Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 (7 page)

Flinging the duffel over her head so that it was situated comfortably across her back, Amiel nervously made her way through the house. She avoided servants throughout the house on her way to the back garden doors feeling rather pleased with her ninja-like evasion skills. Until someone cleared their throat from behind. Wincing, Amiel slowly turned around, quickly tossing on a bright smile that she hoped covered the guilt.

“Jeller! Hi.” Jeller nodded in respect, though his eyes were quickly assessing her attire and the bag flung over her back.

“Miss Amiel, one moment if you please.” Holding up a finger he disappeared down the hallway. Amiel fidgeted apprehensively, her heart about to leap through her ribcage as she debated the next step. Was he calling her mother? Should she make a run for it, or try to lie her way out of it? Fingers itching to twirl a piece of the hair now wrapped up in a useless bun, Amiel considered her options. Did she trust Jeller? Could she afford to trust anyone?

Sighing heavily, Amiel leaned against the wall, and hoped she’d made the right decision. As far as Amiel and Jeller went, with their social situations being as they were, they couldn’t technically claim friendship. But prying eyes aside and with the many absences of her mother, Jeller had become a confidant and friend to Amiel. At least, she hoped he felt enough of a bond of friendship with her that he wouldn’t turn her in.

She stiffened as he popped up around the corner, silently motioning her to follow him. She didn’t miss the way he glanced around surreptitiously as he held the garden doors open for her. Amiel followed silently as he led the way to a secluded section of the vast gardens, near the edge of their property. Astute as always, he knew their conversation would be best unheard by the less trustworthy servants in the house.

“I get the feeling I won’t be seeing you again, Miss,” Jeller stated solemnly. There was no accusation in his voice, only concern, and perhaps even approval.

“I’m just going to stay with a friend in town for a few days, Jeller, that’s all.” She fought against the panic, praying he’d somehow believe her. Jeller smiled softly.

“I have eyes to see when a little bird has found her wings, Miss Amiel. And you’re a terrible liar.” She stared up into his knowing eyes and not for the first time wondered why he had chosen the profession of butler. He was only about ten years older than her, and was a handsome guy. Butler just seemed too stuffy a position to match his personality. However, he did his job well and Malinda was quite fond of him. Malinda of course would never stoop to the level of having sex with a servant, but that didn’t stop her from eying his butt every time he turned around. If she knew about some of the things he and Amiel called her behind her back, no amount of a hot butt would save him from Malinda’s wrath.

“I’m…” He held up a hand.

“No no, it’s better if I don’t know anything about it, Chickadee. Though, if you wish it, I could tell your mother that you ran off with a gypsy circus to dance with dolphins and an ape man named Nigel.” Amiel giggled. That is something she could imagine him telling her mother, with that uncanny ability of his to stay straight-faced in any situation.

“Any excuse would be fine I’m sure. It won’t make a difference to her.” She shrugged, unconcerned with what her mother thought of her reasons for leaving. By the time Malinda came home, Amiel would be long gone and she hoped she’d never see the woman’s face again. She knew her mother wouldn’t cut her visit to the spa short, nor would she bother to call and check up on her only remaining child. She never did. Calling would imply that she actually cared, a truth Amiel was never uncertain of. No, if Malinda did call, it would only be to ensure that her offspring wasn’t doing anything untoward that would stain her own pristine reputation.

“With Jaron gone…I just can’t stay here anymore.” He nodded understanding and sympathy in his blue eyes.

“A bird needs its wings,” he replied with that knowing smile of his. “I almost envy you.” Smiling mischievously, Amiel readjusted the duffle on her back.

“Well, here’s your chance, do something crazy and come with me.”

“Who, me?” he asked pretending shock. “I’m too pretty to be on the run.” He gave her a wink before stepping back. “Besides, something tells me you are going to need the best head start you can get over the old lady. I’ll do what I can to cover for you.” He reached into his pocket, producing a small black object.

“Here, take this. Use your SD card to transfer your photos and anything important over to this new phone. Your mother won’t be able to track what she doesn’t know exists.” Amiel’s jaw dropped.

“I can’t take your phone, Jeller,” she protested.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got several more.” Amiel’s brow rose and he offered her a conspiratorial smirk. “Being a butler gets boring at times. I enjoy earning a little business on the black now and then.” Cell phones were a hot commodity on the black market these days. Only the rich or well-connected owned them, and it was rare to have more than two in the household.

