They’d walked over a thousand miles. Been beaten and broken. Survived fire and tornadoes, hunger and loss. So many times, they had failed; along with the grief, Marcus’s death would always be a point of guilt. But they’d also succeeded, even thrived.
Joe beamed at Peter and Flix as they walked ahead of him, Peter’s arm slung over Flix’s shoulder. Such good, strong boys they’d turned out to be. Peter had managed the grief of his parents’ murder and his own kidnapping. He’d learned to put aside the prejudice that had probably been drilled into him since he was old enough to understand words. He’d saved Joe’s life. And Flix. He was a natural leader, smart and tough and fair. Joe never would have imagined that the silly, flirtatious boy from back at the Flats would have grown into such a formidable young man.
They wouldn’t finish the journey tonight. The sun was already sinking off to the west, and Joe was ready to stop for the day. He bumped against Devin gently. “See the hotel over on the left? Let’s splurge and sleep in beds.”
Devin’s newly-sharp eyes focused on the three-story brick and metal building. Joe looked it over again, too. Its awning drooped and a few of its roof-top solar panels appeared loose, but the hanging sign out front promised electricity and water, and in small print said, “Pocs allowed (when accompanied by Whites).” The town itself seemed heavily populated. Joe didn’t want to take a chance on looking for an abandoned house to sleep in and run into a protective citizen.
“Beds?” Devin said. “Maybe two rooms?”
Joe wiggled his eyebrows and gave a small nod.
“Round up, motherfuckers,” Devin said, waving his arms. “We’re calling it a night.”
Aria pedaled up to them on the bike Joe had stolen from Rip the drug dealer. “Are you inviting the entire town to come along?”
Devin shrugged and winked at Joe. “I’m happy.”
They made their way to the awning, where two armed guards searched them for weapons and cataloged everything they were carrying. Then they were ushered into the lobby, where two more armed guards stored away their weapons in a narrow locker behind a heavy steel door and gave them the locker key.
At the desk, a girl sat watching a video on the mini console embedded in her arm. Her feathered earrings hung to her collarbone and swung heavily as she chewed on gum with big, smacking lips. She huffed when Devin laid his forearms on the counter, but when she lazily lifted her eyes and took him in, her demeanor changed.
She snapped to standing, jerked her shirt down so far that the edge of an areola peeked out, and leaned over the counter until Joe could see exactly what she was offering. He turned his back to her and barely restrained himself from slapping a hand over Peter’s wide, excited eyes.
Joe shook his head and caught Flix’s attention.
Flix smirked and said in Spanish, “Save it for someone who cares, sister.”
“He likes breasts,” Joe answered, also in Spanish. “At least, he likes looking at them. But there are other things he’d rather suck on.”
Flix burst out laughing, and Aria rolled her eyes and called them both idiots. Poor Peter still hadn’t looked away from the girl’s chest.
“Yes, two rooms,” Devin was saying.
Joe snapped his fingers in front of Peter’s face, then whispered, “Tell him to ask for adjoining rooms.”
Playing his part perfectly, Peter said, “Hey bro, get adjoining rooms, man. I don’t want these pocs to be unsupervised.”
Joe felt it, Devin’s glance his way. He kept his own eyes focused anywhere else. It was just a game. A trick to get their way.
“What he said,” Devin told the girl.
“Great idea,” she said. “Put your arm on up here, sexy, and let me take your payment and handprint. Maybe tonight you can send your little brother over with the pocs and I can come keep you company.”
Devin stuck his arm in the old-style metal cylinder that would debit his money chip and record his handprint all at once. “Oh uh, thanks, miss, but... I have crotch rot. Next time.”
“347 and 349,” the girl said, and as they walked to the stairs, Joe glanced back to find her eyes following Devin’s ass.
Room 347 had two full-size beds with gray sheets, a dresser that leaned to the right, and a tiny bathroom with a sink, toilet, and a showerhead on the ceiling right in the center of the room. Joe barely had time to check for bedbugs before someone rapped on the connecting door from room 349.
Joe opened the door and dodged clear as Peter stumbled through. Then Devin’s big hand grabbed Joe by the shirt collar and dragged him into the other room.
“Close your door and leave us alone,” Devin said before he slammed the door on their side and shoved Joe up against it. Just for a moment, the room was quiet aside from Devin’s heavy, rapid breaths. Then he moved, and his mouth was on Joe’s, rough and impatient.
Joe squirmed under the onslaught, torn between want and guilt. He’d held off talking about how exactly he’d gotten the nanotech, told himself he was waiting for Devin to fully recover. When Devin pressed his knee hard between Joe’s legs and moved lower to scrape his teeth over Joe’s throat, Joe pushed back the best he could, made some space, and said, “I need to shower.”
“I need to fuck.” Devin grinned. “But we can shower first.”
The little bathroom held them both, much to Joe’s surprise. The lukewarm water that trickled from the overhead shower nozzle gave him goosebumps. He shuddered when Devin’s soapy hands settled in his hair from behind, rubbing and
