by Amy Cook
“Just you wait, Harley Coaver. One of these days, I am going to have you on your back and you won’t know what hit you!” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and strutted out of the building with a confidence foreign to her only days ago. Harley shook his head and followed after. A few steps later, she felt the first dip in her temperament all day. His bike stood in the lot, sparkling in the setting sun. And hers, of course, wasn’t. She missed her baby. Harley gently yanked on her pony.
“No worries, kid. Dog and cat days.” He climbed on the bike and offered his hand. She sighed heavily, allowing herself one more moment of self-pity. She was entirely vexed by the fact that her bike had been wrecked. Anger stirred in the depths of her stomach as she pictured Duane’s face.
Clenching her jaw, she pushed her feelings of revenge to the side. There would be time for that one of these days, she would see to it. Plastering her smile in place, she grabbed the hand Harley offered, the other going to his shoulder for a secure grip as she vaulted onto the back of the bike. Immediately she snuggled up behind Harley, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. He cleared his throat when she gave him a squeeze. Her ribs offered a twinge, and just to spite them, she gave him another squeeze.
“Tonight is going to be great, I can feel it!” She grinned. Harley shook his head, a small grin tipping the corners of his lips.
“Lay off the drugs, kid.”
“Nope. They’re all mine, and I’m not sharing, so don’t bother asking.”
Harley chuckled and they flew down the road.
She sighed happily, tipping her head back, letting the wind rush over her face. It was brisk enough to make her face tingly and numb, but it was exhilarating all the same. She almost told him to keep driving when they pulled up a block away from the diner. Alas, the real world beckoned, and she couldn’t afford to ignore it. Slipping off the bike, she evaluated the distance between their parking spot and the diner.
“Don’t want to be seen with me, Superman?” she teased, lightly punching his shoulder.
“No.”
Her eyes jerked upward to meet his. The glacial blues held frustration and apology alike.
“I can’t be. We’re takin’ enough risk with me bringin’ ya this far. You’ve seen the signs.” The storm that had risen within earlier, at the thought of Duane, rose again, now filled with thoughts of Stint and his ridiculous sign. She’d forgotten all about that mess. Her hands clenched at her sides as she glared down toward the diner. She suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling.
“What’re ya doin’, power house?” Harley teased, body not budging an inch under her tugging.
“You are coming in for dinner with me.” The muscles under her grip turned rock hard.
“No.”
“They can’t treat you like this, Harley! It just makes me sick. You are some of the best people I’ve ever known and they treat you like dirt. It’s not right,” she seethed. Harley gently turned her face back toward him.
“It’s their establishment; they can treat us any way they want. That part of our country still remains free.”
“Well, it’s a stupid part,” she grumbled.
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But it is what it is. Stop the death glare, Thumbelina; it ain’t worth it.”
“You’re worth it. You’re all worth it,” she argued heatedly. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.
“Still as scary as a soakin’ wet cat.”
She huffed, relinquishing her grip on his hand. Her gaze inevitably found its way back to the diner. Again he redirected her line of sight.
“I mean it, Amiel. No gettin’ into fights with your boss over this. Ya won’t be doin’ yourself any favors, and ya won’t be doin’ us any, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Foundation’s ordered us to stay out of it, and away from the establishments. Draggin’ me in there’ll only cause us trouble. And it’ll bring ya right in the line of Foundation’s sight.”
She ducked her head, defeat on the matter seeming inevitable.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble. I just…” she sighed in exasperation, “I don’t understand. Why doesn’t Foundation issue a public announcement explaining who you are? People are afraid of you because they think you’re a gang of killers or something.”
“We are a gang of killers.” Harley shrugged stiffly.
“No, you aren’t.”
His brow rose, as though silently daring her to contradict him.
“Maybe you kill things, but you’re killing the bad guys! You are making the world a better place, not a worse one. Why let them think you’re bad guys?”
“The world’s holdin’ on by a thread, kid. It’s better that people think we’re just another gang on the street, rather than genetically altered freaks one step away from Rabid. People are more likely to think better of a gang member that shows unexpected kindness by savin’ ’em on the street, rather than genetically altered freaks runnin’ ’round in the night.”
