by Amy Cook
“We’ll talk about that when I straighten out this mess,” he replied stiffly, turning back to the computer. Amiel’s heart rebelled, screaming at her to run to him, to beg her friend to forgive the harsh words they’d just exchanged. But her fury and her pride had her retreating. Silently grabbing Joyce’s hand, Amiel backed out of the room, only turning and running when the bell over the door rang behind them. They slipped into the taxi, and Amiel quickly told the cabbie to drive.
“Well… that explains the tattoo connection,” Joyce said quietly. Tears eked out of Amiel’s eyes, the tags telling her Harley had run after them out the door, but wasn’t following any further. “So… he’s one of them?” Joyce pressed the topic, hesitant and gentle.
“Yeah. And so am I. Kind of.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” Amiel sighed, rubbing both hands over her face as more tears came. “Ughh, I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t fit in with them. I don’t fit in anywhere. I’m just a freak of nature.”
“Don’t say that, darlin’. If y’all wanted so badly to be part of it, they can’t be all that bad. Maybe I’ll make a big potluck and invite the whole brood over. Heck, maybe I’ll join up with ya. Then we can both be outsiders,” Joyce offered, her tone making it clear she was actually trying to consider the ridiculous notion. Amiel laughed softly, leaning against Joyce and hugging her tightly.
“You’re kind of wonderful, you know that?”
“Well, I don’t like to brag or nothin’.” The statement was so similar to something Harley would say, Amiel’s heart clenched painfully.
“But please never join, Joyce. It’s not what it’s cracked up to be.”
“Well, their welcoming committee sure lacks finesse.” She sighed dreamily. “It’s awful easy on the eyes, though. I can see what’s got ya so hung up on him now. Mmm mm mm. Mama wants a ride on that crazy train.”
Amiel couldn’t fight the crazed sort of giggle that rose within. Joyce had a way of helping her smile at life, no matter what it threw her way. And in that moment, she wanted to make her friend happy. Tonight had been all about Amiel and her own brand of crazy train. Now it was time to do something fun for Joyce.
“What do you say, Joyce — still want to do something normal like a club?”
Joyce’s shocked face suddenly lit up. “Do I ever! It’s been ages since my man took me dancin’! We used to love goin’ clubbin’. They’ve got a bit of a reputation now, but I’m sure they ain’t changed that much since we used to go.” She glanced over Amiel’s outfit. “But first, we gotta get y'all somethin’ to wear.” Her eyes drifted to her neck. “And a scarf. Definitely a scarf.”
Chapter 42
Amiel
Upon reaching the store, Joyce quickly maneuvered them about the building, snatching out several pieces of clothing, and had Amiel try them all on. Amiel, however, refused to even leave the changing room with most of them on. She finally emerged, wearing the last outfit: a too-short, denim miniskirt, a glittery black tank top, and four-inch, matching glittery black heels.
“Perfect!” Joyce grinned. “Pair it with your jacket and it’ll be just perfect. A little leather, a little denim, a little out of your comfort zone.”
Amiel shook her head, cheeks flushing even standing in the doorway of the changing room in the clothes. “I can’t go anywhere in this outfit, Joyce!”
“It’s not like you’re gonna be sittin’ on the back of a motorcycle anytime soon, right? Or doin’ the splits?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure if I bend over, I’ll be showing the world my SpongeBob undies.”
“You’re wearin’ SpongeBob undies?” Joyce asked in confusion. She quickly waved that off. “We’ll deal with that another day. For now, just don’t bend over. Simple.”
Amiel bit her lip, self-consciously doing the fingertip test employed back in her school days. The skirt was about an inch shorter than her fingertips.
“You’ve got long legs. It ain’t that bad,” Joyce assured her, wrapping a long, silky scarf around her throat and tying it off so that it artistically hid the tattoo. “Besides, I already bought it, so ya can’t say no. No way in hells bells my butt’s gonna fit in that skirt, so you’re stuck with it.”
Amiel sighed in self-defeat, pulling her jacket back on and sadly putting her boots and jeans inside the store bag. She missed them already.
