“You wouldn’t always feel it,” Hail muttered. He tossed the useless condom in the trash and sighed. The way he saw it, he had two options. He could stay up all night, torturing himself about all the different ways he’d screwed up that day, or he could go to sleep. He turned the lights off and crawled under the covers. The wide expanse of bed lay between him and Logan, and it felt like a mile. Hail sighed heavily and closed his eyes, then proceeded to torture himself until daybreak.
Chapter Eight
Logan woke up to a knock at the door, suddenly and instantly alert. He blinked through the morning bleariness, trying to remember where he was. His eyes cleared, and he saw Hail, fully and professionally dressed, answer the door. A quiet conversation followed, then Hail closed the door and walked back into the room.
“Good, you’re awake,” he said cheerfully. “Breakfast is in half an hour. How do you feel?”
“Coffee,” Logan slurred.
“Why don’t you go get in the shower, and I’ll go find you some coffee.” Hail didn’t wait for him to answer. He flashed him a sunny smile which was somehow cool and detached, then spun on his heel and left the room. Logan shook his head and rolled out of bed, scratching his various itches as he trudged into the shower. The hot water did little to rouse him, and he fumbled through his shower half-asleep. The aroma of fresh, hot coffee hit his nostrils just as he was rinsing the soap out of his hair. He finished quickly and rubbed himself dry before following his nose back into the bedroom. Hail stood by the coffee table in the sitting room, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Clothes are in the cupboard,” he said.
“Coffee’s better naked,” Logan said, flashing his trademark come-hither grin at Hail. Hail didn’t react at all, and Logan’s confident stride faltered.
“In the cupboard,” Hail repeated, casually sipping his coffee.
Scowling in confusion, Logan opened the cupboard and found clothes to wear. He put the scrunchy boots back on and shuffled out to the sitting room where he plopped heavily on the couch. He grasped the coffee pot as if it were a life preserver, and poured his own cup. Hail was being weird, he decided. He didn’t know what that would mean until after he had some caffeine to think on. He drank the first and poured a second. More awake now, he kept his eyes fixed on Hail’s face over the rim of the cup. Hail was irritatingly cheerful and clinically unperturbed. Logan tried to sort this puzzle as he sipped. Nobody but a sociopath behaved that way after a night of sex and a broken condom. Maybe he is a sociopath, Logan thought, playing with the thought in his mind. Would that be so bad?
The truth was that Logan often wondered if he himself was a sociopath. He had no problem making difficult decisions which could put people in harm’s way, or manipulating people who were stupid enough to fall for it. Most of them were. Hail seemed to have been—the eager beaver, the sheltered child, envisioning himself a gallant hero in the world. But the way he’d taken control the night before belied that cherub exterior, and the way he was behaving this morning didn’t seem to jive with that honest, gullible person that Logan had assumed he was. Sure, he smiled politely and offered Logan sugar for his coffee, but that heat was gone. With a jolt, Logan realized what had happened. He’d been played. Hail wasn’t particularly interested in him, he was interested in a conquest from the exotic, outside world. An irrational flash of anger heated Logan’s core. Hail had beaten him at his own game, and he wasn’t about to let that go.
“We should probably get downstairs,” Hail said, looking at the clock above Logan’s head. “Breakfast is about to start.”
Logan nodded and stood. He walked past Hail without a look or a word, and Hail followed, seemingly oblivious. Logan continued deliberately ignoring him, walking a little faster than him. He intended to ignore him when he said something, too, but he didn’t say anything. Why the hell wasn’t he talking? Up to now, Hail had been the single most annoyingly talkative person that Logan had encountered.
They were the last ones to sit for breakfast. A big bowl of some kind of hot, chocolate cereal was waiting for them, garnished with berries and sweetened with honey. Logan made a point to greet each person at the table cheerfully before he started on his food, in spite of the voracious hunger gnawing at his ribs. He watched Hail’s face out of the corner of his eye. Hail was still shockingly unperturbed.