“You do realize that a lot of people already suspect there is a connection between you and the Rabids, don’t you?”
His eyes turned wary. He was fully aware of what people thought; he’d only been trying to soften the matter for her.
Amiel sighed heavily. “If Foundation let people know you were purposely made the way you are, maybe they wouldn’t be so afraid of your existence.”
“Right now, they’ve only got speculation, kid. Speculation alone is enough to make ’em distrust and hate us. Give ’em solid, hard facts, and there’d be chaos. Don’t matter if we were created to help ’em or not: there’d still be a witch hunt.” A wry smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Besides, you’ve only met a few of us. How do ya know we’re all good? Can’t judge all of us based on only a few.” That was true; she had only met three Hybrids. She bit her lip then and shook her head stubbornly.
“No. You’re the leaders, and a group of people are only as good as the people they allow to lead them. So, Mr. Grumpus, I don’t buy a word of it. Sure, there’s bound to be a few bad eggs, but I am willing to believe the majority of them are simply varying versions of the three of you, not wild animals. You wouldn’t stand for it any other way. And if people could only see you all for what you are, they would appreciate you, not fear you.”
Harley stared at her for a long moment, as though unsure if she were for real or not. Finally he rubbed his eyes with a tired grin.
“Trustin’ to the bone, kid. Even after everythin’ you’ve been through.”
Her chin lifted in the air slightly. “I prefer the word ‘loyal’.”
Harley nodded agreeably.
“That too.” He sighed heavily. “Look, maybe you’re right, kid. Maybe we’re not all that bad. And maybe some people might be reasonable about us if they knew more. But your boss ain’t one of ’em. This ain’t our first run-in with him, and I doubt it’s the last. So, ’round work, we’ll keep our distance. Anythin’ else’ll just get ya fired. Then I’ll have to deal with ya mopin’ ’round the gym all the time.” He winked, fist lightly bumping her chin in a mock punch. Her face loosened, a reluctant smile finding its way through the cracks of her frigid armor of fury.
“That’s my girl. Get your hyper freak back on. Frowns don’t suit ya,” he teased, revving the engine to life. “I’ll be back for ya at the end of your shift.” He paused, slowly reaching out to grab her hand. His thumb ran over the back of it as his eyes lifted, capturing her gaze. The deep glacial depths, the way they flared as they drew her in… it sent her heart racing, and all kinds of very unladylike wishes popped up in her head, too.
“We’ve got somethin’ important to discuss then, too, if you’ve got the time.” He didn’t give her a chance to reply, giving her hand one final squeeze before dropping it and speeding away. She nodded belatedly, waving as he disappeared down the road.
Chapter 20
Amiel
The grin grew as she strode toward the diner. If h
e wanted her to be happy, she would be. She could deal with Stint’s narrow-minded ways if Harley could; she would be strong for him. Her heart skipped happily in her chest, her mind replaying the look in his eyes, the touch of his hand on hers, his words. The grin brightened further.
What could he possibly have to discuss with her tonight? From the sounds of it, it was serious. But the way he’d touched her, looked at her… she burst into the diner, full grin in place. Stint startled across the way, where he sat happily counting money in the register. His eyes narrowed when he realized it was her. It only made Amiel’s grin grow to face-splitting proportions.
“Reporting for duty,” Amiel sang jauntily, approaching the counter.
“I thought you were dead,” Stint growled.
“Come now, don’t be like that. That would leave you shorthanded again, and then you would have to waste all that time and resource hiring someone else and teaching them the routine.”
Stint glowered, but didn’t argue her point.
“You don’t look like you’ve been run over,” he asserted, eyes roving over her in a way that made her skin crawl.
“I’m a fast healer,” she replied blithely, lips stretching into a secretive grin. If only he knew. Stint grunted, pocketing most of the cash in the register before he slammed the tray shut.