She wobbled slightly in the heels, no longer used to wearing them on a nearly daily basis as she had in her mother’s life. But within the time it took them to exit the large clothing department, she found she was growing accustomed to them once more. It was kind of like riding a bike, she supposed. She gasped slightly as a chilled breeze swept across her very exposed legs.
“Gosh. It’s chilly in skirts.” Amiel had never been big on skirts. She’d always thought they were cute, but just hadn’t been comfortable in them herself. She’d been forced to wear skirts often enough by Malinda, but they were always knee length. Joyce hadn’t been joking when she said it was out of her comfort zone. A man suddenly walked by, whistling in appreciation.
“Lookin’ good, hot legs.”
The guy was shady, to say the least, but the compliment still gave Amiel a boost of confidence. There was no denying the way he had been looking at her legs, and it felt good to know she was noticed. She felt an odd conflict inside. One part of her was more than happy to hide hunkered down inside herself, comfortable with anonymity. The other part of her hated that hermit lifestyle, hated the idea that her entire life might pass her by and she’d die without so much as a blip on the radar. She was tired of hiding. Joyce noticed her bright grin.
“Uh huh, see that? Confidence is a good feelin’, ain’t it?”
Amiel blushed, but grinned brighter. “Maybe. Not telling you,” she teased.
They wobbled into the taxi, and Joyce directed the driver to what she said was rumored to be the hottest club in the city. As Amiel stood outside the doors of the club in the line, the restless energy from the last few days returned. It pulsed within her to the beat of music, leaving her so wound up she bounced up and down on the already too-high heels. Joyce threaded her arm through Amiel’s, but soon relinquished the grip when Amiel’s bouncing jarred her too much.
“You’re more wound up than a hairball in the sink drain, Hun.”
Amiel grinned. “I’m just excited, I guess.”
Joyce eyed her uncertainly, but the line moved forward before she had a chance to speak. The music pounded, giving Amiel an instant headache, but she reveled in it. It was a good distraction from having to think. The huge crowd jostled them left and right, and they quickly linked arms again to keep from being separated as they held on for the ride through the wave of people. Eventually the wave spit them out at the bar.
“It’s a little different than what I remember,” Joyce mumbled, gnawing on her lip. Her worried expression said it was actually a LOT different than what she remembered. “Maybe we should go. I hate to waste that money for the ticket to get in, though. It’s nonrefundable.”
Two scantily clad women with fake cat ears jostled into them, bumping them into the bar. Then they turned and hissed, giving Joyce and Amiel an eyeful of their surgically modified facial features and scary, all-white contacts. They looked like demonic tigers in hooker boots.
“Um… yeah. Okay,” Amiel agreed quietly. “But to justify the ticket, let’s at least sit for a while and get a drink. Maybe the place will grow on us?”
Joyce nodded, though her lower lip pouted out in clear disappointment. “Clubbing used to be so fun, too.”
A guy with crazy, spiky hair and an inhumanly long, black tongue chose that moment to jump in their faces and shake that long tongue back and forth like some kind of psychotic lizard. With a final groin thrust in their direction, he spun and bounded away into the crowd again, loincloth flapping about so wildly they got a very unappealing view before he disappeared. They stared after him in silence for a long moment, both clearly unsure if they had real
ly just witnessed that.
“Let’s make that a quick drink,” Amiel muttered, to which Joyce quickly agreed. They squeezed into the bar seats, managing to find two empty stools right next to each other. They each ordered a water, both clearly just wanting to leave yet too stubborn to do so right away. The air was hot and sticky, and the scarf around her neck was stifling. Amiel rubbed at the tattoo underneath it, tugging this way and that on the fabric. Nothing seemed to help. She quickly smoothed the fabric out when she caught the man next to her watching her from the corner of his eye.
A scream behind them drew their attention, as someone decided to crowd surf from the second level of the building. Obviously, that didn’t go well. Amiel watched as bouncers quickly moved in to drag away the moaning body of that somebody, who was dressed only in what appeared to be an adult diaper.
“For crap’s sake, ain’t nobody ’round here normal?” Joyce muttered. Amiel’s eyes searched the room as she chugged her water, before pointing out two twins dressed in t-shirts and jeans in the corner.
