Free Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2 by Amy Cook

the stirring of annoyance in his Hybrid. It was all fun and games, fun and games, no need to get annoyed.
    “Get off my bike, chump,” Harley growled.
    Cajun shook his head.  “Nope. Not until you hear what I have to say.”
    “Kinda hard to talk with no teeth,” Harley warned. Cajun pushed away from the bike with a grin, hands raised in surrender. Harley walked toward the bike, obviously intent on leaving. He paused, giving Pell a confused glance. Shaking his head, he continued onward without a word, clearly deciding he didn’t even want to know.
    “Pell’s here to make sure we don’t gut each other,” Cajun asserted helpfully.
    “What’s he gonna do, bore us to death with history lessons?” Harley scoffed. Pell finally caved, popping his hands out of the pockets to shove the glasses up his nose with a sheepish grin.
    “You have to talk to me eventually, Harley. I know you aren’t still mad at me. You’re just being stubborn.”
    Harley ignored him, digging out an old rag in his side bags to wipe away the dirt and gore on his jacket sleeves.
    “I hate the silent game. You’re too good at it.” Cajun sighed. Harley turned around, a challenge in his eyes, and when he finally spoke, Cajun almost wished he hadn’t pressed the issue.
    “I smelled y’all at the restaurant the other day.”
    “Oh? Which restaurant would that be?” Cajun deflected.
    “Don’t play dumb, Caj. I got places to go, and I ain’t got time for it.”
    “Okay. Fair enough. We went there to apologize to your bird,” he admitted. “We had to go see her when I knew you’d be gone. Wouldn’t get a word in edgewise over all the scowling you’d do, otherwise,” Cajun teased. “Look, I know you aren’t going to be mad at me forever. I doubt you’re mad at me now. It’s just our way. We get mad at each other, we ignore each other for a while and then we move past it like nothing happened. But she doesn’t see it that way. She’s terrified she’s come between us.”
    Harley frowned, and Cajun could tell he was working through the implications. Of course Amiel would feel responsible for something like that. After losing her own brother, and dealing with her guilt on that matter, it was a given she’d react this way. He watched as his brother’s muscles relaxed, shifting into a stance that shouted his readiness to talk. Harley opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted as a guy strolled up to them from the shadows. He was covered in tattoos, muscle and all the wrong attitude.
    “What are you Halfer freaks doing here? You’re on Cut territory!”
    Pell’s curiosity and excitement instantly magnified, as though eager to watch the coming fight. Cajun knew him well enough to know he was. Anything to do with Hybrids excited Pell, being the fanboy that he was. Harley rolled his eyes.
    “Can’t ya see we’re in the middle of a serious conversation here?”
    “I don’t care if you’re in the middle of taking a dump, you aren’t welcome here!” the stooge shouted.
    “Do you have many people taking dumps in the street here?” Cajun asked curiously. “Are you the poop patroller? If this happens often, I could understand the need for one.”
    “It would explain the grumpiness, too,” Pell interjected helpfully. Cajun nodded in agreement. Poop patrol would put him in a bad mood, too.
    “Death to Rabes and Halfers alike!” the goon shouted, eyes shifting to land on Pell. “And their sympathizers!” The Cut threw his fingers upward, flashing what was supposed to be an intimidating gang sign. Cajun stared at it for a long moment before a bright grin split his face.
    “Oh! Hand puppets! I love those, too!”
    The Cut glowered, not at all liking the lack of fear in their reactions. Cajun held up a hand, begging patience. “No, really — look. I make a wicked dog! And there is this really complicated one you make like this.” He hooked his thumbs together. “If you do it just right, it looks like a bird, I kid you