“Shut up and get to work,” he growled, shoving past her and thumping out the front door. She idly wondered where he was going with all that cash. The sound of the kitchen doors swinging drew Amiel’s gaze to find Joyce walking through, arms full of dishes. When her friend’s bored eyes found Amiel, she let out a startled gasp and dropped every single plate on the floor.
“Oh, sugar dumplin's, there goes a chunk of my check,” Joyce huffed, though her frustration was swamped by the delight on her face as she pulled Amiel into a big hug.
“They said y’all got in a wreck! I was so worried, but look at ya now, all pretty and bright! Guess I didn’t have to worry after all!”
Amiel grunted as the pressure of Joyce’s bear hug sent her ribs shrieking. Joyce immediately stepped away, one hand over her mouth, the other hovering over Amiel’s side as though she could fix the damage done.
“Oh, gosh golly and goobers, I’m so sorry, hun! Did I hurt ya bad?”
Amiel chuckled. “I am just fine, Joyce, only a little sore.”
“Well… see that ya don’t worry me like that again,” Joyce censured halfheartedly. “I was plumb near outta my wits, worryin’ ’bout you! I knew that bike was no good.”
“Actually, it wasn’t the bike’s fault. I was hit by a bus.” Amiel edited her story a bit, making it better fit casual perceptions. She couldn’t exactly say that she was hit by a bus driven by a man with a thirst for her blood on his hands, after she’d killed a whole pile of Rabids. Joyce probably wouldn’t handle that so well.
“No!” Joyce gasped. Amiel nodded. “Wow. Public transportation at its finest, if I ever heard it.” An angry shout floated toward them on the air from one of the patrons: one Amiel surmised now had a meal strewn all over the floor, mixed with broken plate shards.
“Oh, keep your whities on your bum, Tim! I’ll get to ya in a minute!”
“Whities?” Amiel snickered, dropping to the floor near Joyce to help clean the mess.
“Well, darlin’, a man like Tim ain’t wearin’ sexy undies like boxer briefs, I can promise ya that.” She leaned closer. “He still lives at home with his mama, and I bet ya she still does all his laundry and combs his hair.” Her eyebrow rose. Amiel grinned.
“Yikes. Let’s just hope he doesn’t go commando, huh?”
Joyce burst out in the most unladylike snorting giggle Amiel had ever heard, and she loved every ounce of it. When Joyce caught her breath, she tweaked Amiel on the nose.
“Oh, I missed havin’ you ’round, girl!” She stared down at the mess. “I’m afraid it’s gonna be my turn in the hospital after this, though. Stint’s gonna put me there when he sees this wreck.” Amiel frowned in determination.
“Oh, no he’s not.” She grabbed up the half-full kitchen trash bag. “Help me toss all the pieces in here.”
“What plan have ya got bouncin’ ’round in that pretty little head of yours, Amiel?” Joyce asked with a suspicious grin. Amiel winked as she tied off the bag, grabbed an unbroken plate, and headed over to Tim’s table. After a quick conversation, Tim grabbed the plate and trash bag and quickly headed out the door. Joyce watched in surprise.
“Now what was that all about?”
Amiel grinned. “He’s taking the trash to the dumpster across the road, and then heading to the discount store down the street to buy us more plates. I saw the exact same plates there when I was shopping a few weeks ago.”
“How’d ya get him to do all that?”
“I gave him forty bucks and told him he could keep the change.”
“Well, thanks for that, Miss Money Bags.” Joyce shook her head, bending to wipe up the sticky mess left on the floor from Cookie’s famous sweet sauce on his chicken. Amiel quickly swiped out her phone and took a picture. Joyce looked up at her in surprise.
“I may have also promised him a picture of your feet.” Amiel grinned apologetically. Joyce’s mouth fell wide open.
“My feet?”
Amiel shrugged. “Apparently he has a foot fetish. Who knew?”
“Oh, heaven help us all. Probably from all those foot massages he gives his mama.” They both giggled. “Here’s the question, girl. Exactly how are you gonna get him the pic? Not all of us got the money for a fancy phone like you.”
Amiel frowned. She hadn’t thought of that.
“I need access to a computer and printer.”
