Unfinished (Prequel, Unstrung Series)

Unfinished, Part 3

Seven Years Ago

“Shhh,” she whispered. “They’ll hear.”

Lexa was trying to teach him how to use the crawl spaces to spy on the kitchen staff. The air ducts had been too narrow for his broadening shoulders—something that had made Doc smirk and Lexa frown with confusion.

“How come you’re getting so…big?” she’d asked, eyeing his arms.

It was all he could do not to show off how well his biceps were coming along. “Growing up, sneak.”

“Huh,” she’d said, before shrugging and running off to climb her ropes. Her interest had left him feeling a little wobbly.

Now, though, they were in utility easements. The passages were wider, so the wiring could be worked on, but he still didn’t like the feeling of being trapped, and his breathing had turned ragged and noisy.

“S-sorry,” he gasped.

She stopped crawling forward and turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Just need a second.” Quinn forced himself to breathe more slowly. Sure, he could bench press three times what Lexa could. He could outrun her, too. But being trapped in tight places? Screws, why did she think this was fun?

“We need to hurry. They’re going to serve the soup any minute.”

He nodded and began following her. There was a service cubby in the corner of the kitchen, and he could hear the cook—human, because why would an artificial care about good food (which totally explained why they both stole cookies every chance they got)—bustling around to ready the salads. Maren was hosting some politicians to talk about the gubernatorial race, and dinner had to be perfect.

He and Lexa overheard them talking on the way to the dining room about the “terrible tragedy” that befell the Shaws and their security team six months ago. Suicide hill, the steep road leading to Maren’s house, was the site of many hovercraft accidents. So no one questioned that they’d gone straight into the lake after their car malfunctioned.

Very sad.

Quinn felt nothing but disgust about the whole thing, especially his part in it. Sure, Governor Shaw had been a blowhard, but his party didn’t deserve to be gunned down while guests in someone else’s house.

The message had gotten through loud and clear to the rest of the council, though. Frak with the Quad, you get a bullet—or four—right through the skull.

Quinn flushed a little at his daring. Cursing was his new favorite vice. Yes, he could curse like most artificials: screws, gears, mech-headed tool. But he liked the feel of the human curse words on his tongue, too. So he used them to keep them from having any power over him.

If he used their words, they meant nothing.

Which was also why, in his head, he’d started saying “Maren” without the Miss tacked on. If Doc could do it, so could he. He was done being a scared little boy.

“She’s leaving!” Lexa’s excitement was barely contained. “Preston came to tell her one of the guests had some questions about the salad.”

The cook had gotten onto them for taking cookies, and she was mean as hell to all the artificials. Quinn had caught her cuffing Preston across the face because the tablecloth had a spot on it—after dinner. The wine stain had come from Maren’s glass, and somehow that was Preston’s fault.

Quinn couldn’t let that slide. So he had decided they needed a new cook.

As dinner had started, he’d disabled the kitchen security camera. The cook, of course, had shooed the guards away, telling them she’d raise an alarm if “a gang of nasty Bolts” showed up, but that she didn’t want them underfoot for no good reason other than to watch her stir soup.