Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 (27 page)

Which meant whether she wanted it or not, these kneejerk reactions and blackouts were here to stay maybe even after she took the tags off. And since the tags refused to let her steer clear of the situations presented to her, it would keep happening whether she was prepared for it or not. Maybe it was time for her to face it head on. To prepare herself the best she could, and then ride out the storm. But that meant finding someone to train her, someone she could trust with her secrets, and with her life. She’d promised Grey that she would do just that, but so far she had yet to keep
that
promise.

The next few weeks flew by without much to report. Cookie had raised a silent brow when Joyce had approached him and told him not to be angry at Amiel for ruining his spaghetti sauce. Amiel had smiled apologetically at him, but offered no further explanation. He’d shaken his head and returned to cooking his food, obviously choosing to stick to the crazy-free aspects of his job. She slipped into a comfortable routine with the staff at the diner, though Joyce was really the only one she talked to. Stint was just as Joyce had said, an emotional tornado waiting to hit, or something like that. One minute he ignored you, the next he was jumping down your throat for one thing or another that you did wrong in his book. He’d yet to reveal the ‘grabby’ aspect, and Amiel hoped it stayed that way. Yet when her first paycheck settled in her hands, the world couldn’t have broken her smile if it tried.

Amiel

Amiel groaned when the bike didn’t start. She’d been working night shift as a waitress for a month now, a job that took her half way across the city in order to work. A distance that was entirely manageable…if your motorcycle was running properly. And it would have been running properly, if the tank had gas. Someone had siphoned it- for the second time this week alone, and she had no idea how to stop it. The cap had a lock, but apparently the thief had no problem bypassing locks. Now there was nothing left but a smidgen of juice. This meant she was walking to the nearest gas station, a good half hour walk in the dark, or longer since she would be pushing her monstrously heavy bike, too.

She’d gotten stuck with closing up again tonight, all of her coworkers already long gone, so there would be no help in that department. With a heavy sigh, she fired up the GPS, and began pushing the bike into the darkness, cursing the jerk who kept stealing her gas. She paused at the mouth of the alley, safely tucking the tags inside her shirt so that she wouldn’t miss any warnings of nearby Rabids.

Looking down at the bike, her mind turned to Tandy. She wished she had his number, just to ensure that he had made it home safely. And she had to admit, she was pathetically lonely. She kicked small pebbles out of the way as she walked, as though they should take the blame for her dour mood. Two of the ten blocks into her trek, she realized that gas stealing punks, Rabids, and a sore back weren’t her only worries. Dark shadows detached themselves from the darkened street ahead of her, splitting to form the shapes of six men. She swallowed and kept moving forward, trying to appear unconcerned.

“Well, look what we have here, boys. A late night snack.” The tallest shadow to the right stepped into the light as she neared, leering down at her. The shadowed men stepped into her path, surrounding her to the back and all sides. She held perfectly still, gauging the situation through a mind hazy with panic. The tags warmed against her chest, reacting to her distress, and for the first time she welcomed the devouring blackness that would be her savior. Only it never came. No overwhelming anger, no surge of adrenaline, and no rescuing ‘exorcist attack’. She’d wondered if the tags would save her from all danger, or just from the Rabes. It would seem she now had her answer, and she didn’t like it at all.

“Get out of my way.” She put as much force into her words as possible, but it only seemed to fuel their excitement.

“We got ourselves a feral cat here, boys! I like that! I think I wanna keep it.” Tall Dude smirked, voice dripping with enough grease that it made her feel dirty just hearing it.

“I like the bike, too. “ A nervous sounding shadow to the left of her added.

“You think that tiny bike is going to fit your fat pansy ass, Greg?” The man next to Pansy Greg burst out laughing. Tall dude and the others quickly joined in. Amiel gripped the handle bars tighter, fear making her palms slick.

“I don’t want to ride it, idiot! I’m gonna sell it!” Pansy Greg leaped forward, swinging a fist at his companion. He missed, stumbling to the side, at which point his taunter kicked him in the backside. Anger and embarrassment heating his face, his furious gaze shifted to land on Amiel, as if it were her fault.

“It’s okay, Greg, you can ride the bike if you wanna. But I’d much rather be riding her.” Tall dude smirked as he and the rest of them began closing ranks. Heart jerking painfully in her chest, she reached in her jacket and pulled out Tandy’s gun.

“Get back! I’ll shoot you all!” The men paused and then kept moving forward, many of them laughing at her like she were a pathetic joke. Amiel’s heart lurched again.

