Turncoat by Megan Derr (the false prince series txt) 📕

Greg frowned. "Why are we breaking into his bedroom? Does he keep the G.O.D. computer in there?"

"No," Dixie replied. "Mason Chips are put inside people, not computers. They're slowly rolling the same kind of thing out to law enforcement and all now, too, though it's still in a testing phase and not loudly broadcast to the public."

"In… you mean they're like you?" Greg asked, eyes going cartoon-huge. "Is everybody cyborged up except for me?"

Dixie cast him a look. "Are you sulking because you ain't part computer? 'Cause I'll trade you, pintsize. I'd give anything not to be loaded up with G.O.D. parts. I have a serial number, you know. I'm Bio-computer 3.1, serial number GD175-000313. I'm barcoded for life as G.O.D. property."

"That's not—" Greg flinched. "I'm sorry. That was definitely not what I meant. I didn't realize it was like that. I just think you're amazing." The last word was spoken so low, Dixie barely heard it.

Couldn't scarcely believe it when he did hear it. "Amaz… I really ain't," Dixie said quietly. "And I wasn't trying to make you feel bad, just warning you it ain't all it's cracked up to be." He hesitated, lifted a hand, wavered again, but hell if Greg didn't look like a kitten someone had left in a cardboard box on the side of the road. He gently ran his hand over Greg's head, cupped the back of it, and stroked the side of his neck with his thumb. "Don't look so sad, kitten. You'd break even the G.O.D.'s frozen heart with the power of that frown."

Greg had leaned into the touch, eyes dropping, and Dixie could tell from the way he froze and the abrupt way he pulled free that he hadn't meant to give in to being petted. "I'm not a goddamned cat."

"If someone ever figures out how to turn a cat into a human, honey, it's gonna come out an awful lot like you. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

"Shut up," Greg grumbled. "Give a man a compliment and he mocks you, so typical."

Aw, hell. Dixie had never been great at talking to people, but he wasn't usually completely fucking horrible at it. Maybe he should quit talking. Greg was the tactile sort anyway. Gently turning his head, Dixie slowly bent and pressed a kiss to Greg's slightly parted lips.

There was damned good reasons he didn't do repeats, and the heat that shot through him like a live wire was a stark reminder. Not enough of one to make him pull away, though. Instead, he went full on stupid and pressed the kiss deeper, curled his fingers into Greg's hair, determined to see if he could coax a purr.

He'd just about gotten it when a door slammed, making him jerk back. Dixie moved out of Greg's space barely in time as Byron came barreling in. "It's a goddamned madhouse—what in the hell are you doing out of bed?" He started to say more, then snapped his mouth shut and peered at them, eyes flicking back and forth. His scowl deepened. "Seriously? Bad enough you're out of bed, how about you wait until those ribs are healed before you try getting laid."

Greg flushed. "I'm fine."

"You're not that fine."

"Ain't your business," Dixie drawled. "What were you shouting about before you started going stern father on us?"

"Huh? Oh." Byron shook his head. "It's a fucking madhouse out there. Everyone is still pissed about the stunt we pulled last week, and apparently Minder took down someone today who is a pretty heavy hitter in the city. Caught him harassing a couple of young women in an alleyway—what Minder does best, except this time he took down a big fish, which is not what he does in any way, shape, or form."

Greg stirred. "I gotta go."

Byron and Dixie both looked at him. "You're not very good at keeping secrets."

"You'd be surprised," Greg said, "but it doesn't take a genius to figure out what kind of friend I'd have in this city that would know my abilities, my identity, and be seriously protective of his own. Not for smart people who pay attention, anyway. I've got to go. I'll be back when I can."

Dixie pushed him back down on the couch when he started to stand. "Simmer down. You gotta go, fine, but you ain't going alone. It won't take much, in your state, for someone to knock you down again, and as hot as we all are right now, ain't a chance we'll be able to get you out again. Let me go with you."

"Minder won't like that," Greg said.

"We helped get you out of trouble," Byron replied. "He has to know we can be trusted at least that far."

"We'll work out the details on the way because I'm going, that's that," Dixie said. "Don't make me use the 'you made me burn down my house' bit, 'cause I will."

Greg flipped him off with both hands. "Fine. I'm going to get dressed, and nobody is helping with that."

Dixie almost joked that it wasn't like he hadn't seen it all before, then decided he didn't want to find out what Greg could do when he was properly riled. "Guess I'd better get ready, too." He stood, waited until Greg had vanished. "You gonna watch us the whole time, I'm guessing."

"Yeah, but only to track movement. I'll keep an ear to the police and G.O.D. too. I'm really super fucking twitchy at the idea of you two being on the streets."

"Ain't nobody gonna notice that slip of a thing, and we all know people don't like to stare at me too long," Dixie said with a sigh. "My newest ID is still clean, and most everyone who looks close will see the glasses and mark me off. It's stupid how often that dumb trick works."

Byron snorted. "You're telling me. Get a move on. I'll go fire up the systems. But you both owe me a fucking drink when you get back."

"I'll pick you up a