Chapter Eighteen

Trigger Warning: Graphic depictions of violence, android hate, instances/mentions of pornography, sexual themes, etc. Just general scumminess

For the next couple of weeks, Wren worked tirelessly to get Nicolette's name on Chelsea Harding's radar. She attended and hosted art shows, boasting purely human artists. But Chelsea had yet to attend an art show or event. When Wren wasn't working on art shows and events, she wrote on Nicolette's blog, sending names of people who commented their approval to Jamie and Nina.

After finishing another post littered with anti-android slurs, Wren shut her laptop. Disgust wormed in her stomach and she hugged herself. She told herself that the horrible stuff she wrote was Nicolette, not her. It was to save androids by acting like someone anti-android. Still, she couldn't help but feel like she betrayed Connor and her android friends every time she typed out a nasty slur.

Her eyes slanted toward Connor, who pored over recent persons of interest that Rhett sent them. Wren wanted to regain some sense of normalcy between them. She missed sharing a bed, or reading together, or listening to music and dancing in the kitchen. But their first night in the new place, they agreed to keep things professional. There was no telling who watched them, and Prometheus always listened to everything Wren said and heard anyway. She didn't want to give Pauline satisfaction in her assumptions that Wren and Connor couldn't control their urges around one another.

Wren showered and dressed for an art showcasing that would feature a variety of artists, collected by multiple curators. The probability of running into Carl Manfred was extremely high, so Wren made sure to put on extra makeup to make herself look less like, well, herself. Wren stared at the slinky gown in the mirror and adjusted it so that her breasts were better covered and supported before walking into the living room.

Connor stood from one of the seats and straightened his tie. He looked quite handsome in a suit. His eyes flicked over Wren before meeting her eyes. "You look nice."

"So do you," Wren returned. "Nicolette probably won't need a bodyguard tonight."

"She'll need a driver," said Connor.

"I don't plan on drinking."

"Wren, you're not going there alone. I'll sit in the car, but don't think you're going to handle all of this by yourself."

Wren pursed her red-stained lips. "Okay."

They left their penthouse in a tense silence. Connor drove to the art show. "I'll park in the back. Call me when you're ready."

"Thanks." Wren got out and strode into the building. Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she took long, elegant strides to her section of the art show. To do something with her hands, she ordered a glass of champagne and scanned the onlookers. She recognized a few faces from her other art shows, but some she had never seen before. Some avoided her section entirely. A few artists themselves perused the collections. Still no sign of Chelsea Harding, however.

Wren stiffened when Markus rolled Carl into the large room. She smoothed her expression into one of cold indifference. Markus's gaze flickered to hers. Wren relaxed slightly. Neither Markus nor Carl seemed too surprised to see her, which meant they'd been filled in on her whereabouts and objectives. Markus rolled Carl toward her.

"Nicolette Black," Carl greeted. Wren had never heard his voice laced with such disdain, as if he'd swallowed a mouthful of vinegar. "Still choosing pro-human radical artists, I see."

"Carl Manfred," Nicolette returned in a tone of smooth ice, "still painting tin cans, I see."

Markus's shoulders tensed. Wren's gaze flicked to his, but she quickly returned her attention to Carl.

"It's a shame that you chose artists with such narrow minds. It turns their works into trash." Carl's blue eyes hardened as he regarded the artworks Nicolette picked.

She shifted her weight to one hip. "It's a shame that you align yourself with filthy bluebloods. You'd be respectable artist if you didn't."

Carl's eyes snapped to hers. "You shouldn't be allowed to curate here. Next time, I'll showcase my work elsewhere. I'm disappointed with the management here."

Nicolette jutted her bottom lip out in a pseudo-pout. "Oh, boohoo. Good riddance."

Wren caught Markus's gaze and tried to tell him with her eyes that she didn't mean any of it. He and Carl left her without another word. Wren's stomach tied itself into knots.

"It's such a shame that a mind like Carl Manfred's has been warped with ridiculous notions of equality for androids and humans. He just can't keep up with the times, I guess."

Nicolette turned toward the voice and maintained her composure. It was Chelsea Harding. Nicolette merely lifted her chin. "If he wants to sympathize with androids, then I say he deserves to be a dying artist. Leave room for true masterminds, like Heigel, here." She gestured to one of the abstract paintings to her right.

