by Amy Cook
“I’m opening my own restaurant. One that will be a hundred times better than yours. One that won’t discriminate against its patrons or workers, with food that doesn’t have rats crawling all over it, and a working bathroom not covered with crap and urine!”
Patrons began gagging and turning green left and right. Amiel may have added in the rat bit, just for fun. But the rest was true enough. Stint roared, charging at her like a bull. Pulling out some impressive ninja skills, Amiel dropped to the ground, falcon punching Stint below the belt, halting his charge immediately. He crumpled to the ground just as a massive internal fist slammed into Amiel’s brain. She shakily rose to her feet, her fury and her Hybrid’s restless energy giving her enough stamina to stand, despite the fact that she was seeing double, a telltale trickle of blood threatening at the back of her nose.
“Anyone who sides with this man is just as pathetic and spineless as him. And eventually karma is going to slam you in the junk, just like I did to him.”
Joyce burst out in a snorting chuckle, and Amiel cleared her throat to cover her slight embarrassment over what she had just said.
“Keep your eyes and ears open for the opening of my restaurant, ‘Fire and Ash’. Any employees at the Jolleyways are welcome to switch to employment with me, immediately. Two-dollar raises to the first twenty who join. Spread the word. Have a lovely day.” Reaching into Stint’s pocket, Amiel pulled out the giant wad of cash that Stint had stashed there.
“What do you think you’re doing, whore!” Stint spat in a much higher voice than usual, face red as he wheezed, still entirely immobile on the floor.
“I’m taking my last paycheck now, since I have no doubt you’re too stingy to pay me for it later.” Amiel placed the rest of the cash on the counter, leaning over Stint’s prone body. She met his hate-filled gaze, and matched it with her own.
“And if you so much as try to put that sign up again, I will release every single picture you have hidden away on your computer. I know some people who would be very interested in seeing them.”
Stint’s eyes widened, and she saw the first very real shiver of fear she’d ever seen in his eyes. Sufficiently satisfied that she had gotten her message across, Amiel turned and walked toward the door. Joyce quickly dived for the cash, grabbing out her own paycheck. Sunshine joined in with an evil chuckle.
Amiel tried to swallow her excitement when Cookie moved forward, taking his share. Nodding to Amiel, he offered a handshake, then silently walked out of the diner. She wasn’t sure if that meant he was joining her endeavor, or just taking the opportunity to leave, but either way, it left Stint without his world-famous cook.
“I’ll see you skinned alive for this.” Stint cursed furiously.
“Try it and I’ll shove what’s left of your manhood down your throat. Even the smallest of objects can cause choking, did you know that?” Amiel replied lightly.
Sunshine burst out in a gut laugh as the three of them left the diner. Sunshine climbed into the taxi with them, and it swiftly drove down the road. Apparently the driver had watched what had gone down and was eager to get far away from Stint’s wrath, if he ever picked himself up off the ground. Amiel leaned her head back against the seat, a tissue from her pocket pressed to her nose to catch the bleeding.
“That was amazeballs!” Sunshine shouted, making Amiel wince.
“No pun intended.” Joyce smirked, before shushing Sunshine and turning to Amiel. “You okay, Hun?”
“Just a headache and nosebleed. I’ll be fine soon.”
“I’d get that too, if I’d just obliterated the junk of a charging fatty!” Sunshine guffawed. Joyce shushed her again.
“That was pretty impressive, Suga. But I hate to say it, runnin’ a restaurant takes a lotta money, even if ya already own the place.”
“I’ve got plenty,” Amiel mumbled, without a doubt in her tone.
“Well, all righty then, Moneybags.” Joyce’s voice made it clear she was glad that she actually did have a job, and she hadn’t just bankrupted herself. Sunshine chuckled.
“When you mentioned those pictures, I thought he’d pee himself for sure. That was pure genius!”
“You do have pictures, don’t you?” Joyce asked.
“Sunshine does. A ton of them.”
“Wow. Just wow. You really know how to go all out on girls’ night, that’s all I can say.”
“We’re not done yet,” Amiel assured her mysteriously, peeking up at her friend.
