Strain of Defiance (Bixby Series Book 2) Read online

  "Yeah, but you were the one who talked the rest of us into it," Luke intervenes in a dry voice, and I switch my glare to him.

  "That was hours ago, dickhead, and I was drinking. Since when have the rest of you ever fucking listened to my suggestions?" I growl.

  "Stop your whining, Bix," Dom throws over his shoulder as he admires a duplicate of my work-in-progress already inked onto his shoulder blade in the warped mirror.

  "I actually like this," he says as he grins at his reflection. "For once, you idiots had a good idea."

  I'm glad he thinks so. I'm questioning this whole tattoo thing right now. And so is Gordon, I'm assuming, since he's looking like he’s going to hurl any moment. Or maybe it's just the alcohol wearing off.

  Why we even allowed him to drink is beyond me. We never did before. He just always seemed to be that little kid brother you didn’t want getting into your liquor stash. Maybe it was the guilt for not letting him go with us on the mission. Maybe it’s because our own inhibitions were lowered from drinking copious amounts of the poisonous spirits. But we let him drink along with the rest of us, deciding it would be good for him. Let Jonesy's wicked brew put hair on his chest and all that shit. Instead, we all wound up agreeing to his stupid idea of getting Avengers tattooed on our backs. Last time I get half in the bag with this bunch of A-holes.

  "Anddone," Jonesy announces as he sits back on his bench and spits out the remnant of his chewed cigarette.

  I sit up, wincing at my throbbing shoulder blade. Maybe getting the tat on top of the scar where the hybrid had sliced me open wasn't such a great idea after all. But then, who am I kidding? Nothing about this night is a great idea. I question again how we had we let the little dipshit talk us into this.

  "Okay, last one. Your turn, kid." Jonesy pops another shit-smelling stick between his lips and lights it up, squinting at Gordon through the haze of smoke.

  The kid’s face grows even paler as his eyes jump from Jonesy's smirking, skull-like grin to the homemade needle sitting in the bowl of alcohol on the table next to me. A bowl now stained pink with my blood. I can see his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows in terror. What the hell?

  "Come on, kid. You dropped 'em in puberty, now put 'em to use. Look how cool this is." I pull my t-shirt down, exposing my bare shoulder and Jonesy's new artwork. All it does is to cause him to gulp harder.

  "Uh....that looks really bad. Like, really red and swollen. I read somewhere that ten to fifteen percent of tattoos become infected. Maybe I shouldn't take that chance. I mean, Cooper said we were running low on antibiotics. Why become a statistic, right?"

  I give him my best “you gotta be fucking kidding me” look as I push my shirt back into place.

  "No way, Iron Man. Now get your butt over here and get Avengers tattooed on your shoulder before I leave my boot imprinted on your ass.”

  Luke chuckles at my threat. “Leave him be, Bix. If he's changed his mind, that's okay.”

  “Uh.... no it isn't,” I argue, vacating the table and pointing to it with a scowl on my face. “Sit, Boo-Boo. You're doing this. If we're going to run the chance of getting laughed at for being bike-riding, superhero-tattooed geeks, then you're going to be included as well.”

  Gordon's pale face stares back in defiance. I change tactics.

  “Maybe Coop was right in denying you the right to go with us,” I say softly. “If you can't even handle a little tattoo, then there's no way in hell you're ready to go outside the city. Was he right, kid? You too chicken shit?”

  I can tell the mocking ooooohs coming from the rest of our group at my taunt has the desired effect, and the boy's cheeks infuse with angry color.

  “I ain't no chicken shit,” he huffs at me as he brushes by, slamming me with his body. He jumps up on the table, baring his thin shoulder with intent.

  “Do it, Jonesy,” he barks, still staring me down.

  Jonesy shakes his bald, inked head and mutters, “Fuckin' hunters,” under his breath. He picks up the makeshift needle and bottle of India ink.

  “That's the spirit, Gordo,” Cal shouts at him from across the room and pointing one of his crutches his way. “Even if we can't go with our group, we can still be one of them.”

  “Show 'em what you're made of, kid.” Badger grins and raises his glass of liquid gut rot in a toast of respect. I didn't even realize he was still drinking. My stomach rolls in aversion as he downs the glass in one gulp. I never did understand how Badger's thin, wiry frame could hold more liquor than the rest of us combined.