“So, Logan. How do you feel? Recovered?” Broderick asked.
“Very much so, sir,” Logan answered. “Think I’ll be fine.”
Hail’s expression didn’t change a bit, and Logan started to get frustrated.
“Good!” Broderick said. “Then we should get over to the lab first thing. We’ll head over after breakfast. Eat up, eat up, busy day ahead.”
Mariella seemed to be more chipper than usual. She didn’t say much, but she wasn’t glaring at anyone.
“Good night’s sleep?” Logan asked her.
“Hell yeah,” she said quietly. “Funny how good you can sleep when you don’t have a six foot….” She glanced across the table at the kids, who were listening intently. “It was great,” she said shortly, and grinned. “Really great.”
“Awesome.” Logan nudged her gently with his elbow, then looked across the table at José. “How’d you sleep?” he asked.
“Fine,” José said shortly.
“These beds are great, aren’t they? Better than the flea-bitten bunks, am I right?”
José put down his spoon and excused himself. Logan chuckled into his shirt and went back to his meal feeling vindicated. At least he’d gotten a rise out of someone that morning.
“Be nice,” Mariella whispered. “José feels like….” She glanced at the kids again and breathed a frustrated sigh. “He feels bad, alright? Leave the poor kid alone.”
“Come on, Mariella, you know me better than that,” Logan said between bites. “José knows what he did.”
“Exactly, which is why you don’t need to keep reminding him,” she insisted. “Let it die.”
“What fun would that be?” Logan asked with a smirk. “I’m processing my grief. Respect my grief.”
“Your grief?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “The hell…er…heck are you grieving?”
“A loss of trust,” Logan said with over-the-top mock sincerity. “My own lover betraying me like that, I just don’t know how I’ll ever go on.”
“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You ain’t got lovers, Logan, you got tools. Eat your breakfast.” She shoved him gently on the back of his head, and he grinned. When he went back to his food, he noticed that Hail was now wearing a pained expression. He’d heard every word she said. Logan’s wicked grin widened, and he enjoyed the rest of his breakfast immensely.
After breakfast, Broderick took Logan, Mariella, and Robert to the lab. Hail offered to give José a tour of the town to show him how everything worked, and introduce him to the people who would get him set up with a house. Logan was amused at that, figuring that Hail was purposefully avoiding him. To his mind, that meant he was winning, and he had a cocky swagger in his step as he followed Broderick to the lab.
“What’s up with you today?” Mariella asked, falling into step beside him.
“Nothin’,” Logan grinned.
“Bullshit,” Mariella said with a grin. “You boned that cute doctor last night, didn’t you?”
“Something like that,” Logan snickered.
“Damn it, Logan, we gotta work with him. Don’t be screwing up my payday.”
“It was a one time thing,” Logan shrugged. “Already been and done.”
“It better be,” she said firmly. “I’m not about to spend weeks on the road in the middle of all that.”
“Nothing to be in the middle of,” Logan said innocently. “It’s over, I swear.”
“Alright then,” she said. She walked a little taller these days, spoke a little clearer. Logan liked the change.
“Alpha looks good on you,” he told her.
“Don’t it though?” She said, flu
ffing her jet black curls. “I’m doing a damn good job of it, too. Been alpha for what, three days? Four? Already got us a steady gig.”
“Yeah, you’re rocking this shit,” Logan said with a grin.
“You know it, baby,” she laughed.
They reached the lab, and Broderick ushered them inside.
“Dr. Bart, this is Mariella, alpha of this pack. These are Logan and Robert. Dr. Bart is head of our defense division, and he’ll be setting you up with all the weaponry you need. This is Phil. Phil is head of our textiles department, and will get you the clothes you need to blend in with the outside world. Finally, Abigail Jensen. Abby will be getting you set up with your bank cards and cash, and will deposit your first check today.” Broderick checked his watch. “I have about half a million things to get to, so I will leave you in their capable hands.” Broderick left with a smile, and Logan took each person in.