"A Heigel fan, huh? I'm more of Bartoli girl, but I can appreciate Heigel's work." Chelsea sipped from champagne glass as she eyed the Heigel portrait.

Nicolette eyed Chelsea. The woman was pretty. She had defined cheekbones, and her hair was cut short, leveling at a sharp line at her jawline. She wore a lot of makeup around her eyes, making the dark brown of her irises appear almost black. She was frightfully skinny, and her collarbones stuck out prominently under the straps of her gown.

"Oh, I'm a fan of Bartoli, too. It's why I curated both artists." With an incline of her head, Nicolette indicated the Bartoli painting.

"Oh, you're the curator?" Chelsea widened her eyes. She had a thin mouth.

"Of this section. The character and personality of an artist matter to me. To me, it comes out in their work and that can make it exceptional or not. I'm not much of a formalist, to use a literary term."

Chelsea's cheeks popped as she tried to hide a smile. She licked her teeth. "Interesting perspective. How long have you been a curator?"

"Seven years."

"You started quite young, then."

"Straight out of school. What do you do?"

"Well, I'm in the oil business. Or, I was. I'm more involved with charity."

The way Chelsea said charity made Wren's hair stand on end.

"What charity?"

"Human Salvation Campaign."

Nicolette widened her eyes. "Really? Small world."

Chelsea tilted her head. "You're involved with HSC, too?"

"Only through humble donations," Nicolette placed a hand over her chest, "though I've been wanting to get more involved. I just haven't had much success."

"Maybe because you haven't met the right people," Chelsea purred. She eyed Nicolette. "I don't meet very many people involved with HSC, especially in Detroit."

"The Android City," Nicolette spat. "It's ridiculous. We're at the heart of everything and have seen the effects this stupid android revolution has had, and still people are so supportive of them! You'd think the human race would be more interested in its own preservation, but…"

"Exactly!" gasped Chelsea. "These android uprisings are incredibly concerning. We don't know when they'll snap and suddenly start being anti-human!"

"I've encountered some tin cans who are anti-human already."

"So have I. Their numbers will grow. Markus is already losing a grip on the android population. It won't be able to handle all of them soon enough."

"And it's asking for representatives in Congress?" Nicolette scoffed.

Chelsea snorted. "I'm just shocked that so much of the public is in support of them. I mean, not two years ago, these things were like giant Barbie dolls in store windows, and now after a few malfunctions, they're trying to be world leaders! It's insane."

"Which is why I curate art from artists who are pro-human. They paint with soul. We need more artists like Heigel and Bartoli."

"Agreed." Chelsea bit her lip. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Nicolette smirked. "I've got to tend to my art show, remember? Maybe another time."

"Maybe I'll see you at the next show then," Chelsea murmured. Nicolette nodded. Chelsea winked and walked away to view more of the sections at the showcasing. Wren's heartbeat thrummed through her bloodstream. Her pulse fluttered in her neck. Fucking finally. She thanked the heavens for finally letting her make contact with Chelsea Harding. It wasn't much, but it was progress.

After the art show, Wren could barely wait to tell Connor. She shut the door and gritted her teeth until they were far enough away from the showcasing to avoid being seen through their windows. "I made contact."

Connor glanced at her; his eyebrows raised. "With Harding?"

Wren nodded.

Some of the worry lines in Connor's forehead relaxed. "How did it go?"

"She offered to buy me a drink."

"So, it went well. You turned her down?"

"Can't seem too interested. I told her I needed to stay with my art show."

"Neutral response. Smart."

"Thank you."

There was a moment of silence. Wren's blood still hummed with adrenaline. Then Connor muttered, "I saw Markus and Carl come out."

Wren sank into her seat. She wanted to join the leather upholstering to avoid Connor's gaze. "Yeah. They talked to me."

Connor glanced at her quickly. "What happened?"

"I… insulted them. I mean, it's all on that recording device if you want to listen to it."

"I'll have to listen to it eventually."

Wren shrank even further into her seat. "I called androids filthy bluebloods." Her whisper was barely audible, but with Connor's sensitive audio processor, Wren knew he heard her.

