Tin Soldier

By Ava Cuvay

The Army shuffled Staff Sergeant Gage Austin off to a menial desk job at the Pentagon as hush money... as if he’d admit to anyone he’s a cyborg. Society abhors cyborgs, so Gage keeps to himself and suffers the daily humiliation of an extensive security scan with stoic fortitude. He’s a soldier down to his core processor and would willingly give his all—red blood and blue lubricant—for the land he loves. As such, he accepts the task to locate and safely retrieve missing Pentagon assistant Audra Muir. Yet as sparks sizzle between them, Gage questions whether he’s delivering her to salvation... or doom.
Audra Muir has spent years pilfering secrets about corrupt government oversight of the cybernetics industry under the guise of her job at the Pentagon. As she leaves for breast cancer treatment, she happens upon earth-shattering intel. Determined to hand this information over to the people who will wage that particular war, she battles her own personal recovery and rages against a society that can make a cyborg, but can’t save women from breast cancer. Yet when Gage Austin kisses her, that anger dissipates, replaced by a passion that just might deliver her flagging faith in humanity... and herself.
Gage and Audra find peace from their own inner demons within the heat of each other’s arms. But defeating the evil that is ruining the cybernetics industry is a far bigger enemy, and requires the force of a secret band of rebels and their hidden cyborg army.
Book Three of the Silver Cyborg Series. This story has a romantic happy ending and a resolution of the storyline continuing through books one and two.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ava Cuvay
• Release date: Aug 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987176313

Ava Cuvay

Ava Cuvay writes out of this world romance featuring sassy heroines, gutsy heroes, passion, adventure, and an alcoholic beverage or two... Often set in a galaxy far, far away. She resides in central Indiana with her own scruffy-looking nerfherder, kiddos who are growing up without her permission, and two kitties that make her laugh. She believes life is too short to bother with negative people, everything is better with Champagne, and Han Solo shot first. When not writing, Ava is thinking about writing. Or wine. And she’s always thinking about bacon.

Book preview

Prologue

ALSO PART OF DELILAH DEVLIN’S SILVER SOLDIERS, A BOYS BEHAVING BADLY ANTHOLOGY

Beeeeeep . Like clockwork, the security scanner alarm activated the ceiling-mounted machine guns and the rotating turret rifles lining the walls. A loud click-swish of two dozen mechanized weapons targeting Gage Austin echoed in the shocked silence of the Pentagon’s employee entrance.

The swift current of morning traffic dammed to a halt. All movement stilled. All breath suspended. Twenty-four lasers sighted his forehead and chest like he was public enemy number one. Three hundred gazes focused on him with the same acute distrust as the mech-guns, waiting for the slightest evidence he was a violent threat so he could be blasted into mincemeat right there on the tiled entryway to America’s defense headquarters.

Gage ground his molars at the morbid ballet of fear and suspicion. Five years working here, and this was how his mornings always played out.

Every. Damn. Day.

Step over to the scan pod, Staff Sergeant, said the young Pentagon Force Protection Agency officer, shoulders stiff with the gravity of his job. A job that left no room for trusting long-term cubicle jockeys like Gage.

Ranalli, we go through this every day. Despite his belligerent words, Gage stepped to the side where another officer stood ready to pat him down. Gage nodded at him but addressed Ranalli. Don’t you think we can skip this time-consuming step by now?

Ranalli simply shrugged. This is protocol, Staff Sergeant.

Gage assumed the frisk stance and fought not to snort at the irony of it. The PFPA officers would freak if they knew he carried the latest evolution in weaponry: a cybernetic leg.

Disguised as a regular prosthetic leg—and currently unloaded—the prototype appendage Gage sported had been attached to mortally wounded soldiers like him to ensure their continued functionality on battlefields. Laser sights linked to his right eye, and the barrel in his outer thigh could swing up and rotate from his hip, fed from the arsenal of belt-fed ammunition stored in the rest of his leg and partially into his gut.

Pew. Pew. Target eliminated.