  “For fuck’s sake, stop being a wuss and do it already.” Even Dom is offering his own form of encouragement to the best of his ability.

  “Gord-o! Gord-o! Gord-o!” Cal starts the chant and the rest of us join in, pumping our fists the louder we get. Jonesy rolls his eyes but continues to wait, poised at the ready with the tools of torture. Gordon puffs his chest up at our encouragement and sets his shoulders.

  “You ready now?” The bald man asks in a bored voice.

  The young ginger nods. “I'm ready.”

  “Okay.” Jonesy dips the needle in the ink and places it against Gordon's shoulder, piercing the skin. The kid's roar of pain pushes back against our encouraging chant like a water hose on a crowd of protestors.

  “HOLY DIPSHIT IN A BUCKET!”

  Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that's one of Iron Man's catch phrases.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Earth to Bix. Hey, Bix!” Badger snaps his fingers in my face, pulling my attention back to the moment.

  I stare at him in confusion. Did he say something?

  “I asked if you're gonna finish that.” He points to the brick weight, shit-colored square on my plate, aka Cookie's “good luck” cake. I shake my head with a slight grimace.

  “No. You can have it.” I push it his way and he grins in delight, slapping away Gordon's fingers as the kid tries to steal a piece. Don't know why they're fighting over it. Cookie's intentions are good, I'm sure, but maybe she should stay away from baking. Not exactly her greatest achievement.

  Don't even know why I bothered to take a piece. Wasn't much of a sweets lover before the world went to shit, but what passed for sweets nowadays was a poor-ass imitation. It’s usually just a mixture of water, artificial sweetener, artificial flavour, and flour. Not exactly gourmet food. But it's the thought that counts, I guess.

  This is our last meal before we leave tomorrow. Word had spread of our mission, and this is a kind of going away party. Everyone has shown up in the cafeteria to show their support, and with Cookie's unexpected gift of the cake, there's a sort of celebratory feel to the air. Cake is only made for special occasions, so I guess sending us all off possibly to our deaths falls under that category. All the cake does for me is remind me of Sam. But then again, what doesn't remind me of Sam lately?

  Gordon seems to have forgiven us and is back to his old tricks. I watch him reach around and tap Badger on the shoulder to distract his attention. The minute Badger turns his head, Gordon swoops in like a hawk, snagging the cake and shoving the whole damn piece in his mouth. By the time Badger realizes he’s been tricked and turns back, the kid is staring at him with chipmunk cheeks and trying hard not to choke.

  I can feel Luke vibrating beside me with laughter. “Good one, kid,” he says to Gordon and the ginger's eyes glitter back, pleased as punch with Luke's praise.

  But Badger, not to be outsmarted, places both hands on the kid's puffy cheeks before he can swallow and pushes hard with his palms, forcing the kid’s mouth to pop open and the cake to spill out and splatter across the table.

  “Ewwwwww. Gross. Real mature, you two.” I glare at them in disgust, but that just makes them laugh harder at their childish display. Idiots.

  “What's the matter, Bix?” Luke stares at me, eyebrow raised. “That was funny, you gotta admit. Or did you lose your sense of humor along with your appetite?”

  “Sorry.” I force a grin. “Just a little distracted, I guess.” I don't eve
n realize I'm playing with the dragon pendant hanging at me neck until Luke's eyes drop to it, watching it twist around my fingers.

  “Distracted,” he mutters, before averting his eyes back to my face.

  I flush under his stare. He knows exactly...or I should say who exactly is distracting me. I'm saved from a lecture as Amy bounds up to our table towing an irritated Liv in her wake.

  “Hi, guys,” she waves at the crew, eyeing the masticated cake on the table with a wrinkled nose.

  “Hey, Ames,” the gang greets her warmly in return. I'm glad Dom is not sitting with us. He had chosen to sit with his guard buddies instead, so Amy is totally herself. When Dom's around, she clams up, almost like she can tell he doesn't like her. The feeling is quite mutual. Her eyes smile at everyone at the table before settling on me.