"Markus and Carl understand, Wren. They've been briefed."

The tension in Wren's shoulders lessened a little. "Do you understand?"

Connor squished his eyebrows together. "Of course I do. We agreed that we're not our personas."

"Yeah, but I'm worried that you'll listen to that recording and all you'll hear is my voice saying that—"

"Wren, I understand our mission. I know you don't think that way. Nicolette does."

Wren swallowed the lump in her throat. "Okay. I just… I feel gross for saying it. I don't want you to think I enjoy it."

"I know you don't." Connor parked the car. He turned to her and offered her a slight smile. "You have to do whatever it takes to convince them, and so do I. We'll have to get our hands dirty."

Wren glanced down at her hands. "Yeah. That's what I hate about this job."

…

Chelsea Harding attended the next few art shows at which Nicolette showcased work from Heigel and Bartoli. They small-talked and flirted a little bit, but Wren always made sure to drop hints about Nicolette's philosophy on androids. Nicolette allowed herself to relax a little more each time with Chelsea. Wren always waited for Chelsea to approach her first. If Wren sought Chelsea out, she might come across as too eager, which might raise some red flags for the Typhon affiliate. However, Chelsea also did not seem to be the smartest person involved with Typhon. She probably smoked a little too much Red Ice for her brain to function properly.

Wren stood off to the side of her section of the gallery, nursing a glass of red wine. Wren preferred white wine, but she decided that Nicolette liked it red. She tucked a strand of platinum hair behind her ear and surveyed the gallery. A few people lingered at the bar before accepting glasses of wine and moving along to admire the art. If this case didn't spoil Detroit's art culture, Wren would visit the galleries as herself. Maybe she and Connor could go on a date there.

The clop of heels on hardwood floor alerted Nicolette's attention. She smiled over the brim of her wine glass as Chelsea approached. "I fucking love your dress. You're always dressed so nicely at these events."

"I kind of have to be," said Nicolette, "but thank you."

"I suppose it would get old," Chelsea tapped her chin with a heavily manicured fingernail. "But you don't attend these every night."

"God, no."

"You've been to a lot of them recently."

"So have you," Nicolette murmured. "The more of these I do, the more I get paid."

"I like art," said Chelsea with a shrug. "Gives me some sense of sophistication."

Nicolette rolled her shoulders. "Well, I'd kill to go to a party, and not one with all these schmoozers."

Chelsea snorted, but a grin spread across her face. "Well, I know of a place. But I need to know I can trust you."

Nicolette lifted an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous."

"Well, this place doesn't necessarily play by the rules."

Nicolette frowned. "What place is this?"

"I have a friend who has a club, and I'm always welcome in the back rooms. But they're not for cute little law-abiders."

Nicolette shifted her weight. "There aren't any goat sacrifices or murders in these back rooms, are there?"

"No, of course not. Just some… other vices. Are you in, and can I trust you?"

Nicolette eyed Chelsea for a moment before shrugging. "Yeah, sure. It'll have to be after the show."

"Of course."

Nicolette wrapped up the art show and headed out with Chelsea.

"We can take an autotaxi."

"Or I can have my driver bring us."

"Oh, a driver," purred Chelsea. Nicolette shot Connor a text.

Head's up: I'm bringing CH with me. She wants to go to some friend's club. Time to play RK800 :/

Got it.

Connor brought the car around. Nicolette stepped in front of his window and faced Chelsea. "Before we get in, I need to know thatI can trust you."

Chelsea frowned. "Why? What's going on?"

Nicolette tilted her head toward the car. "My driver isn't… what you'd expect. It doesn't necessarily abide by some rules."

Chelsea frowned. "It?"

Nicolette held out a hand to stop Chelsea from stepping forward. "Can I trust you?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

Nicolette slid into the passenger seat while Chelsea took the back.

"Holy shit, is that an android?"

Nicolette twisted to look back at Chelsea. "Yes."

Chelsea scowled. "I thought you didn't like androids."

"I said I didn't like this whole android-human equality bullshit. I don't mind using androids for what they were created to be."

"Is this one a… glitched android? Y'know, one of those—fuck, what do they call them—deviants?"