“Sweet! What’s next?” Sunshine turned toward them, dark mischief on her pale face.
“Oh, no, you ain’t old enough for this fun ride. We’re droppin’ y’all off somewhere.”
Sunshine scowled. “Fine. I already had plans with your boyfriend anyways.”
Joyce rolled her eyes. “Real mature.”
“When do I start work, boss?” Sunshine ignored Joyce, poking Amiel in the ribs.
“Joyce is my manager; she’ll let you know.”
“Ohh, no you don’t!” Joyce backpedaled. “I ain’t qualified for that.”
“You’ve been promoted. Congratulations,” Amiel replied. Sunshine motioned for the taxi to pull over, grabbed Joyce’s arm and scribbled her number across it before Joyce could complain.
“See ya, suckas!” The teen jumped out of the taxi, laughing as she walked away.
“Such a joy.” Joyce leaned back in the seat with a sigh of exhaustion. “Well, I’ve gone ghost huntin’, quit my job, and now have a gothic teenaged nightmare’s number on my arm in permanent marker. What’s next? Please tell me somethin’ normal, like a club or somethin’.”
“We’re going to win Harley back.”
“Okay, I’m intrigued. Share with the class.”
“I think he’s been avoiding me all week. And I think it’s because he’s trying to protect me.”
Joyce’s eyes turned thoughtful. “Protect ya from what?”
Amiel paused, carefully phrasing her words. “His life.”
“Well, that sounds ominous.” Joyce chuckled dryly. “Ya make it sound like you’re on opposite sides of the mob or somethin’.” She paused, eyes widening slightly. “You were kiddin’ about what ya said about your mama earlier… right?”
Amiel sighed, rubbing the headache that was slowly diminishing. Joyce swallowed audibly.
“Hell fire and brimstone,” Joyce whispered. Amiel felt Joyce’s shiver through their arms that touched as they sat. “Well, in that case, maybe he is tryin’ to protect ya.”
“He’s always protecting me. And I think that’s the problem. I need to step up; I need to show him that he doesn’t have to always be watching my back.”
“How exactly do ya plan to do that?” Joyce asked nervously.
“I have to show him I have the strength to stand up and do what it takes to be with him. I have to show him where I stand. That I stand with him.”
“I don’t like that look,” Joyce stated with trepidation.
“What look?” Amiel sat up tiredly.
“The devil horns under the angel halo thing ya got goin’ on.” She crossed her arms, leaning back in the leather seat. “Of course, the way y’all socked Stint in the knickers back there, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a devil in disguise. Granted, ya did the world a service, knowin’ he’ll never father children. But still. What a wallop!”
Amiel grinned, gingerly leaning forward to give directions to the cabbie. “Lime Street, please.”
Chapter 41
Amiel
Joyce winced as the tattoo gun hit a particularly sensitive spot on her shoulder. When Amiel had unveiled her plan to get a tattoo, Joyce had insisted on getting one along with her. Amiel wondered if she was regretting that decision now. Her friend clearly wasn’t enjoying the process.
“How exactly is gettin’ a tattoo supposed to win Harley over, Suga’? I don’t think gettin’ his name painted on ya at this point in your secret relationship would be a winnin’ choice.”
Amiel fought the urge
to shake her head, trying to sit as still as possible while the man named “L” worked on her neck.
“It’s not his name.”
“His face?” Joyce guessed sarcastically.
“Nope.” Amiel bit down as the tattoo needles scored through her skin like a burning brand. The ink seared into her skin with intense pain that put her on the edge of her seat. She gritted her teeth against the pain, let it wash over her as she reminded herself this was going to be a regular part of her life soon, so she’d better get used to it. This was her medal to wear, the mark of her commitment to the life she now led.
“So? Explain,” Joyce pressed. Amiel sighed.
“This tattoo means everything,” Amiel stated simply.
“Okay, then. You’re showin’ you’re ready to be part of his life. Part of his life like weekend dates and pizza, or like ‘I wanna stay with ya despite the smell of your dirty socks litterin’ my side of the bed and the vomit-inducin’ lullaby farts every night’, part of his life?”
