Neon Rush {M/M} ❀

Ch. 2.2 Fixer-Upper

Gray pushes away from the bar and heads for the door. Zef follows. He tries not to stare at Gray's ass swaying in front of him, but it's a great ass, so he fails. Gray glances over his shoulder as he hits the call button for the elevator. They get in and hit the button for parking. The elevator isn't as fast as the Bionic Capital one. It gives Zef enough time to think, and thinking means worrying.

He's not sure Gray's asking for a one night stand. If he is, Zef's not sure he'll say yes, because getting naked is still a lot. He's not used to the city, not used to Gray. He doesn't drink. He's not even sure what counts as 'celebrating' this new job, and he feels a bit like, I don't even go here.

But Gray looks at him in the sputtering light of this sketchy elevator, and he sees Zef. Or at least he sees a man. Plus, he's got that look in his eyes. A jagged, cracked glass look. Car crash, Zef thought when Gray walked in. The kind that left you crumpled up like an accordion.

Zef never could resist a fixer-upper.

Gray leads the way through the parking lot, past rows of cars, some rusting apart like fossils from the previous century, some so matte black they vanish in the shadows. They range from the shiny to the utilitarian, but Gray?

Gray walks over to the flashiest, most expensive thing in there.

It's a Vitali Thresher in a mother-of-pearl skin. Hunkered so flat to the ground it's hidden between the cars on either side, except for the sharp spoiler on its back end, reminiscent of the shark for which it'd been named.

Gray walks around the other side of it, running a finger along the roof. In response to his touch, the car lights up. The engine hums an electric purr. The doors skim aside, interior aglow in welcome.

Zef hesitates.

"That drink didn't hit you too bad?" he says.

"Naw. My gild doesn't let me get pissed, anyway," Gray answers.

Okay, interesting. So whatever cybernetics he's packing, they're hooked up to his metabolism. Not common, that. Also begs the question, why drink at all? Especially something that tastes so bad.

Zef slides into the car. He loves machines, and fast cars are no exception. The upholstery is silky under his hands. Everything lit like it's half romantic restaurant, half space shuttle. Gray gets in, doors whisking shut, his fingers skimming the steering wheel. It could be the interior lighting, but the red ink of Gray's tattoos seems to pulse and glow when he makes contact with the wheel. He eases them out of the parking space, guiding them towards the road.

Zef has a sudden, alarming thought.

Cars like this cost a fortune, and not a small one. The people in the world who could afford one numbered too few. A Vitali's notoriously impossible to steal, too. Keyed to an individual's biometric implants and kitted out with anti-theft protocols. Zef reassesses his previous assumption that they aren't high profile enough to be surveilled. Maybe Zef isn't, but if Gray's got a car only a countable number of people own, he's on a list somewhere.

Their conversation from the bar echoes in his head. Bionic Capital. Wouldn't be my first choice. That, combined with the car, reorganizes Zef's understanding of Gray. Anxiety begins to prickle out in gooseflesh over his arms.

Could Gray work for CyberSuite?

If so, the 'trouble' Gray represents just escalated far outside Zef's range of acceptability. He needs to get out. Now. Fast as possible. They're Bionic Capital's top competitor. Just being seen like this could get him interrogated, fired for collusion with an enemy company.