  “Bixby. Cookie made cake.” Her face beams with pleasure at the rare treat, and her gray eyes, so much like her brother's, sparkle with unconcealed excitement. I can't help the grin it elicits. Amy is the happiest person I know, and her happiness is contagious. Her Down Syndrome only seems to add to her positive outlook. It's part of the reason why most of us at the Grand adore her so much.

  “She sure did. It's been quite a while since she made cake. Did you have any?”

  Her black curls bob up and down. “Yeah. Cookie gave me a really big piece.”

  Liv rolls her eyes above Amy's head. “A big piece? She gave you half a slab. And you ate it all. You'll be so hyped up tonight, you won't sleep a wink.”

  “Of course I will, Liv.” She sighs in exaggeration as she points over her shoulder with her thumb. “Liv is such a drama queen.”

  “She is, isn't she,” I add in a conspiratorial whisper, trying hard to stop the laughter threatening to erupt. Liv, on the other hand, does not look as amused as I am.

  “Yeah, we'll see how much of a drama queen I am when I send her to your room at three am because she wants to talk or play gin rummy.”

  “Hey, wouldn't be the first game of gin rummy we've played in the wee hours of the morning, would it, Ames?” I ask with a laugh, but her response chokes off my laughter.

  “No. Me, you, and Sammy used to play cards all night long.” She grins at her memory, oblivious to the sharp pain taking my breath away. I envy how her memories of her brother only bring her pleasure while for me they're nothing but pain. Hiding my hurt under a mask of fake smiles before Luke takes notice, I tousle Amy's black curls.

  “Hey, maybe we can have a couple of games tonight for old times’ sake. We're going to be gone a while, may as well get an ass whooping from you to last me while I'm out on the mission.”

  “Can we?” Her eyes brighten with excitement at my suggestion, and her animated face lightens my mood.

  “Hell, yeah. I'll come by about nine. And maybe I'll even bring more cake if I can sneak it without Cookie finding out.”

  Liv pins me with a stern stare. “Do not, I repeat, do not show up with more cake. You have been warned. I'll let Cookie know of your intentions if I have to.”

  I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “Okay. Understood. No need to do anything crazy, woman.”

  Amy giggles at my comment. “Okay, it's a date. I gotta go 'cause Jonesy promised I could pick out the movie for tomorrow night. I just wanted to say bye to you guys before you leave tomorrow. And be careful, please.”

  The worry and kindness in her eyes is genuine. She truly cares about everyone here in the Grand.

  “What she said,” Liv adds, nodding at everyone before following Amy, who’s practically bouncing out of the room.

  “Yeah, she definitely doesn't need any more cake.” Luke’s laugh is gentle as he watches her leave. “I haven't seen her that hyper in a while.”

  “Which means I'm going to have to get some cake now, just to make her more hyper and piss Liv off,” I respond.

  Luke shoots me a dimpled grin. “You are pure evil...you know that?”

  “Yup,” I nod and poke him in the chest with my finger. “And admit it. You wouldn't have me any other way, Whitman.”

  Much to my chagrin, he catches my finger in his big hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the tip of it. “I'll take you whatever way I can get you.” Leering at me, he waggles his eyebrows up and down like some perv. I want to be pissed at him for his stupid PDA, but that look on his face just cracks me up, and I let him have my hand a little bit longer.

  “Uh, don't look now,” Badger interrupts in a quiet voice as he strokes his scraggly beard with pretend nonchalance. “But you two are being watched very closely. And if looks could kill....oh, diggety.”

  Immediately I turn my head, looking for the source of the heat burning a hole between my shoulder blades.

  “I said don't look. Dang it, Bix.”

  I ignore Badger's whine and make eye contact with the Queen Bitch. Robyn is sitting two tables over with her own group of hunters. She's oblivious to the laughter and camaraderie happening around her since she's more focused on us. She doesn't appear to be the least embarrassed at me catching her staring. Instead the corners of her red lips tilt up, like she's amused. What the fuck is she laughing at? Irritated without really knowing why, I yank my hand out of Luke's grasp, practically ripping his arm out of joint.

  “Jesus, Bix, take it easy. I may need that arm.” His words are light enough, but he knows something's up. Following my glare, he, too, makes eye contact with his ex-lover. She nods at him, and Luke smiles back. He smiles back.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss at him low enough that she can't hear.