Amiel scrunched her nose. “Um… the last one… I think?”
“Trust me, honey, it happens. I go to sleep every night with my side of the bed smellin’ like road kill on a hot summer day.”
“Well… I guess I want that too, then. I mean… not the smell, but…” She sighed in frustration. “If that is what it means to have him around forever, then yes, I want his stink. I accept him, and everything that comes along with him. Completely. And this proves it.”
“Y’all know there’s this thing called ‘talkin’ nowadays, don’t ya? You could just tell him.”
“No, talking is for girls.”
“Which you are, soo….”
Amiel ignored her friend. “I need something stronger than that. I need a visual and strong, silent statement. Something that shows exactly where I stand with him, to everyone that sees me.”
“Maybe try puttin’ a ring on it,” Joyce mumbled.
“Rings can be taken off, taken to the nearest pawn shop and traded for something else. That’s not forever, it’s a fashion statement. This is forever.” Aside from the fact that she would have to get it done again every couple of weeks. She left that part unmentioned.
“That’s what I’m worried about.” Joyce winced as the needle hit a particularly sensitive spot. “What if he don’t feel the same, Suga? What if this particular brand of crazy ain’t his cup of tea?” The artist working on Joyce’s shoulder finished, cleaned up and put the protective oil and wrap over her new ink while she talked. Amiel watched the process, mind sludging through the mire of self-doubt stirred up by Joyce’s words.
“Well… then I guess I’m left with a cool new tattoo,” Amiel answered at last. Joyce stood from the chair and her eyes bulged when she finally saw what Amiel was having put on her skin.
“And a whole lot of crazy to deal with after!” Joyce gasped. “You’re joinin’ a gang? How in Hell’s bells is joinin’ a gang supposed to show your devotion to him?” She slapped the arm of the guy working on Amiel, glaring at him accusingly. “And you! How could you willin’ly put that on a young, confused girl! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”
L looked at his arm, then shifted his scowl to encompass Joyce. Joyce sobered immediately, taking a step back.
“I bet your mama’s ashamed, anyhow,” she mumbled. Amiel couldn’t hold back the grin. She bet Harley and L got along just fine during his biweekly visits here. Amiel held up a small mirror in her hands, relishing in how realistic the wolf looked. It gave her an excited chill.
“It’s not a gang, Joyce,” Amiel calmly assured her friend. Joyce waved both hands in front of her face, fanning herself as she had a mini-meltdown.
“Oh, my stars and garters. This is what ya meant when ya said y’all were in the mafia, ain’t it? Heaven help us all, I’m best friends with a gangbanger.”
L shook his head in silent annoyance at Joyce’s carrying on. Finally he turned off the ink gun and began cleaning her skin. It was then that Amiel separated the tingling of the tags from the burning of the ink. Harley, or one of the others, was near.
Her eyes flew toward the door, and L grunted, pushing her chin back to straight forward so he could finish. The bell over the door rang as L slathered the ointment on. She shivered in anxiety and excitement, waiting for the man to move so she could see who was at the door. Based on the buzz in her body, she already knew.
L finally moved away, and Amiel’s eyes collided with Harley’s. Instant emotion flooded through the current, like it had been backed up the entire time they were apart. She felt his nervous excitement to see her; she felt his worry and competing joy at seeing she was well.
Then she felt his utter heartbreak when his eyes dropped to the ink on her neck, and it rocked her to the core. The grin on his face vanished, replaced with an expression she’d never seen on Harley’s face: fear. He gripped the door handle like it was the only thing that kept him upright. She’d broken his heart, and that wasn’t at all what she was going for.
“Harley…” His name broke on her lips. Joyce’s breath caught.
“Oh, my stars and garters…”
“Leave your stars and garters alone, Joyce,” Amiel murmured, pushing up on legs that were suddenly very wobbly. “Harley?”
“Oh, kid. What have ya done?” Harley shuffled toward her in a daze. His fingers lifted to touch the new ink, but jerked away, as though he’d been burned. “Your skin. Your beautiful, flawless skin. What have ya done?” he repeated, his voice gaining a deeper inflection of twisted emotion. When his eyes lifted to hers, the look they held was devastatingly soul-wrenching.
