The Bionics

  Part of me wants to rip Dax a new asshole for being such a jerk. What right does he have being mad at me when I know he’s screwed Olivia on several occasions, and who knows what other groupies he’s got salivating over him in both Mosley and Hexley Halls? Another part of me feels like I just got caught doing something unforgiveable, although I’m not sure if it was that I kissed someone, or if it’s the fact that the someone I kissed happens to be Gage.

  Gage stands slowly, his hawk’s eye gaze swiveling from me to Dax and back again. He nods as if figuring something out and collects his jacket.

  “It is pretty late,” he says, as if he had no idea what time it was before now. “I’ll let you get some sleep now, Blythe. See you at the meeting tomorrow morning?”

  With my nightmare and Gage’s appearance at my door, I’d forgotten all about the meeting Professor Neville organized for tomorrow morning over breakfast. Jenica will be bringing her intel on the Memphis Resistance group and we’ll be formulating a plan from there. Dax hates that Gage was even invited.

  “Sure,” I say. “Good night.”

  He leaves with a nod in Dax’s direction. The jackass who’s supposed to be my best friend just continues staring daggers at Gage until he’s out of sight. He then slams the bathroom door and walks to the middle of the room, pauses, runs a hand over his buzz-cut head, and paces to the door and back again, his face a mask of disbelief. When he finally speaks, his voice is a hoarse whisper.

  “What the hell did I just witness?”

  I rear back as if slapped and, honestly, it’s how I feel. “What I think you just witnessed,” I hiss, coming to my feet, “was a consensual act between two mature adults that had nothing to do with you.”

  “Nothing to do with me? How can you say that?” He looks truly hurt, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. In fact, for some reason, it downright pisses me off.

  “You know what?” I challenge, stepping toward him and tilting my head back to look him in the eye. “I can say that, because it seriously has nothing to do with you! Do I come barging in your room when you’re rattling the headboard with Olivia?”

  His jaw gets so tight I’m afraid it might snap. “That’s not fair.”

  “Why not? Because I’m a girl and I’m supposed to sit around with a chastity belt on while I wait for you to make a move?”

  Dax clutches his chest like the wind’s been knocked from him. “You’ve been waiting for me to make a move?”

  Shit.

  I didn’t mean it like that.

  Or did I?

  I honestly can’t say I’m sure about that one. Dax is a sexpot for sure and a great friend, but do I like him in that way—want him the way Olivia does? I’ve never explored the possibility because I’ve never thought of him that way. He’s like Dog—comfortable, loyal, and mine.

  “No,” I say, a half lie. “What I meant was that I don’t understand why you’re so upset when we’re just friends. Right?”

  Dax studies me for a minute before sighing noisily, bringing his hands up to his hips. He hangs his heads and nods. “Yeah, Blythe. We are friends, and that’s why I’m worried about you getting too close to this guy. We don’t know him, we don’t know where he’s from, and we don’t know what he wants. I don’t trust him.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. You don’t know anything about him!”

  “And you do?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I know that he’s from D.C. And before you start going on and on about how that makes him even more unsavory, consider this—a guy from D.C. probably has government officials or MPs in his family. That means the axe would fall even harder on his neck if someone were to rat him out for rescuing that little girl. Don’t you get it? He’s put his life on the line for her and he cares about our cause! You may not be able to see that, but I do.”

  “So you’re going to let blond hair and a set of blue eyes turn your head? Where’s your focus, B?”

  “From what I’ve been hearing through this wall between my room and yours, blonde hair and blue eyes have been turning your head at least once a week for months now. And my focus is where it’s always been—on finding the others and saving them before it’s too late.”

  Dax turns toward my door, glancing back at me over his shoulder. “I only want to make sure you’re okay. I know that August fifteenth is always hard for you. It’s hard for all of us.”

  I turn my back on him, unwilling to continue to allow guilt to gnaw at me for something I shouldn’t feel guilty about. “It’s the sixteenth now, Dax, and I’m fine.”