Gage was an advanced-tech soldier, designed at the behest of the Army. A mere battalion of cyborg soldiers like him would make the US undefeatable. Fortunately for the country’s enemies, the government had decided it wasn’t worth the six million per soldier starting price tag to rehabilitate injured veterans into literal killing machines. Add to that the fact that cyborgs were currently more unpopular in public opinion than the Vietnam War of two centuries ago, and the government had pulled their program support faster than a cargo bird leaving Saigon.

But those pesky details didn’t help him in this daily ritual. Only a select few had the clearance to know about the fleeting program that had turned him into a deadly tin soldier. Being a cyborg was a need-to-know status, and no one needed to know.

Gage sighed and tried a different tactic. I’ve been employed here for the past five years. Your agency administers my annual background check and authorizes my security clearance. And you have my prosthetic leg on file. Could we at least dispense with the entrance scan and go straight to this rectal exam? Maybe save the other employees the daily heart attack because you and I both know I’m always going to trigger the alarms?

Ranalli shook his head. Protocol. Sorry. No, not sorry.

He pointed Gage toward the free-standing coffin of a scan pod. What the pod lacked in satin cushions and memorial wreaths, it made up for with a body balloon that would inflate to encase him in a silicone hug that smelled of stale onions and triggered his claustrophobia.

Coworkers often teased him about his daily tryst with the giant pocket pussy. If only the experience was even half that fun.

On another resigned sigh, Gage entered the pod, mech-guns following his every move, and steeled his expression when his leg twisted awkwardly, shooting shards of pain up his spine. His body had once been a powerhouse, like the latest version of the Ripsaw tank. Now, it was just a rusty old pickup truck needing one helluva tune-up.

Ranalli tapped away at the pod’s control panel. Stand still and hold your breath as the scanner balloon inflates. You’ll feel a slight discomfort.

Slight. Beginning the work day suffocating in a literal sense merely emphasized the metaphorical smothering of Gage’s menial desk job. As the pliant walls of the scan balloon engulfed him, he clenched his teeth, inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts to the only thing that calmed him during these nightmarish moments. Audra Muir.

The curvy imp worked down the hall from him. Different department, so their paths rarely crossed, but she always had a shy nod and dimpled smile to offer him. While they’d exchanged only occasional small talk, she played a central role in his fantasies and dreams.

Perceptive eyes were the clear turquoise of Caribbean waters and just as beguiling. A dainty ski-slope nose, a cherubic heart-shaped face, and her soft-spoken way gave the impression she was timid and naïve, but Gage saw the flare of spirit in her eyes. There was a backbone of steel beneath those mild manners. One didn’t survive the Pentagon without it. While the self-imposed celibacy stemming from his cyborg status meant he’d never get the chance to find out for sure, he’d bet his piddly pension she hid a deep well of passion behind her crisp, white cotton button-up shirts.

That temperament manifested in her hair. Her dark blonde curls, threaded with the occasional silver, refused to be tamed by the low bun she wore. The willful tendrils often escaped and required constant tucking from her slender fingers. His own fingers twitched at the thought of releasing that wild mass of hair and diving into it, discovering its soft texture while twining the curls around his fingers then fisting them to tilt her head back and offer up those plump, cherry lips to his kisses. Deep, desperate, tongue-dueling kisses that stole their breath and heated their bodies until they tossed off their clothing as if that might cool their desire.

Then he’d palm her amazing ass. That lush derriere which turned her conservative uniform skirt into a siren’s call. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning at the thought of fondling those twin mounds, plumping and biting and rubbing, filling his hands with them, then using those firm pillows to cushion his thrusts as he pounded—Ow, damn!

Thoughts of Audra might distract him from a panic attack, but the resulting erection fought a losing battle for space against the skin-tight balloon. The uncomfortable squeeze piggy-backed on the embarrassment of knowing Ranalli likely saw the evidence on the control panel and assumed Gage had a kink for the scanner. It all tamped down his arousal as quickly as the bag deflated. He’d be nearly flaccid by the time he stepped out of the pod, the flush on his cheeks the only indication something had occurred.