“It’s just a tattoo,” she whispered. The heartbreak in his eyes instantly shifted into anger, a change so instantaneous Amiel stepped back, breath catching.
“That ain’t just a tattoo! Don’t ya understand what you’ve done?”
“Why don’t you tell me, Harley, since you seem to know so much!” she snapped back defensively, feeling an uncomfortable mixture of frustration, guilt, and sorrow.
“Oh, I do, since I have to live it every damned day! The way people will treat ya, look at ya now… you ain’t got no idea the cruelty you’re gonna face now, the rejection. I’ve tried to shelter ya from it, but apparently that was a dumb idea.” He ran both hands through his hair.
“Damn it, kid, don’t ya realize that Foundation’s got ya listed on their books, now? Y’all might as well have signed a contract with the devil, handin’ over your soul. Honestly, what were you thinkin’? What crazy idea was bouncin’ ’round in that head of yours, to make ya think this was a good idea?” He pointed at L. “We gotta scrub her name from the list. You owe me that favor, and I’m cashin’ it in now. Her record scrubbed, and your silence: then we’re even.”
L’s eyes narrowed in curious suspicion. “Why? She said she was one of you.”
“Not yet she ain’t, and she never will be, if I have my way,” Harley growled, walking toward the computer that L had entered her data on. Amiel bit her lip, tears pricking hot little embers in her eyes. Harley had always been a gentleman to her, rarely spoken a harsh word to her before. And the way he was looking at her… like she was some stranger on the streets that he didn’t know at all? It tore her apart inside.
“So, you are allowed to make the decision to join up at fifteen years old, but I don’t get to make that decision at eighteen?” she challenged.
“Not about this, ya don’t! I had to join to protect my brother, and now there’s no leavin’ for me. But you still got a chance at livin’. Takin’ ya patrollin’ is one thing. Lettin’ ya move into the devil’s den is a whole ’nother matter. Ya don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into, and I can’t let ya do it.” He ran a hand through his hair, then pointed a thick finger in her direction.
“But you’re right about one thing — you’re genetically similar to us. Which means your skin heals at a heightened rate.” His eyes lit up with the revelation. “So… maybe two weeks, three tops, and that curse’ll be comple
tely pushed from your skin. So all we gotta do is keep it hidden till then.”
“What? Are you kidding me?”
He shot a dark glance her way, but wouldn’t meet her eyes no matter how hard she tried. He didn’t want her in their shared current.
Maybe it was because she had finally had the courage to do a rebellion that had been in her heart since she was a child, but it wasn’t what she had thought it would be. Maybe it was because, after all of that pain, it was a letdown knowing it was going to be for nothing. But somehow she knew it went deeper than that. This tattoo had been more than a rebellious statement. It had been a silent effort to brand herself in a way that meant she belonged in something bigger… with someone ultimately important to her. Someone who was now more than eager to get rid of that visible link. Whatever the reasons, she felt herself shutting down. She blinked.
“So what are you going to do until then, lock me in a cage?”
He paused, eyes distant. It didn’t take a Hybrid sense or connection to know he was clearly mulling over that idea.
“Is it truly so bad that I want to be a part of your life?” she whispered, putting her heart into the words, hoping he’d understand where she was coming from, what she hoped for with him.
“You don’t belong there!” He might as well have wrenched open her chest and stomped on her heart. She jerked back with the nearly tangible force of his words, tears brimming in her gaze. Catching scent of the pained shift in her hormones, he turned toward her. When he saw the broken expression on her face, his gaze softened slightly.
“Kid, I meant ya don’t belong in Foundation. It ain’t just a tattoo. It’s a life sentence. Maybe the tattoo will fade, but if I can’t clear up this mess, if I can’t get your name scrubbed from the system, you will have ruined yourself. Your life will be over.”
Her chin lifted, defiance in her watery gaze. “That’s right. My life. And you don’t get a say in it anymore. I release you from babysitting duty,” she replied coolly. Now it was his turn to look as though she’d slapped him. His jaw clenched, back straightening.
