sex bots 04 - one night steined by Daisy Harris Page A

at Frank. “Your boyfriend? Did he give you that?”
    “No.” Kuri shook her head. “No. It was s-some other guys,” she stuttered, but then her whole body went stiff.
    Bumbling, Frank rushed to put hands on her shoulders—to ground her, or fix her, or save her before she’d do something to risk their new location. But instead of sinking into his hold, Kuri smacked his hand away so hard it stung.
    “Are you her pimp? ’Cuz I won’t be having that kind of thing in my buildings.” Peter glared at him, his expression so accusing that Frank wondered if he was guilty after all.
    “No,” Frank said. “I would never. Don’t ever say that again.” Anger and fear bubbled up in equal measure in his chest. Anger because he would never be like the men who’d built Kuri to be abused, and fear because in his heart he wondered if he was. “She was attacked.”
    The landlord sat down and adjusted his glasses. He peered at Frank and Kuri, wanting an explanation. The human might be aging, but it was clear he didn’t miss much. “Did she report it?”
    Frank probably should have lied, but he lacked the strength. “No. She didn’t.”
    The landlord sat back a little in his chair. He snatched off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. Then he pressed them carefully onto his face. Peter narrowed his eyes, scanning the both of them more carefully than an x-ray. His lips twisted as he chewed his dentures, and he asked Frank, “What’re those scars on your forehead?”
    Frank didn’t answer. He’d had enough of being questioned and making excuses. He lifted his chin, daring Peter to draw his own conclusions. If Peter didn’t like renting to free steins, he could void the contract and call the police. With all the ZU’s equipment on the moving truck and all the team members’ apartments rented under false names, Frank and the others could simply climb into their cars and drive away. Sure, they’d have to switch license plates, and identities. But the group of them could disappear into the information fog in no time.
    The old man rolled his chair backward until he reached a little table with a coffee maker and some Styrofoam cups. He poured himself some, adding seven little cups of half-and-half before taking a sip.
    “Y’know, I did the Million Man March back in my day.”
    Frank wondered at the rapid change of subject. But oddly, Peter didn’t take his non sequitur any further. He just went back to studying his papers. So Frank opened the door and tugged at Kuri’s hand to lead her out.
    She threw off his touch again, though she followed. But as soon as they cleared the doorway, Kuri set off walking toward the team unloading the truck. She didn’t spare Frank a single glance.

Chapter Eight
     
    Kuri woke hours later on a bare mattress. One of Frank’s coats was draped over her. Whatever Frank had given her had kicked in soon after she’d left the office, forcing her to nap while the rest of the team unpacked.
    She couldn’t tell the time. Bright halogen lights hung from the ceiling, imitating the sun. She felt hungover—headachy and mildly nauseated, but she didn’t think it was from the meds. Kuri pressed a hand into her stomach, realizing she was hungry. She remembered dinner the night before, but knew she hadn’t eaten anything since the restaurant.
    Shifting to her knees, she climbed off the mattress. A room’s four walls had been constructed around her, and though the panels were unfinished, the space reminded her of Frank. The dresser was an old, worn wood. The bedframe, waiting for someone to lift the mattress onto it, was rusted metal. Everything was sturdy, and permanent-feeling.
    She listened to the sound of the team joking and working outside. A window pierced one of Frank’s walls and looked out into the warehouse. The door was still open and she saw the sun low on the horizon. It was hard to tell the time from that fact alone, though—the sun was always low on the horizon in the fall.
    Kuri