The flush had as much to do with the sheer indignity of going through this farce every day as it did his randy thoughts while in the pod. He worked here because the Army didn’t want him anymore, but they sure as hell wanted to keep an eye on him. Can’t have his cybernetic system glitching and sending him on a murder spree. Can’t have his PTSD triggered, not when he could fire a thousand rounds in a minute without his leg overheating.

Gage’s menial employment was literal hush money to keep him under observation and silent about his cybernetic status. As if he hadn’t proven his loyalty through three combat tours and volunteering his shattered body to undergo cybernetic reconstruction. As if the Army didn’t trust the cyborg they’d created. And that rankled more than anything.

Even now, being treated as a pariah, he’d willingly give his all—red blood and blue lubricant—for his country. Hooah.

The truth zapped any lingering arousal, and further soured his mood.

All clear. Ranalli nodded toward Gage. Have a good day, Staff Sergeant.

Anger and betrayal burning in his throat, Gage merely adjusted his ID badge and marched on in, head high and gaze forward. He didn’t care to see all the wary eyes following him as if he might snap at any moment. He’d never lost sight of the combat objective, even with mortars detonating everywhere, bullets whistling past his ears, and brothers-in-arms exploding next to him. A few hundred paranoid stares would not affect him.

Twin sparkling eyes of Caribbean blue on the other hand…

Staff Sergeant Gage Austin marched proudly away from the daily humiliation of his pat-down and full body scan as Audra Muir watched, just like she did every day, from a safe distance. Safe from the heart-pounding, knee-quivering effect he had on her as a woman. And safe from the eruption of her self-righteous anger on his behalf, caused by his treatment. All these years working here and no one allowed him the common courtesy of bypassing any of the security checkpoints. They knew full well he would trigger the alarms, the morning mass of incoming employees would panic, and several minutes of chaos would ensue. Still, they made him go through it.

Every. Damn. Day.

Her own boss had a heart monitor, yet the alarms never blared and the mech-guns never flinched for him, because PFPA always waved him around for a less conspicuous wand scan. Same for the general with the metal plate in his head. The intern with the pins in his arm from a recent car accident. Even the food service veteran who’d had a knee replacement. They all breezed past security without even a blink of concern from anybody.

But not Gage.

Because he was a cyborg.

She shouldn’t know that fact. No one else at the Pentagon did, not even Gage’s supervisor. If anyone knew she knew, she’d lose her job. If anyone knew how she’d learned that tidbit, she’d be dead.

However, even knowing what she shouldn’t know, she didn’t worry about the consequences and didn’t fear or hate cyborgs like the rest of society. She didn’t worry he might lose control of his cybernetic parts and go rogue. Not Gage. He’d suffered through too much to be what he was, and watching what he silently endured each day and guessing how lonely his life must be as a result… yeah, she couldn’t muster any fear or mistrust of him. Instead, she admired him. His strength and fortitude. His quiet confidence. His dutiful respect for the system that had made him the man—and man-machine—he was. Admired and desired.

Because, honestly, he was hot as fuck.

Tall and powerful, he was as muscular as any of the servicemembers nearly half his age. The silver in his high-and-tight cut accentuated his year-round outdoorsy tan, and his dark chocolate eyes were framed with deep lines from years of squinting through scopes at enemy combatants. His voice was smooth as aged bourbon, and the combination of looking at him and hearing him speak made her parched in a manner only an encounter of a more physical nature would quench.

Their brief exchanges were about as much as a single woman her age could stand before erupting into an inferno of need. She clutched those shared moments to her chest like heirloom china. Their delicate outcome was like something forged in fire and was as hot as her combustible longing for something more with Gage.

As he continued down the hall toward the elevators, Audra hastened to catch up. When he caught sight of her in his periphery, his steps faltered a moment, then his lips flinched in a small smile.

She cleared her throat. So, how’s your week been, Staff Sergeant?

Stupid question. His proximity must make her brain short out. He’d just been frisked and scanned like a terrorist—again, like every day—and she was inquiring about his week?

He frowned, glancing in the direction of the scanners. SNAFU. Situation Normal, All Fucked Up.