"No. I had a friend reprogram this one to serve me."

"Good friend you've got."

"Yeah, I have a lot connections. So, where are we going?"

"Go to Club Jonz. It's got a GPS, right?"

"Yeah."

Connor drove them toward the club. Nicolette tried to appear relaxed while she felt Chelsea's eyes on her.

"Damn. CyberLife sure knew what they were doing when they made these androids so fucking hot. What model is this one?"

"RK800."

"Wait. I heard about this on the news. Wasn't it some prototype?"

"Yeah, there was only one in circulation. That one's one of the android leaders now. The rest got thrown into junkyards. That's how I got ahold of this one."

"You salvage junkyards?"

"Not me. A friend."

"Oh. You have a lot of friends."

"Maybe 'friend' is too strong a word. I guess it was pretty lucky I got an RK800. Most of them were too damaged to be useable."

"So it just drives you around?"

"It's also my bodyguard."

Chelsea laughed. "But you're not famous."

"So? I'm not about to walk by myself through the streets of Detroit. Would you do that?"

"No, I wouldn't," Chelsea sighed. "Still, 'bodyguard' sounds fancy."

"Yeah, but it sounds better than 'sex toy.'"

"Are you serious?"

Nicolette glanced back at Chelsea. "I see no difference in using this as a vibrator than using an actual one."

Connor's LED flickered, but Chelsea was too busy laughing to notice.

"Touché. I think you'll fit right in with me and Dylan."

Connor pulled up to Club Jonz. "I will wait in the parking lot for you, Ms. Black."

"I'll message you when I want the car pulled around," Nicolette waved him off as she got out of the car. Chelsea looped her arm through Nicolette's, and the two strode into Club Jonz together. The bouncer nodded to Chelsea, though he eyed Nicolette. He didn't stop them, though.

The open area of the club thronged with jumping people and neon purple lights. The bar was extremely busy with people buying drinks and taking them to the dance floor. It seemed like any normal, outrageous club. But Chelsea kept walking toward the back rooms. Bouncers blocked the doorway.

"Oh, boys, you know it's me."

"Who's she?"

"A friend. Dylan's expecting us."

"We need confirmation."

"Ugh, fine."

One of the bouncers disappeared through the door to receive confirmation. He returned and nodded. "Have fun."

Chelsea flashed them her sharp-toothed smile. Nicolette merely studied the bouncers with cool indifference as she followed Chelsea through the door.

Blue, red, and purple neon lights illuminated the different rooms. The corridor stretched ahead with a stage running through the middle of it. Strippers—human and android—danced on the stage while attendants watched from the sidelines. As they passed one room, Wren wrinkled her nose at the intoxicating scent of Red Ice.

["C'mon," Jonah grinned, his eyes half-open, "just smoke one more with me."

Wren pushed him back, laughing dryly. "Dude, I'm so fucking high already. I can't."

"One more won't hurt. C'mon, put your pretty mouth on it."

Wren held his gaze as she put her lips around the pipe and inhaled the smoke. It was gritty as it scraped its way down her throat and filled her lungs.]

Wren shuddered and pushed the memory out of her mind. A stripper led a man into a private room for a dance.

["I want her. Little Red." The man was extraordinarily drunk.

Wren took his hand, smirking. "Come on." She led him to a private stall and shoved him into the chair. Straddling him, Wren grinded her hips into his.]

Wren gritted her teeth. She hadn't expected this place to trigger so many memories, but everywhere she looked, something from her past resurfaced. The parts of her past that she wasn't proud of, the parts she'd be mortified if Connor ever saw them. As they passed another room, Wren clenched her teeth and swallowed the bile that rose up her throat and flooded her mouth. Two androids were having sex on a stage as people watched. It was live porn, and these poor androids were definitely not deviant.

Wren tore her gaze away from the grotesque scene and focused her gaze on Chelsea's hair, watching as it reflected the neon lights. Nicolette could not seem bothered by the things she saw in here. Wren needed step back into Nicolette's mind. She straightened her posture and stared ahead, maintaining her mask of indifference.

Chelsea brought them to the very back room, which was free of strippers and live porn. A skinny man with a goatee sat on a leather couch. He smoked Red Ice from a fancy black pipe. The smoke in the room stung Wren's eyes. He leaned back.