“Those guys look normal enough,” Amiel shouted over the pulsing beat. The men turned in their direction, revealing that they’d stitched their faces to one another using big, metal rings in their cheeks, noses and ears. Joyce gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.
“Well… I guess at least they’re close siblings… family bonds are important,” Amiel offered lamely. Suddenly the room tilted around her, and she grabbed the bar for support. The air filled with bright lights, and the music toned down to a steady thrumming beat that didn’t destroy her ears so much. Amiel shook her head, refocusing on Joyce, whose mouth was moving.
“What?” Amiel shouted. Joyce looked at her funny, but quickly repeated herself. Amiel zoned her out again, her body swaying to the beat. That inner restlessness was rising to the surface again, swaying along with her, encouraging her to move to the music. Joyce grabbed her arm, shaking it slightly. Amiel shook her off.
“I’m gonna go… cucumber…” Amiel giggled. “I like that word. Cuuuucumber.” Before she even realized she’d moved, Amiel was in the middle of the dance floor, moving to the beat. Bodies gyrated around her, moved with her, against her. She lost herself in the swirling lights, the heat of the air making her skin sticky.
“Amiel?” Joyce was at her side, tugging on her elbow until Amiel finally looked her way. “Wow, your eyes are real dilated! I think we need to get y’all home, Suga.” She held up Amiel’s jacket, encouraging her to put it back on. Amiel didn’t even remember having taken it off.
“No, not yet! I’m cucumbering!” Amiel pouted, pulling away to sway again.
“Merciful heavens,” Joyce muttered, eyes wide as her gaze focused on something over Amiel’s shoulder. Amiel turned to see Harley storming toward them, looking like he’d just stepped fresh from Hell’s depths, its fires still raging in his eyes. “Oh, he looks fit to be tied, girl!” Joyce cleared her throat as Harley neared, shoving people out of his way as he went. Joyce put on a wobbly grin.
“Hey there, big guy. Listen, maybe we need to just take a breather and…” She gulped as the full torrential force of his brooding gaze shifted to rest on her. “Riiight. We’re just gonna pretend I had nothin’ to do with this one. I’m gonna go over there and hide now.” Joyce retreated into the crowd with a silent, sympathetic apology on her lips for the friend she was abandoning. Harley called after her.
“Don’t wander off. Meet us by the stairs.”
Joyce’s eyes widened at his bossy tone, nodding in a sort of daze as she moved to do as he said. When he turned his back, Joyce shook out her hand, acting oddly like she’d been burned, her face doing a weird, puckered expression. Amiel’s eyes narrowed in thought, before she grinned brightly.
“Oh! I get it! He’s hot!” Harley quickly turned around, catching Joyce by surprise. She blushed before swiftly apologizing and scurrying off to the stairs.
“What the hell are y’all doin’ here, kid?” Harley growled at Amiel, his accent markedly pronounced under the gruff tone. The music drowned out the husky growl for those dancing around them, but Amiel could feel it reverberate to the marrow of her bones. She forced the internal shiver aside and glared.
“None of your business.”
“Amiel.” His growl turned menacing as he took a step closer. Though he still stood several feet away, she could practically feel the dominating heat of dark Hybrid power radiating from him. Her own Hybrid side shivered in excitement, and Amiel silently cursed it for its traitorous response.
“I’m having fun. Something you clearly don’t understand the need for,” she retorted.
“Fun? This ain’t fun, kid, this is suicide. Places like this ain’t safe — especially now.” His eyes fell on her neck, and her temper rose to meet the temperature of the flushed skin beneath his gaze.
“Why do you care? In fact, why are you even here? Don’t you remember? I fired you from stalker duty. You don’t get a say in my life anymore.”
His jaw clenched, nose suddenly lifting in the air. “What’s that smell? You been drinkin’?”
“Go home, Harley. I came here to cucumber, and that’s what I’m going to do.” Her belly did a strange flop as his glacial eyes ignited.
“Ya wanna dance, Thumbelina? Fine!” He stalked toward her, swiftly closing the distance with dark intent clear in those Hybrid eyes. She gasped as he grabbed her arm with one hand, spinning her to face the opposite direction. His other hand rested low on her belly, pressing her roughly back until her spine was nestled firmly against his chest. This time Amiel joined her Hybrid when it shivered, knees going weak as Harley’s lips pressed to her ear.