“Somehow, Doll, I don’t think you got it in ya,” Tall dude sneered, before leaping toward her. The gun flew out of her hands, clattering across the pavement as she and tall dude went down on the ground in a heap. Her bike crashed to the pavement, bringing a mental wince to match her physical pain. Her mind urged her to scream, but the air had been crushed from her lungs, and she squirmed weakly, desperate to suck the air back in. It was proving difficult as Tall Dude was completely splayed over her, and he was anything but light.

“Now, you play nice girly, and we just might let you walk away when we’re done. Well, maybe
crawl
away.” He rubbed his stubbled jaw against her cheek, scraping it. “You might even enjoy it.” His breath reeked of cigarettes, coffee, and something else that she didn’t even want to discover. The rest of his lackeys laughed along with his ‘joke’, anticipation clearly reflected in their gazes. Greg, however, had eyes only for her bike, crouched over it, caressing it like a lover.

“Go screw yourself,” she grunted with a wheezy breath. The man’s brow creased before he burst out laughing.

“Real nice come back, Doll, real nice. Let’s hope your mouth is better at other things than it is at insults.” She grimaced and wrenched her head to the side as he tried to kiss her. A grimy hand came up to painfully grasp her jaw, holding her in place as he tried again.

“Well, what do we have here? A bunch of Cut Rats lookin’ for a free meal.” A deep smooth voice floated through the night air, and Tall Dude pulled away slightly, looking toward the new comer’s voice. Something about the deep husky tone made Amiel’s heart leap. Though she didn’t recognize it, her gut told her that the newcomer was on her side. The rest of the gang moved back, turning to face the man. As the view cleared, a looming figure stepped forward into the circle, stance carefree and loose. Light from the lone street lamp fell dimly across his features, and Amiel’s eyes widened. It was the man from the bar, she was sure of it. His shaggy hair hung jaggedly just past his jaw, and over the edges of his aviators. Who wore aviators in the middle of the night? He glanced down at her, brows pulled down in confusion.

“Hey, kid. What are ya doin’ down there?” She blinked up at him in surprise. What was that supposed to mean? She certainly wasn’t down here because she wanted to be. Why wasn’t he helping her? Or had she been wrong about his intent, and he was here to help the men? She scowled the best she could with Tall Dude still grasping her jaw.

“Admiring the dirt,” she replied sarcastically. The smooshed nature of her mouth, however, made it sound more comical, than it did snarky. He nodded seeming to accept her answer for perfect sense.

“Well, if y’all are done, maybe you should get up. Unless of course ya
wanna
stay down there,” he replied reasonably, and her glare turned darker.

“Of course I don’t!” Still he watched her calmly, as though waiting for her to simply shrug the guy off and get up.

“Who the hell do you think you are, man?” One of the men grumbled angrily, and Amiel silently agreed with him. She was dumbfounded when the man dismissed the thug with an upheld hand, effectively silencing him.

“Any time, Thumbelina. Don’t got all night to play games,” Aviator Guy stated factually. Amiel and the men alike gaped at him.

“You could help!” she hissed. He shrugged, but made no move to help. Anger spiking through her, she tried to move, hoping Tall Dude would relent under the new circumstances. Instead, her movements only seemed to snap him and his men out of their momentary daze.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Tall Dude repeated his stooge’s earlier statement “Get out of here before we wreck you!” The men around them shifted forward slightly, eyes narrowed and ready for a fight.

“Cuts,” the man scoffed, taking off his aviators and placing them in a pocket of his jacket. “Always such an intellectual treat. Sendin’ five men to do your dirty work? Why not ‘wreck’ me yourself, Buttercup?” His deep growl held an obvious challenge, and if Amiel didn’t know better, she would think the guy actually wanted a fight.

“I’m busy,” Tall Dude growled, hand shifting to squeeze Amiel’s chest, earning a gasp of pain and outrage from her. The stranger’s eyes lifted, and seeing them for the first time without the glasses, Amiel gasped at the darkness they held. There wasn’t enough light to see their actual color, but the darkness came from within, not from the shade. A frigid smile stretched his features. It was terrifying and breathtaking at once. He was gorgeous, yes, but the chill racing her spine warned of dangers raging beneath the surface. The deep, quiet laugh that followed sent different kinds of shivers through her, sensations that she didn’t entirely care to examine at the moment. The smile widened, gaining a chilling depth of dark humor. Rocking back on his heels, he would have been the picture of relaxation had it not been for the storm brewing within those wild eyes. The lackeys shifted nervously now, obviously disturbed by his lack of fear. Tall dude’s face clouded over with rage and he motioned his men to attack.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Get him!” he shouted. One man finally found the courage to surge forward, knife in hand. Mere seconds passed before he was laid out, unconscious or dead, at the dark stranger’s feet.