"Chels," he greeted. "Who's this?"

"Nicolette," said Chelsea, sitting beside the man. He handed her the pipe, and Chelsea dragged out a large puff. She blew the smoke toward Nicolette. "She's the art curator I told you about."

"Ah," said the man. "Dylan Jonz. How do you like my club?"

Nicolette sat down across from them. "It's creative."

Dylan Jonz laughed. Red Ice had yellowed his teeth. "Creative. Not too squeamish, are you?"

"She's got a sex android of her own," said Chelsea, curling closer to Dylan. "She's one of us."

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "Is she, now?" He extended the Red Ice pipe to Wren, who stiffened.

"I'm more of a tequila girl, if you don't mind."

Dylan exchanged a glance with Chelsea, who smacked his arm. "The fuck are you waiting for? Get her some fucking tequila. She wants to party."

Dylan waved one of the android waitresses over and order some tequila for the room. Wren hated the taste of straight tequila, but kept her composure as she downed a few shots.

"Let's go dance!" Chelsea yelled a little too close to Wren's ear.

Nicolette giggled and she hurried off with Chelsea to the dance floor.

…

Wren was only slightly drunk by the time she got into the car. Drunk enough that she could avoid talking to Connor, but sober enough that she could mull over the horrors she'd seen inside that club. Reprogrammed androids engaging in live porn, right in the heart of Detroit! How had the DPD never found out? How did Jonz hide his business? It occurred to Wren that probably the majority of people in those back rooms were either Typhon affiliates or potential Typhon affiliates. They were probably shady and not law-abiding citizens.

Wren was drunk enough that she barely realized she walked inside the building, rode the elevator, and arrived at the penthouse she shared with Connor. At some point, she'd taken off her heels. She dropped them with a loud clatter by the door. Her head spun. She couldn't get the image of the androids having sex out of her head. Her skin itched from being so close to Red Ice. Her head spun with memories of Jonah and her days of working at the strip club. Wren swayed, and Connor reached out and grabbed her shoulders.

"Wren? Are you alright?"

Wren suddenly felt very nauseous. She pushed Connor out of the way and sprinted to the bathroom, where she doubled over the toilet and vomited. Wren shielded her face when Connor shadowed the doorway.

"Go away." She flushed her sick down the toilet.

"No."

"I don't want you to see me like this." Wren twisted and sat with her back against the toilet.

Connor's shoes clicked against the floor as he breached the threshold. "I'm not bothered by it. Wren, talk to me. Did you have too much alcohol? I can make something—"

"It wasn't the alcohol," Wren buried her face in her hands. "That place was just… a nightmare."

She got to her feet shakily. Connor helped her stand and placed a hand on the small of her back as she rinsed her mouth out several times. She gripped the counter.

"What happened?"

Wren closed her eyes. "It just… triggered a lot of memories. And…" Her eyes flashed open. "He has androids there. Like the Eden Club used to be, but a hundred times worse."

Connor held up his palm. The synthetic skin disappeared. Wren pressed her plastic palm against Connor's and they interfaced. Wren caught Connor up on all of her recent memories. She didn't even bother to hide the memories that surfaced while in the club. Connor had seen her in worse states and still seemed to love her for some reason. Wren doubted that if he saw her high or as a stripper that he'd turn tail and run.

Wren's hand dropped to Connor's chest and she bowed her head. Connor curled his hand over hers. "I've never felt more disgusting."

"I'm sorry you had to see all of that."

Wren rested her forehead on Connor's chest. "I knew these were scummy people, but I never imagined this."

Connor's arms weaved around her. "I know."

"I'll probably have to see it again."

"Most likely."

"I hope I don't become numb to it. I'll turn in my badge and gun when that happens."

Connor cupped her face. She met his gaze at last. The tenderness in his brown eyes softened Wren to the core. "You won't become numb to it."

Wren managed a small smile. "I hope you're right."

Connor's mouth quirked with a smirk. "I usually am."

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

Connor's brow puckered. "I thought you wanted—"

"I know, but… I'm so tired of hiding and pretending. I need something real."

Connor nodded. "Of course."