Dr. Bart was short and stocky, with a bald head and excessive muscles. He looked less like a doctor than a Marine or professional thug. Phil was thin and wore glasses on his bird-like nose which magnified his dreamy grey eyes. His hair was dyed in a pastel rainbow, and he had a whole garden of flowers tattooed on his graceful arms. Abigail was short, dark, and sturdy, broad at shoulder and hip and all pillows in between. He watched her intelligent brown eyes size them up just as he was sizing them up.
“Alright, then,” Mariella said. “Who wants to go first?”
“The pay will take the least amount of time,” Abigail said briskly. “Let’s get that started, then I’ll let the boys fight over you.”
“Sounds good. Oh, Logan, did you put a list together for Dr. Bart?”
Logan hadn’t. He’d been a little preoccupied.
“I have it in my head,” he said. “Anybody got paper?” Nobody did, so Logan shrugged. “Guess it’ll have to wait. Lead on, Ms. Jensen.”
“Abigail,” she corrected him shortly.
“Abigail,” he repeated with a charming smile. He’d learned long ago to never, ever mess with the person who handles your pay.
She led them back into a small waiting room and took them one at a time into the even smaller office beyond it. Mariella went first, and was gone for fifteen minutes. When she returned she was pale and trembling, her brown eyes wide with shock. She sat down heavily beside Logan as Robert followed Abigail into the room.
“I’ve never seen that much money with my name on it in my life,” she whispered. “These people are not fucking around. We’re making a lotta money.”
“How much?” Logan asked.
“Fifteen hundred,” she said.
Logan shrugged. “That’s not that much,” he said. “I made more than that a month working the fish packing plant.”
“Not a month,” she said, shaking her head. “Every week. Every week we spend outside the city, we get paid that much. When we’re here, we don’t get paid ‘cause we won’t need anything.”
Logan whistled softly. “That’s decent,” he said approvingly.
“Decent? It’s…I don’t know what it is.”
“Logan? Come with me please.”
Robert came out beaming happily, and Logan went in and sat down. Abigail took his information, full name, date of birth, all the usual things. Then she asked him his favorite color.
“For what, like a secret question or something?” He asked.
“Just answer the question please.”
“Black or red. Preferably a mix of the two,” he said, deliberately answering in a complex way so he could see what she did with the information. She only nodded and hit a few keys on the keyboard.
“Alright, Logan, your card is active. Your first check is already on it, and your balance is one thousand dollars.”
Logan cocked his head.
“That sounds about five hundred light,” he said.
She shot him a surprised look.
“Broderick pays based on pack ranking,” she explained. “Alphas get more because they’re responsible for more.” A grinding, mechanical sound interrupted her, and she turned away for a moment. When she turned back, she was holding a plastic card, with a swirling red and black design on the front.
“It doesn’t have your name because we don’t want you identified,” she explained. “The company ‘Blue Shadow’ is one of our shell corporations.”
He looked at the card. “Blue Shadow Expense Account” was written in raised letters on the bottom of the card where his name would usually go. He nodded, approving of both the arrangement and the pay.
“That’s all I need from you today. You’ll need to come back the day you leave so I can get you cash. We don’t keep any on hand around here, don’t have any need for it, but I’ll have it ready when everything else is.”
“Thanks,” Logan said.
She nodded briskly and walked him to the door. Mariella seemed to have recovered, and was whispering animatedly to Robert.
“All done?” She asked.
“All done,” Logan confirmed. “What’s next?”
“Clothes,” Mariella said authoritatively. “Weapons last. They’ll take the longest.”
They walked back down the hallway to the little open area by the door. Apparently, the scientists had come to the same conclusion she had. Dr. Bart had disappeared, and Phil was waiting for them.
“Ready to design some killer street wear?” He asked.
Mariella grinned and bounced over to him, linking arms. “You know it, baby!” She said happily. “Take me to your textiles.”
Robert wasn’t very interested. He would have been happy wearing the plain tunics and loose pants that had been provided for him, but Logan managed to convince him that they couldn’t blend in that way. He let Mariella go first, and she took her time designing fashionable clothes.