“Malinda Hilden’s trusted butler, working in the black market and storing his contraband under her own roof. I knew you couldn’t be completely satisfied with the life of butlerdom. Is your name even Jeller?” She had been joking, but the shadow of a carefully guarded secret behind his smirk told her that she wasn’t far from the truth.

“I’m not telling you, Miss Smarty-pants,” he quipped. “Now, hurry before your taxi leaves you high and dry.” Amiel’s eyes narrowed, surprised and annoyed at once. How did he do that?

“What makes you think I’m taking a taxi?” Jeller merely shrugged, smug grin fully in place. Amiel shook her head and began scrolling through the personal items on her little red phone. Scrolling through the phone contacts, she found herself slightly deflated at knowing there wasn’t a single number she wanted to keep. With her precious photos moved to her new phone, she carefully tucked it into her pocket and let out a heavy sigh. She handed her old phone over, finding the action somewhat symbolic; handing over her past life and embracing the wide unknown before her. It was freeing, and strangely enough, empowering. Smiling, she looked to Jeller.

“Will you be all right, when she comes back and finds me gone?”

“Of course. It’s just like you said, you’ve been staying at a friend’s house all week. She won’t expect me to know more. After all, it’s not my job to keep an eye on you, remember?” She nodded, feeling another uncomfortable appreciation for Malinda’s downfalls. Her ideas of propriety and social status were going to save her from a lot of worry over Jeller’s job security.

“You’d best go, Miss Amiel. That taxi won’t wait forever.” Amiel put on a brave smile and hugged her gaming partner.

“Thank you for everything, Jeller. I will miss you.” He patted her softly on the back.

“Not so much as I will miss you, Amiel. You are a pretty good video-game wing-man. Be careful out there, little chickadee.” He hugged her tight once more, then leaned away stiffly, resuming the position of Head Butler. Amiel forced her feet to carry her down the road, pulling the hood tighter around her face as she went. She kept her head ducked, shoulders hunched, and never once looked back to see Jeller disappear in the distance.

Amiel

The taxi dropped her off at the library, which was just half a block from her destination. Amiel told herself it was to add to her efforts of avoiding discovery, but the real reason was heavy in her stomach. She was allowing herself a small amount of distance to regain her courage, and maybe even back out. She sighed heavily and turned to stare at the motorcycle shop looming such a short distance away, contemplatively twirling a stray string on the hoodie. Was this something she really wanted to do? Travel agencies specialized in travel outside of the safety of the fortified cities. They were run by men and women who polite society deemed dangerous and quite simply too crazy for casual interaction. You’d almost
have
to be crazy to travel in desolate lands devoid of anything but your imminent death, wouldn’t you? Only those who were utterly desperate or insane themselves, sought out travel agents. Amiel grimaced, realizing that had to make her both desperate
and
crazy

A shout nearby startled her so that she nearly stumbled off the curb. She glanced around, terrified she’d been discovered. The shouter turned out to be a guy greeting his friend on the other side of the street, the two walking off together as they laughed over some unknown joke. Not a single person was looking Amiel’s way. Still, the renewed fear of discovery was just the right amount of incentive to get her feet moving. One foot in front of the other, the shop gradually drew closer. A motorcycle- was she really considering buying a
motorcycle
?

A shiver raced her spine at the thought of riding one of those beasts. Truth be told, she found the idea of a guy on a motorcycle simply irresistible. Granted, she had only seen a few riders in her lifetime, drifters stopping over in their town on their way to somewhere else. Her mother made certain they were not welcomed or encouraged to stay for long.

Amiel couldn’t put her finger on it, but those brief glimpses of the riders had always pulled at her. It was something about the relaxed confident lines of their bodies, and the way the bike seemed to send them soaring down their path without anything holding them back. It left her with the impression that they were completely…
free
.

Amiel had dreamed many times of being the one soaring down the road with nothing but freedom flowing through her veins. Of course, now that she was standing here with the real opportunity under her nose, it was a bit daunting. She didn’t know the first thing about motorcycles. Heck, she hadn’t even ridden a bicycle since she was ten. Steeling her resolve, Amiel took the last few steps. A large sign caught her interest as she stepped onto the lot, eyes locking to the words stamped there. If she were honest with herself she wasn’t here for the bikes, so much as she was here for what they represented.

Goosebumps speckling her skin, Amiel yanked her eyes away from the sign and focused on the bikes before her. Gaze raking over them, she found what she wanted toward the back; the motorcycle that had always been the star of many a daydream. Shining chrome blinded her as she stepped closer, drawn to its luster. With a paint job of silver that faded effortlessly into a dark metallic purple and finally black, it was even more artistically beautiful than it had seemed from the road. Running a hand delicately over the paint job, she was completely enthralled in the bike when the first rippling of awareness washed over her. Someone was standing behind her. Spinning around with a gasp, she prepared herself to face who ever loomed behind.