…

Wren spent the next few weeks hosting art shows and partying with Chelsea and Dylan at Club Jonz. They seemed to like Nicolette, who put off an air of coldness that contrasted Chelsea's carefree nature. Wren failed to quite pinpoint the nature of Chelsea and Dylan's relationship. Sometimes, they seemed like lovers. Other times, they appeared to just use each other for drugs and sex. Sometimes, Chelsea heeded Dylan no attention and focused all of her flirtations on Nicolette. RK800 was always there to pick Nicolette up from the party and take her home.

Wren readied herself for another night of drinking straight tequila and dancing. She met her own gaze in the mirror. Dark circles dusted underneath her eyes, though they appeared light. Leaning against the bathroom wall with her arms folded, Wren let out a heavy sigh. Every time she entered that club and saw the androids held there against their will, something chipped away at Wren. How much of her would this mission take?

Connor knocked on the doorframe. He peered at her through the crack in the doorway. "Are you ready?"

Wren pushed off from the wall and nodded, though her eyes stung. So far, a nightmare plagued her every night since she first stepped into that club. She never awoke from the nightmares, so she hid them from Connor as best as she could.

Connor's brow furrowed. "We might need to find another way into Typhon. I don't think you can keep doing this."

Wren sighed and stepped around him to exit the bathroom. "I'm used to long missions. It takes a while to establish trust."

"Partying with them isn't going to establish trust," Connor insisted.

"I haven't turned them into the cops, so they trust me enough to come and go from the club as I please," said Wren.

"I know you're having nightmares." Connor's murmur washed the color from Wren's cheeks. She avoided his gaze as she shrugged on a jacket.

"I'm fine."

"Wren."

"I'll find a way into Typhon," Wren said tersely.

Connor frowned. "You can skip one night of partying."

Wren shook her head. "I already turned Chelsea down last night because that cocktail party lasted so late. I can't turn them down two nights in a row."

Connor's jaw tightened. "I'm going to message Rhett while you're in there. There has to be something to help us."

"Fine. But he's going to tell you the same thing I did. Undercover missions take a lot of time. They won't truly trust me until there's an opportunity for me to prove it. I have to be with them as often as possible so that I don't miss that opportunity."

Connor's LED circled yellow, and he pressed his lips into that worried, crooked line that Wren knew so well. She softened and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"I'll be okay."

The space between Connor's brow flickered with a worry crease, but it vanished almost as soon as it appeared. He nodded tightly, and grabbed the keys. Wren's heart sank a little at Connor's stiff reaction to her kiss, but she followed him out the door with Nicolette's cold mask nonetheless.

When Nicolette arrived at Club Jonz and found Dylan and Chelsea smoking in their usual room, she immediately felt the remnants of some tension. Dylan scratched his head and rocked back and forth, but Chelsea seemed less bothered. She smiled lazily when Nicolette entered.

"We have a drink ready for you, madame!" Chelsea pushed the shot of tequila over to Nicolette, who smirked and downed it. She grimaced at the burn and set the empty glass down.

"What's his problem?"

"Oh, he's just pissy because cops are coming down harder on Red Ice distribution so he's having trouble getting some shipments through."

Nicolette crossed her legs and leaned into the couch. "I might be able to help with that."

Dylan narrowed his dark eyes. "How could you help with that?"

"I told you I have connections. I could make some calls and see what I can do."

Dylan shook his head. "No, I'm not about to trust some nobody blogger and art critic who only drinks fuckin' tequila and people I don't know to handle my shipments—"

"I can prove it to you. Let me get ahold of my contact and you can meet them." Nicolette leaned forward. "I might be just a blogger, but I know how to network, sweetie."

Dylan's eyes narrowed even further. His sharp gaze flicked to Chelsea, who scrunched her lips to one side. "She does have a repurposed RK800 unit."

Dylan poked his cheek with tongue and leaned back. "Fine. Have your contact meet me in in a neutral location tomorrow night."

Wren dipped her head. She leaned back against the couch. Chelsea rubbed her neck.

"Let's go dance. It's too tense in here."