She understood the military acronym and the sentiment behind it. But hearing him spew the profanity fuck lobbed mortars of arousal to her core. Like every time he was near, her heart raced and her body quivered. She wanted his broad hands and his hot mouth on all her intimate parts. Wanted him buried deep inside her. Hearing him speak the action she so desperately wanted, even though he'd meant it as a curse and not an invitation, was more than she could handle. Her knees quaked, and her clitoris throbbed.

For a single woman her age, she had a fairly active dating life, but none of those dates made her fantasies run wild like Gage. None of those tepid men ignited her nerve endings to sizzle like electric currents. Gage made her forget where she was and what behavior was considered acceptable.

But how does a woman entice a man too reserved to make the first move? Is there anything I can do to make things better?

Ugh. Maybe she was the tepid one if this was her best come-on.

Gage turned to her, stopping their forward progression among the river of workers headed to their offices. The flow parted and continued, unperturbed by the shoal of a couple suddenly forming in the middle. Audra faced him, lifting her face to look into his. Was that a warm glimmer of interest shining in his eyes? His gaze dipped to rake her body, and she felt it like a caress, her lungs struggling for air and her lips trembling. She swiped her tongue to moisten them and pressed a palm to her somersaulting uterus.

His lips hitched upward. What would you suggest to make my day better, Audra?

Her brain shorted out as images of what she’d like to offer bombarded her. Dear God, she was going to have an orgasm right here standing in front of him if she didn’t get better control of herself. Well, if you have time, we could grab a coffee and chat.

Fuck! Not the act, the profanity. She’d had the perfect chance to speak her mind and garbage had tumbled forth.

The light of interest remained in his eyes, but his reserved smile dimmed with regret. I’d love to, but I have a report due by lunch.

What’ll they do if you’re late? Not promote you? She snorted before she could stop herself. Damn runaway mouth. She hadn’t meant to remind him of how stagnant his career had been these years at the Pentagon. Panicked, she placed her hands against his chest, as if to stop him from storming away, but mostly to stop herself from spewing more stupidity.

There was no way she was getting laid at this point. Which was tragic, because his pectorals contracted beneath her palms, and his body heat warmed her to her toes, particularly a few choice spots in between. She chuffed a bitter laugh. I’m so sorry, Gage. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I just… You work so hard. Surely, you can take a few minutes for yourself once in a while.

He covered her hands with his own, and she caught her breath, swallowing back her moan by biting her bottom lip. He was touching her! Casually, like they did this on a regular basis and it wasn’t a big deal. But it was a huge deal. Her heart raced and her lips quivered, and she was seconds from pulling his mouth down for a hungry kiss.

He shook his head. Disappointment filled his long sigh, as his hands pulled hers away from his chest. Audra, you’re a beautiful woman, and I wish I could take you up on your offer. But I don’t want to put you in danger—uh, I mean, I don’t want you to get in trouble because you neglected your job.

Gage inhaled quickly, then eased it out, and looked directly into her eyes. Longing and grief shadowed his gaze. Just… just being near you makes everything better.

Other men spewed bland poetry and drizzled empty compliments, all of which charmed her as much as day-old snot. This restrained admission from Gage filled her heart to bursting and sent waves of heat through her limbs. He wasn’t a man to bullshit anyone or use pretty words for personal gain. He meant what he said.

He didn’t move a muscle, but his presence engulfed her. How could she get him to touch her, kiss her? She’d lusted after him for years and was desperate to turn that lust into something more tangible if only one time.

Her recent diagnosis spurred that need. Breast cancer.

Her breasts were small, rarely responded to stimulation, and men approached them like one would a drenched cat. With pity pets. Yet her chest was always their first stop during sex. Next week, she would undergo cancer treatment that would reduce her breasts to almost nothing. Her sexual partners always prioritized her breasts during sex, even as underwhelming as they were. What would her lovers play with when her breasts were gone?

The prospect of the surgery and its repercussions terrified her, but Gage had lost so much more than she would and was still every bit a functioning man. She had occasionally glimpsed evidence of that function straining against his zipper after he’d exited the scan pod in the past. Could she entice him enough to function with her? To give her one final, mind-blowing memory of pleasure