  “Huh?” His smile falters and he looks puzzled, like he has no idea what I'm talking about.

  “Why you smiling at that bitch?”

  “I'm not...”

  “Yeah, you are. You're smiling at the bitch. Why are you being so nice to that leg-humpin', two timing, bitch?”

  His brows rise in mock offense. “Little excessive on the bitch word, don't you think?”

  “Hell no. I forgot one. Stop smiling at her, bitch.”

  Gordon hoots in laughter, not even trying to pretend he isn't listening. “Four times in one tirade. I think that's a record, even for you, Bix.”

  “Take it easy on her, Gordo,” Luke responds to the kid, trying to be serious, but the grin threatening to burst out belies his sincerity. “Jealous women are sometimes a little over zealous in their attacks on what they perceive as a threat.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “Come again?”

  “You're jealous,” he accuses, throwing my words from two days ago back at me. “I think it's kind of cute.”

  “You're shittin' with me, right?” My words are icy, even though I can feel the heat creeping up my cheeks. But the king of assholes has the balls to bust out laughing at me. It isn’t bad enough that he just totally embarrassed me in front of the guys, but he laughs along with it.

  “It's okay. I get it. You're jealous 'cause I'm smiling at my ex. If I'd known that's all I needed to do to make you take notice, I would've done it long ago. But I forgive you for your foul mouthed attack.”

  I shake my head, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “I'm not...whatever...shut the hell up!”

  The mocking laughter from the peanut gallery on the other side of the table finally snaps my fraying patience, and I’m pretty sure I bare teeth as I snarl at them. All three of them are grinning like idiots, but it's Cal who gives his two cents worth.

  “I don't blame you being jealous, Bix. She's a looker. Awwww, man. What I wouldn't give to be leaving with you guys tomorrow.” He truly does sound disappointed, and I stare at him in angry puzzlement wondering where he's going with this. “To be on the road with Bix and Robyn....traveling together? Man, can you say epic, hot cat fight? I'd pay top dollar to see that.”

  This only makes them laugh harder. Unbelievable. Cal actually thinks us girl fighting in this life and death situation is hot? Like we’re going to be mud wrestling on the road, or pillow fighting in our nighties, or some other stupid male fantasy
shit? My anger churns in the pit of my stomach and fans out like a wave of intense heat. I can feel it radiating off of me like a bad sunburn, and I'm thankful I'm not wearing my knives because I so badly want to yank Cal's idiotic tongue out of his head and pin it to the table.

  “Stop laughing,” I hiss through gritted teeth. My threat goes unheeded. My gaze averts to Robyn, and she's laughing at me too. Like she knows exactly what's going on at our table. That's the last straw. Furious at them all I get to my feet, needing to get out of there before I do something stupid and embarrass myself even more. I stride past the table of asshats, back stiff, but my need for retaliation wins out over my need to leave. Doubling back and in quick succession, I punch every single one of them in the shoulder blade, right on top of their fresh tats. I know my knuckle finds its mark as they reciprocate with yelps of pain. Gordon's whine of “What did I do?” follows me as I bolt out of the room. Serves them all right.

  * * *

  “Hey. Hey, wait up.” Luke yells at me down the hall, making me increase my pace.

  Why the hell is he following me? Does he have a death wish? Ignoring him, I continue toward the stairwell. I'm really pissed, and the last thing I feel like doing is talk to him.

  “Come on, Bix. The guys are only messin' with you. Why you so upset?” My arm is gripped by long fingers, and I'm yanked around.

  “Luke, if you want to keep that hand, you'll let go of my arm right now.” I try to pull out of his grasp, but he doesn't let go. Instead he studies me, his face perplexed.

  “It was a joke. A joke. You remember those, right?” I try to free myself again, but he won't let go. “Jesus, I really don't understand you lately. You're confusing the shit out of me. One minute you say we're no strings attached, the next you're acting like some jealous teen.”

  “I. Am. Not. Jealous,” I enunciate each word carefully.

  “Then why is my being friendly with Robyn making you act like some vamp with a toothache? And don't try to lie, I can read you like a book. You're pissed.”