…

Wren got ahold of Rhett and debriefed him. He agreed to meet Jonz with her and pose as a dirty cop. The next night, Connor drove Wren to the location that Dylan specified. They met in the outskirts of Detroit near the river. Rhett texted to let Wren know he was there, too. Wren's heart somersaulted in her chest. She practiced her breathing exercises to control the shaking in her limbs.

Connor's LED flickered every so often. He clenched the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. Wren glanced at him as he parked the car. "Ready?"

He met her gaze. "Ready."

He stepped out of the car first and circled to open Nicolette's door. She stepped out into the chilly September night. RK800 walked slightly in front of her, scanning the area for potential threats. His movements were controlled but still fluid. Jonz stepped out of the shadows with two bodyguards.

"Where's your friend, Nicky?"

Nicolette lifted her chin. "Don't call me that. And he's here."

Rhett stepped out of the shadows, wearing a Detroit Police uniform. "You're lucky I like you so much, Nicolette. I'm on duty, so this better be good."

Jonz widened his eyes. "You bitch! You brought the motherfucking cops?"

His two goons lifted their guns, but RK800 moved faster. He grabbed the pistol of one guard and wrenched out of the man's grip. He kicked the other gun out of the other's guard's hand in the same movement. RK800 then twisted the first guard's arm behind his back and pointed the pistol at the other guard's face.

"What the fuck?" hissed Jonz.

"Stand down, RK800," Nicolette sounded bored. RK800 released the guard and tossed the pistol aside. He positioned himself slightly in front of Nicolette, who turned her attention to Jonz. "Of course I didn't bring the cops. We can trust him."

Dylan turned his attention to Rhett, who watched the entire ordeal with raised eyebrows. "You dirty?"

Rhett blinked slowly at Dylan. "Uh, duh. Nicolette, I thought you said this guy was competent?"

"Fuck you, asshole!" Dylan seethed.

Rhett folded his arms. "I haven't tried arresting any of you, so obviously I'm not some cookie-cutter cop."

"Who are you?"

"I'm not giving you my name. I'm not a fucking idiot."

"I'm not gonna let some asshole cop handle my shipments without knowing his name—"

"Alright, fine, get your shipments busted."

"Gentlemen, we can play the who-has-a-bigger-dick contest all night if we want, but it's getting cold and I'm tired. That won't be beneficial for any of us."

Dylan grounded his teeth. "I'm guessing you'll be wanting a cut of the profits, then?"

"No, he's doing this as a favor to me," Nicolette eyed Rhett coldly, who nodded.

Rhett turned to Jonz. "But if I keep doing business with you, it ain't gonna be free every time. You're lucky you're friends with her."

Jonz narrowed his eyes and looked at Nicolette. "And you? What do you want for this?"

Nicolette smirked. "I hear you've got connections to Typhon. I want in."

Jonz's scowl darkened. He stepped closer, but RK800 shifted to shield Nicolette from him. Jonz's eyes flicked to RK800, and in the moonlight, Wren swore Jonz lost a bit of color. He held up a finger at Nicolette. "You gotta prove yourself first. This goes sour, I'll flay your sexy ass alive."

Nicolette smiled. "Sounds like a date. I'll leave you gentleman to sort things out."

With a wink, Nicolette walked off. RK800 backed away, eyeing the men before turning and following her. Wren held her breath until Connor drove the car away. She let out a shaky breath.

"Holy shit. We might have an in." She glanced over her shoulder, peering through the back windshield as the rendezvous shrank into the darkness. She twisted back to face the front. "Good job. I think you scared Jonz shitless."

"Good," Connor muttered, his eyes flitting to the rearview mirror. "Hopefully he'll think twice before he tries to hurt you."

Wren reached over to Connor's hand and intertwined her fingers with his. He glanced at her briefly, but faced the road and steered with one hand.

…

Sorry I'm so late on posting, guys! The past few weeks have been crazy hectic. I love having breakdowns basically every week :)))))))))))

(Just a little tidbit in case it's confusing: Whenever I write from Nicolette's POV, it's still Wren, but she's able to hide her emotions and act as Nicolette. Whenever I write from Wren's POV, she's still posing as Nicolette, but some of what she's seeing is getting to her. The same will go for Connor/RK800, but he hasn't gotten as much of a chance to play his part yet.)

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed! Please leave me some feedback!