“Incognito,” Logan reminded her.
“Oh. Damn it. Okay, so take the Gucci off the belt. And the jeans are gonna need to be a little more frayed, kind of worn, you know. And I guess we should lose the sequins. Logan, why you gotta take the fun out of this?”
Logan shrugged. “You’ll be making bank,” he reminded her. “You can buy these things. You’re designing undercover clothes not the next…I don’t know…runway show or whatever.”
Mariella rolled her eyes, but took his advice. She ended up with five low-key outfits and a backpack to put them in, as well as shoes and underthings. Robert went next. All he wanted were jeans and plain t-shirts. Phil created a backpack and shoes for him as well.
“Oh hold on,” Mariella said suddenly. “What about the doctor?”
“I’ll handle it,” Logan told her with an evil grin.
He instructed Phil through the intricate creation of a few weathered band t-shirts, black jeans with extra buckles and pockets, and ankle-high faux-combat boots. Then he thought for a moment, pacing the room. He needed something special for Hail, something that would make a point. He snapped his fingers.
“Got it,” he said. “For Hail, here’s what you’re going to do.”
Chapter Nine
“Are you serious?” Hail asked.
It had been two days since that awkward morning at Broderick’s place. Hail and the others had been called to the lab by Phil, who had finished their designs and needed them try the clothes on. Hail, having not been there for the design process, was completely blindsided by what Phil had prepared for him.
“Gotta blend in, dude,” Logan smirked.
Hail glared at his reflection in the mirror, turning this way and that. “People actually wear these things?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah. Especially the people we’re going to be talking to. Trust me, this is absolutely the thing to wear.”
Hail didn’t believe him even a little bit. The checkerboard jeans were blinding, and even with the shifter fabric, they were uncomfortably tight. The knee-high boots were littered with extraneous spikes and buckles, and were heavy on his feet. The frayed, faux-denim vest, cut in a V down the middle of his chest, was the closest thing t
o normal, but even that was decked out with patches and buttons from bands he’d never heard of. The juxtaposition of the edgy clothing with his wholesome face was jarring. He didn’t think it was possible for him to blend in anywhere, if only because he felt so very alien in the clothes.
“Logan,” Phil said softly. “Would you give us a moment?”
“Sure,” Logan said, choking on a laugh.
After he left, Hail turned to Phil and gestured helplessly. “I can’t wear this,” he said.
“No, no you can’t. It’s really not you at all. I’ve been doing some research into what people are wearing these days, and I made you some other things just in case you hated these as much as I do.” Phil pulled a box out from under his desk and opened it, revealing a stack of clothes in muted colors. He unfolded the top one, which turned out to be a high-collared sleeveless shirt in a deep forest green which had “Born to Be” emblazoned across the chest in a lighter shade of green. Hail took it gratefully, and immediately changed out of the vest. The second item was a pair of soft blue jeans which looked as though they’d been worn for years. They fit snugly at his hips, and flared gently down to his ankles at a steady angle. Third, a pair of soft brown ankle-high boots with no straps, buckles, or laces whatsoever, and socks to go with them.
Hail turned this way and that in the mirror, admiring the new outfit. “It’s perfect,” he told Phil. “Thanks.”
“Happy to help,” Phil said with a little smile. “The rest of the clothes are similar. They don’t make much of a statement, but they’re comfortable and useful and they look good on you. You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I might just start designing a wider range of clothes for the city. The tunics and pants are useful, but…there’s something gratifying about clothes like these.”
“You’re good at it,” Hail said as he pulled the remaining clothes out of the box to look at.
“Oh, and you don’t have to wear that ridiculous yellow backpack he designed for you. Here.” Phil tossed him a backpack in stonewashed faux-denim. Hail shot him a grateful smile, and began stuffing the new clothes into the bag. Phil’s phone rang as Hail finished up. After a brief conversation, he turned to Hail.
Dying to Live: The Shifter City Complete Series Page 6