Hoping the skirt would be more modest, she shimmied it over her uniform slacks. The hem came to just above her knees. She debated leaving her pants on, then pressed her lips together. She hadn’t risen in the Syndicorp ranks by disobeying orders. This could be part of a test. A way to see how well she would behave under pressure. She would do as told for now and talk to her superior later, after she’d proved herself.
She slid out of her pants and folded them neatly along with her tunic, laying them on the chair. Stepping out from behind the screen, she saluted, feeling silly in the skimpy outfit. “Ready for duty.”
The security officer swept his gaze over her and nodded. “Pretty thing like you is going to be popular. This way.”
He opened a door marked NIU, and she followed unsteadily down a hall toward a door flanked by two armed guards in full combat gear. The mirrored face plates of their helmets reflected the harsh overhead lighting, but she could feel their gazes on her as she passed between them. Inside the room, a woman wearing an orange uniform like Attie’s slouched on a plush chair, long bare legs crossed at the ankles. An empty chair waited beside the woman, and gauzy curtains hung from the ceiling, which was lit in decorative scrolling panels of light. The room itself was split into six semi-private alcoves filled with all sizes of cushions in a variety of colors. Another closed door waited on the opposite wall.
What a strange waiting room. Attie turned to ask her escort what happened next and discovered he’d already retreated, the door closing into a flat panel with no obvious way to open it from this side.
Deep in her mind, she knew she should be terrified, but whatever drug she’d been given really did take the edge off, leaving her surprisingly calm, if a little unsteady on her feet. She wobbled toward the empty chair and sank gratefully onto its soft cushion.
The woman turned her head and gave Attie a once-over. She was around the same age, with liquid brown eyes and short brown hair curling slightly below her ears. The orange shirt strained to remain closed across the woman’s ample breasts, and her perfume smelled like sweet ginger. The woman would’ve been stunning except for an old yellowing bruise on one cheek.
“Oh, thank the stars they finally got another girl in here,” the woman said, her words slightly slurred.
Attie wanted to extend a hand, but it seemed like too much effort, so she just said, “I’m Attie Swan.”
“Claudia Maxwell.” The brunette thrust her chin toward the door she was facing. “They should be here any minute.”
“Who?” Attie glanced at the door. “What are we doing here?”
Claudia frowned. “You don’t know? How much are they paying you?”
“Paying me? I don’t understand.”
“Hazard pay. Sometimes the cyborgs get a bit rough. I don’t think most of them intend to. Except Rust. He can be a bit of a bully, but the others try to keep him in line.”
Stomach churning, Attie now noticed the mottled bruises covering Claudia’s knees. What sort of top-secret project was this?
Before she could ask another question, the door opened and several broad-shouldered men poured through the door. Four were human, but there was also a saluqan with purple veins glowing beneath his skin and a dark-skinned enayshuan with prominent facial ridges. Each of them had at least one visible cybernetic implant; an exposed metal faceplate over one side of a jaw, polymer bones and tendons where an arm should be, a mechanical foot sticking out below the hem of loose-fitting pants.
A red-haired human shot forward and picked Attie up with both hands, his grip like a vise around her biceps. “I’ll go first.” He held her as if she weighed nothing, carrying her to one an alcove. “This one's going to be feisty. I can tell.”
“Put me down.” Attie kicked, only then realizing her feet were no longer on the floor. Her toes met his very hard shins. She flinched—he didn’t.
Over her captor’s shoulder, she saw the enayshuan move toward them. He clamped his hand firmly on top of the redhead’s shoulder. “No, Rust. You’re the reason we were down to a single Consort. I’m trained in the art of pleasure. Let me go first.”
“It’s my turn to be first, Emilryde.” The redhead—Rust—scowled, dropping his gaze to Attie’s breasts. “Last time I didn’t even get a turn before Dollard ended the session.” His grip tightened on her arms, forcing a gasp from Attie’s throat.
A human with dark hair going silver at the temples came to stand beside him. “Put her down, Rust. You go last, and that’s that.”
Rust lowered her feet to the cushions and continued pressing her down until she was forced to her knees. “We can go at the same time. I want her mouth. You two can fight over the other end.”
Attie found herself staring at his bulging crotch. The very obvious length of an erection through his gray pants made her insides quake in terror. No way in hell was she putting her mouth or any other part of her body on that. Screw following orders.
Somewhere outside the alcove she heard Claudia’s throaty laugh and the mumbling of other men’s voices. How could the woman be remotely okay with this? No amount of hazard pay could make Attie want to do this. Twisting, she tried to get away.
The cyborg knotted one hand into her hair, holding her in place.
“Let me go!” Scalp burning, she reached up and clawed at his wrist.
Impervious to her nails, he reached
