried gaze drops to my face and hold, tracing my eyes, nose, and down to my lips before raising again. He wants to speak, and his mouth opens, but he glances at Zhyv and the emotion slips under his usual guard mask.

It hurts me to watch it, but I can't do anything about it. We have bigger things to consider. A pair of machines knock down the remainder of the cement wall, their faces and bodies disfigured.

My heart sinks further. There were more of them? What the hell had they done?

Unlike the Rioter on ice in the west wing, these were other sets of the Protector Series. Ghosts are the crowning jewel of the Protector Series. On a graduated scale from zero to seven, each machine is ranked by a complex list of parameters.

Luckily, the Ghosts only rank a two, but I'm not sure what will result from the code patches Darcy's company performed. As I run my eyes over them a second time, my stomach turns. All of their limbs are reinforced with other metals, and from the looks of them, they came from other machines.

Four deep gouges dig into their faces, as though another machine's hand had scratched across them. It's torn through their eye sockets, leaving their red pupils wholly uncovered. Bodies built from steel and strung with gunmetal grey polyvinyl chloride cable, they're a frightening thing when ruined by the spray of blood, guts and red spray paint.

"Some help would be nice!" Zhyv called, rising to take on the machines.

They lunged with a ferocity I hadn't coded. Each swipe at her was vengeful and coordinated, as one machine went low, the other went high. Limbs re-enforced with steel, and what I hope wasn't tungsten. Either way, Zhyv could take it, and maybe myself.

If I didn't get him out, they'd eviscerate Gatlin.

Yanking away from him, I leap onto the closest machine and seal my hands around its neck. It rears back, throwing its limbs up to dislodge my grip, but I tighten my grip and twist. The synaptics buried at the base of his head snap and electricity zaps up my arms and legs. Stubbornly, I don't let go.

It shakes, wildly thrusting itself back and forth while grasping my legs. Zhyv keeps the other busy, cleverly avoiding its punches and kicks. She's relentless, cataloging its moves and acting on impulse. She can analyze and anticipate, becoming a mirror of those she encounters.