Heart skipping a few beats in its usual reaction to stress, she felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment when she realized it was the man from the funeral, the motorcycle shop owner, coming to offer help. His brow creased and he eyed her as though she were maybe a little crazy. She, in return, eyed him in awe. Up close he was even bigger than he had seemed at the funeral. At least six foot seven, muscles covered the bulk of him, his head was shaved bald, and his upper lip still boasted that long thick mass of gray-peppered brown hair that ran down past his chin. He wore a torn and grease covered sleeveless top, and jeans that were encased with leather chaps. He looked every bit like the bikers she’d seen riding through town.

“Sorry. I was in my own world, I guess. I didn’t hear you,” Amiel muttered in apology. He nodded, but remained silent. She coughed. “Mud Hogs Travel Agency. That’s you, right?” The ghost of a smile possibly appearing under his mustache, he nodded again. She reached behind her back, searching for a long strand of hair to nervously twirl. Belatedly remembering the hood covering the hair, she settled on biting her lip as she desperately searched for the courage that had completely fled her system. 

“Like what ya see?” Her eyes widened up at him in horror, realizing she’d been caught staring at his huge frame again. With a raised brow he nodded to the bike she had been appraising when he showed up. “The bike, honey.” His Texan accent brought a smile to her face as she released a heavy sigh of relief.

“Oh, yes! Whoever paints these is truly amazing!” She ran a hand across the sparkling silver, purple and black. “The way the colors fade seamlessly into one another, it’s like the hues of the night sky just before dark.”

“Thanks. Do it all myself, actually.” It seemed he didn’t expect her acute observations of his work, yet his now obvious smile told her he appreciated it. His reply was gruff, to the point, but surprisingly gentle for the intimidating giant he first appeared.

“Is it sized for a woman?” He nodded again, rocking back on his heels slightly as he admired his own handiwork.

“Don’t make many of ‘em, especially this small. Not much demand from female bikers round here. Derned shame if ya ask me.” Her smile deepened and she found that his easy manner and appreciation for a woman on a motorcycle was giving her more confidence in her decision.

“How much is it?” His eyes instantly turned wary, and that newfound confidence shriveled back into its hiding place.

“Y’all askin’ for yourself, or someone else?”

“Me.” She cringed when the answer came out sounding more like a question, than a statement.

“You know how to ride one of these?” His tone made it pretty clear that he already knew the answer to that.

“Not really,” she admitted, her cheeks heating.

“Got someone to teach ya?” He eyed her doubtfully, and he had every right to do so.  She really had no idea how to ride one, and would likely kill herself just getting it out of the lot. She silently shook her head no.

“Trial and error on a motorcycle is a bit of a dangerous bet, don’t ya think, honey?” A car horn on the street blared loudly, startling her. She pulled at the hood of the sweater, carefully surveying their surroundings. All it would take is one nosy bystander recognizing her, seeing her standing in this parking lot and conversing with the ‘enemy’. Malinda would come tearing home with hell’s vengeance on her heels before Amiel stepped foot outside the front gates.

“I like to live dangerously, I guess,” she replied lamely, distracted with the prospect of being caught. She was making lots of dangerous bets today. The man grunted noncommittally, arms folding in a solid bar of muscle over his chest. For an older man, he was definitely fit and not just a little intimidating when he wanted to be.

“Motorcycles are expensive.”

“I’ve got plenty of money.” Amiel’s chin rose defensively when she saw his look of doubt. “Money isn’t an issue.”

“Then why not buy a car? Plenty round here to choose from that’ll suit your purpose just fine I’d wager.” He motioned to all the car dealerships surrounding his. She bit her lip, not entirely eager to give away too much detail.

“Cars aren’t exactly what I need right now.” Her eyes shifted nervously to the sign above his shop. He twisted at the hip, staring up at his own sign. When he turned back to her, his gaze had turned suspicious.

“Lookin’ to travel Outside then?”

“Yes.”

“My travel services don’t come cheap, neither. Train station’s just a few blocks that a way.” He motioned over his shoulder with a thumb. The firm statement was obviously meant to put her off. Too bad she didn’t have that option. She swallowed hard.

“I was hoping for something a little more…clandestine, than a train.”

“Who ya on the run from?” His question was blunt and gruff. Jaw clenching, Amiel tried to keep her emotions in check.