“So dance,” he commanded quietly.
As though on command, the music turned to a deep thrumming rhythm, dark and dangerous in the undercurrents it sent through the connection of their bodies. Sizzling jolts of an alien, electric need shot through her skin as their sensuously close press revealed the way each of his muscles bunched and flexed with every sway and dip.
“He dances,” Amiel challenged, still feeling fiery despite the breathlessness that fought for center stage.
“Never said I couldn’t.”
Her lips parted as his fingers flexed against the sensitive flesh of her stomach; somehow, whether from the dancing or by design, two of his fingers had found their way just beneath the hem of her shirt, caressing her hormones into a frenzy. Blinking, Amiel tried to force her way through the fuzzied haze of her mind, but the lines between anger and desire were so blurred she couldn’t find her way back to the right side. Which side was the right side, again?
She couldn’t remember, or care to try, as his free hand slowly slid up her arm. His touch was so light, so blatantly in contrast to the claiming grip of the other hand holding her to him, that the sensations played off one another like sizzling fireworks. The hand continued its journey, trailing goose bumps in its wake until it finally slipped into her hair. His grip was gentle, but held an unspoken claim of dominance. The Hybrid within her ate it up.
Her head fell back against his shoulder when his nose pressed ever so lightly behind her ear, his breath drawing in heavily to drink of her scent.
“You’re killin’ me, kid,” he groaned, and the heat against her back suddenly disappeared. Before she had a chance to miss it, she was spun and unceremoniously flopped over his shoulder. The mixture of the spinning, upside down world and pressure on her stomach had her fighting valiantly for control of its contents, rather than protesting her current situation. That situation became dire as he trotted up the stairs, taking them two at a time and jostling her with each leap.
When the sound of metal slamming open and the cool breeze shifting across the backs of her thighs signaled they had exited the club, she felt a momentary surge of relief. Until the cool breeze reminded her that the skirt Joyce had picked out for her tonight was far too short to be flung over someone’s shoulder modestly.
Embarrassed, Amiel squirmed on Harley’s shoulder and he quickly set
her on her feet near his bike. She wobbled on the too-high heels as the world swung about again. Harley gently gripped her elbow, keeping her steady.
“Ya need to sit down, kid.”
“I’m fine,” Amiel gulped out, desperate to allow only her words to escape and not the contents of dinner. She was anything but fine. The world was blurring into separate images, and skittering side to side. What was wrong with her? She leaned forward, grasping her knees.
“Suit yourself. Just stay outta the way.”
Amiel frowned, glancing up just as the metal door slammed open again with a deafening crash. The blurred forms that exited the doorway added their angry shouts to the echoing alleyway.
“Hey there, Halfer freak. You and your skanky Halfer girlfriend didn’t really think you could come on our turf without a confrontation, did you?”
Harley’s stance smoothly shifted into fighting form. If you didn’t know what to look for, it would have been easy to miss, his body looking casual and relaxed. But Amiel had seen it often enough, she could practically feel the tightening of each muscle beneath the leather and denim.
“How cute. A bunch of pussies lookin’ for a tussle,” Harley mocked. “Go home to your mamas so they can wipe your bums.”
The world suddenly tipped around Amiel and she stumbled against Harley’s bike, slumping to the ground. She had no idea what was happening inside her head, but it was hell in there. Her brain felt like it was pulsing and flexing, the world around her fluttering and flopping about, colors popping and dulling in second-long intervals. A cold sweat broke in a frenzy, rolling down her hyper-sensitive skin. She felt so nauseated and discombobulated that she couldn’t even figure out how to throw up if she wanted to.
“Looks like your girly is giving us a show. Maybe we’ll take her for a ride or two after we’re done with you. I hate to touch any Halfer, but what she’s offering is a little too hard to pass up.” It wasn’t until then that Amiel realized she was crumpled on the ground, barely staying upright as her legs sprawled and gave the world the perfectly embarrassing view of her SpongeBobs. She scrambled to push the skirt down, her limbs not cooperating at all.