“I call Bull Puckey. Y’all ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of mutts,” Aviator Guy smirked, casually wiping the blood from his knuckles, leaving a dark smear across his jeans. “I’d tell you to man up and grow some balls, but your lady parts would probably get in the way.” Tall Dude rankled under the insult. Shoving to his feet, he yanked Amiel from the ground by a handful of her hair.
Welcome to the world of human shields, Amiel
, she thought nervously as he held her tightly to his chest.

“What is she to you anyway? Just move on. You want a piece? You can have her when we’re done.” The storm in her make shift savior’s eyes darkened further. They drifted down to meet hers, and she poured every ounce of silent begging that she could into that connection. He broke the contact, eyes shifting away swiftly, as though he didn’t want to see it.

“I don’t want a piece. I want the whole thing. And I don’t share.” His eyes dipped to meet hers again, the depths sparking with determination, and a silent challenge. She realized he was still waiting for her to do something, to sway the favor in their odds. His brows rose when she remained frozen, pressing his challenge further. Biting her lip, she said a silent prayer that it would work, and then did what the girls on TV always did. Her boot came down on tall dude’s foot, her fist slamming back for his groin. Her fist missed, only succeeding in making her hand go numb as it bounced off the guy’s hip bone. Her slight weight didn’t bring pain to his foot so much as simply making him angrier. Tall Dude cursed and yanked her hair harder, wrapping his other arm around her neck in a choke hold just short of suffocating. Aviator Guy stared drolly at her, before looking heavenward as though asking for patience. She mouthed a sorry to him, but he ignored it.

“Alright boys, let’s finish this up. I’ve got a long night ahead of me, and y’all are wastin’ my time.” Aviator Guy unzipped his jacket partially, rolling his head from side to side, limbering up. As he shifted his head to the left, a black tattoo peeked up from the edge of his leather jackets upturned collar. The lackeys took a collective step back, an audible gasp in the air. Amiel’s brow rose as she saw the fear surface in their eyes.

“Hey, man, y-y-you can have her,” one of Tall Dude’s henchmen gulped, backing away with his hands in the air. The others nodded in agreement, moving to follow.

“Stop being pussies!” Tall Dude shouted at them. “There’s one of him and six of us!” He paused, glancing at the guy laying still on the ground at the man’s feet. “Five of us. More than enough to take him down.” Aviator Guy regarded them with a bored expression, and they shook their heads.

“No way, Duane. You’re on your own, man.” With that, they turned tail and deserted their leader. Pansy Greg lifted her bike to stand and began pushing it away. She struggled in Tall Dude’s grasp, desperation fueling her.

“Hey!” she shouted after the bike thief, but couldn’t get free of Tall Dude’s grip. Her voice cut off with the air as he squeezed down harder on her neck.

“Stop wiggling, Doll, you’re just getting me excited,” he crooned in her ear. Her rescuer calmly took in the tears leaking from the edges of her eyes as she continued to fight in vain.

“Hey, Assface, leave the bike.” Instead of listening, Pansy Greg tried to push the bike faster, whimpering in fear along the way. Aviator Guy sighed, grabbed the nearest trashcan and chucked it with so much speed and force, it might as well have been a skipping pebble. It hit Pansy Greg right in the back, sending him skidding face first into the asphalt with a girly scream. Crawling to his feet he limped away sniveling, leaving her bike on the ground. Aviator Guy’s eyes shifted back to her, the corner of his lip pulling into the grimace of a forced smile.

“Excuse the language, kid.”  She just blinked at him, stunned. Tall Dude didn’t seem as impressed.

“Cowards!” he shouted after his departing men. Turning back, he eyed Aviator Guy warily, his heavy breathing whistling across Amiel’s ear. Her rescuer took a step towards them, and Tall Dude took one back, yanking her along with him. She hissed as he pulled more of her hair out, and Aviator Guy’s eyes narrowed further.

“Watch it,” he growled in warning, lips pulling into a snarl.

“I ain’t scared of no Halfer slime!” Tall Dude grunted, though Amiel decided it was more to reassure himself than to convince anyone else. She hadn’t thought it possible, but Aviator Guy’s eyes turned even colder. Tall Dude flinched back, his fear growing by the minute. “You can’t touch me! Not without hurting your little girlfriend first.” He clenched Amiel closer to him, his arm completely cutting off her air supply, though she doubted he even realized how tightly he was gripping her. If she lived through this, she was going to have a seriously sore throat, and a massive headache.