“I’m not running from anyone.” She took a step back, his question activating an unconscious need to glance around for prying eyes. That one furtive glance gave her away faster than anything she could have said. She was proving to be a complete failure at this game of subterfuge.

“You’re either on the run, or here to spy for your mama. So which is it?” Her jaw dropped wide. She hadn’t considered the possibility that he would recognize her much less think she was on some devious mission on her mother’s behalf.

“My mother?” Amiel tried to play dumb, feeling like a trapped animal.

“Y’all didn’t really think that disguise would work on me did ya? I ain’t stupid.” Maybe not, but apparently Amiel was. She thought her disguise had been adequate, but if Biker Man could recognize her so easily, how many other people had? She pulled off her over sized glasses, and sheepishly met his eyes.

“I…I just came into some money of my own, and thought I’d buy myself something nice…” He cut her off immediately, eyes shifting to harbor a kindling of anger.

“No use lyin’ about it, I can see it in your eyes. I’ve had teenagers, and I seen that look before. You’re up to something you think ya shouldn’t be. I don’t got much use for liars, so let’s have the truth of it.” She swallowed heavily, staring up at this imposing man, trapped in her own efforts of secrecy. There’d be no lying to Biker Man. If anything, it would only hurt her chances.

“I swear I’m not a spy. And the disguise wasn’t meant for you,” she whispered dejectedly. He regarded her for a long silent moment, weighing her words. Finally seeming to approve of what he saw, he grunted knowingly.

“Runnin’,” he replied factually.

“Running,” she admitted in defeat. “Am I really that transparent?”

“Why else would you be packin’ a duffel stuffed to the gills, hell bent on getting’ yourself killed on a bike that y’all ain’t got no business bein’ on? Sides, ain’t nobody in their right mind gonna wear a sweater like that this time of year, unless they’re tryin’ to hide who they are.” Amiel’s shoulders sagged. His eyes were like diamonds; they were no longer angry, but they cut through her, digging for the truth and refusing to take anything less. Turning back to the bike, she ran a hand longingly down its polished length, fighting the rising panic in her chest.

“I need to get out of town. Now,” she muttered quietly.

“Y’all runnin’ from the law, honey?” Despite the content of his question, it felt less like suspicion and more like a sort of fatherly concern.

“No, sir. Well, at least not until my mother finds me gone.” His eyes suddenly glittered with what she was surprised to realize was humor.

“I’ll be hanged, girl, but if I had a mama like Malinda Hilden, I’d be on the run, too. That woman’s wound tighter than a politician’s backside!” Amiel’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise, a startled laugh escaping her lips. He grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Let’s finish talkin’ inside. The way y’all keep lookin’ round like that, your heads liable to fly clear off.”

She quickly followed him inside the shop, eager to be away from the public eye. Inside she sunk into a comfy chair near the business desk, knotted shoulders relaxing. At least they were, until twin menacing barks rang through the empty spaces. Amiel sprang to squat in the chair, a strange nervous energy coursing through her as two large Dobermans clattered in from a back room. One moved to crouch behind her, the other jumping onto the desk in front. Saliva dripped from its jowls as it growled inches from her face. Her heart tripped in her chest, speeding forward with an almost burning intensity. She felt as though she should do something, anything to protect herself, yet had no idea where to begin. Her eyes tracked nervously toward Biker Man who stood at the door, eyes scrutinizing her carefully with that suspicious gleam back in their depths. Clearing his throat, he shut the door and flipped the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’.

“Back down!” With his authoritative command the dogs immediately ducked their heads, loping to his side in submission. Though she noticed they kept baleful glares marked on her at all times, spines stiff enough the short hairs still stood on end.

“Gotta excuse the mutts. They keep the shop safe when I ain’t around, but they don’t got the best manners,” he said with a mischievous smile, ignoring her current fight or flight stance. His return to an easy manner seemed to drain the nervous energy from her muscles, and like magic the dogs also relaxed. Clearing his throat, Biker Man seated himself behind the desk, propping his feet up on it and waited for her to sit too. Cheeks flushing she slowly lowered herself to sit properly in the chair, one eye still fixed on the dogs.

“Alright, honey, down to business. Your ma bein’ who she is, I gotta make sure I’m legally covered before we even start talkin’ deals. How old are ya?”

“Eighteen.”

“Don’t suppose ya got some kinda proof of that?” She quickly pulled out her identification card.

“I just turned two months ago.” He nodded, tapping her license on his desk as he watched her with that intense stare of his. It was like he thought he could read her whole mind if he just stared long enough.