“Ain’t one like that ’round here, unless you’re Stint.”
“He’s got one?”
“In his office.” Joyce’s eyes turned wary. “Oh no, don’t ya go thinkin’ crazy like that, girl.”
Amiel glanced over her shoulder at the front door before rushing toward Stint’s office. She knew she was being crazy; she knew this was quite possibly one of the stupidest things she’d ever done, but she couldn’t deny the rush it gave her, either. A sheer shiver of excitement skittered down her spine, goose bumps erupting over her flesh as she tried the office door and found it locked. That should have deterred her, but it only spurred her onward. It was a challenge, and she suddenly found that she liked a challenge. Reaching up, she quickly snagged a couple of bobby pins from Joyce’s hair. She felt an almost giddy elation as the pins slipped into the keyhole.
“What’re you doing?” Sunshine’s monotone voice drifted toward them. Joyce jumped a foot in the air, whereas Amiel only grew still for a moment before continuing to poke away at the lock.
“I’m breaking into Stint’s office,” Amiel stated simply.
“No you’re not,” the girl stated just as simply. Amiel felt her muscles go stiff under the girl’s reply, a dangerous sort of anger brewing in the back of her mind. She quickly whisked it away into the darker corners of her mind, almost embarrassed to have felt such a reaction. Sunshine might be rude, but she was still just a kid, after all.
“Why not?” Amiel kept her voice flat, emotionless, afraid of what else might come out otherwise. She was feeling a bit unpredictable at the moment.
“Because you’re doing it all wrong.” Sunshine suddenly shoved Amiel out of the way with her hip. Yanking a pair of long, metal stick things from the hot pink mess of her hair, she set to work on the lock. Amiel didn’t have time to be angry or offended, because she realized Sunshine was doing what she’d failed at. The locks snicked open in a matter of seconds under Sunshine’s expertise.
“Why did you do that — help us, I mean?” Amiel asked.
“Because Stint’s an ass, and if someone is going to ruin his day in any way, I want to be a part of it.”
“Oh, high water and Hell fire,” Joyce murmured, one hand covering her eyes in exasperation.
“Shut it, Red. You be the lookout. Warn us if you hea
r him coming,” Sunshine hissed, shoving her way through the door and leaving Amiel to follow. Amiel surged to her feet and quickly slipped into the dimly lit room.
“So, what are you gonna do to jerkface?” Sunshine asked nonchalantly, perusing the office.
“I’m just using his printer.”
The girl stopped to stare at her as Amiel took a seat behind Stint’s desk. “You’re kidding, right?” When Amiel didn’t reply further, Sunshine let out an aggravated groan. “We break in here, and all you do is borrow his paper and toner? That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Lame or not, it isn’t going to happen if I can’t even get into his computer.” Amiel frowned, staring at the password-protected screen.
“Shove,” Sunshine commanded, pushing her way in front of the screen, fingers pecking away at the keys. She pulled a small, square object from her pocket and plugged it into the side of the computer. Immediately the blank space for the password began scrolling through several asterisk patterns before settling on one and unlocking Stint’s secrets.
“Wow,” Amiel murmured in appreciation. “Where’d you get that?”
“None of your beeswax.” Sunshine shrugged, hand imperiously held out. “Give me your phone. I’ll get the photo printed out. Which one is it?”
“The one of Joyce’s feet.” Amiel pointed at the screen. Sunshine stared at her like she was a freak. “It’s for a patron,” Amiel supplied.
“Ew. That’s even weirder.” She didn’t say another word as she sent the file to be printed. Once it was done, she tossed the print at Amiel and cleared any data of their activity on the computer. Amiel stood, but stopped cold when Sunshine let out a low whistle.
“Lookie what we have here.”
Amiel followed her gaze, blushing slightly as the girl sifted through a whole mass amount of folders filled with inappropriate images. Sunshine paused on a few, twisting her head to the side. “Oh, wow. I know a lot of people who would be more than pissed off to know Stint had these pictures.”
“Really?” Amiel asked, curious despite her aversion to the images.
