Subject Seven

Chapter Thirty-eight
Joe Bronx

Hank looked at Joe and said nothing, but a smile played around his mouth.

Joe ignored Hank for a moment, reflecting on the stranger that had gotten away. He shouldn’t have gotten away. He should have been lying on the ground broken into pieces. He’d slammed the boy into the ground hard enough to shake the floor under him. And there was something familiar about the kid. Not someone he’d met recently, but he was familiar. Was it someone he’d left alive at the compound when he’d escaped? Possible, but not likely. He was too young. Joe’d had plenty of dealings with the underworld since he got himself free of the compound, and it was possible that he knew the man from there, but the same problem existed. He was simply too young.

He pushed the thought aside. It was distracting him and he had to deal with whatever the hell was going through Hank’s mind. He couldn’t take the self-satisfied smirk any longer, so he turned to the other. “What?”

“She spanked your ass.”

He jabbed a finger at Hank. “You’ll learn soon enough. You have to pick your battles.”

“‘Preaching to the choir.’” The way he said it, the exact phrasing, made Joe understand that he was being quoted.

“Oh, really?”

Hank snickered and moved in closer. He stepped with the same grace as Joe himself, a predatory pace: his feet barely touched the ground and his legs didn’t rise and fall but shuffled softly. Even if he had walked on loose floorboards, a person would barely know he was there.

“You said it yourself. I’m not Cody. We aren’t all that much alike either.”

“Yeah?”

“Cody’s all impressed by you.” Hank’s dark eyes looked him up and down with a flicker of contempt. “Me? I got your number.”

Joe closed his eyes and looked up to heaven. He didn’t need to put up with egos.

“Sure you do, Hank.”

“I do.” Joe started walking away. “I felt you in my head earlier.” His voice was low and conspiratorial.

Joe stopped in his tracks.

“What do you mean?”

“The others, they think you can just talk to us in our minds. Me? I know better. I felt you digging around in my skull.” His voice grew darker as he spoke, developing an undercurrent of hatred. Joe turned back to look at the other Hyde and saw the business end of one of the cops’ pistols pointed at his head.

“What are you doing?” Was he afraid? A little bit, which was more than he was used to. Hank was just as fast as he was, which meant it would be almost impossible to dodge in time. As fast as his reflexes were, it wasn’t the bullet he dodged when someone aimed. It was the position of the barrel. The problem was that Hank would be able to see him start dodging to the side and compensate.

“Pointing a gun at you. Duh.” He let out that little sniggering laugh again and Joe had to force himself not to snarl at the challenge. Anger would get him dead.

“There are people around here, dumb ass. You want to get a few hundred cops on your stupid back?”

Hank shrugged. The barrel of the pistol never wavered. “Got two more guns under my shirt. I’m not really worried.”

“Look, of course I read your mind. You’d do the same thing if you could.”

“Yeah, I would.” Hank moved closer and flipped the gun in his hand so that the barrel pointed at the ground. Without hesitation he pressed the catch on the side of the grip and ejected the clip. “Safety’s on. I just wanted to make sure you’re paying attention to me.”

“Fine. You got my attention.” The growl came out now. He was furious. “Say what’s on your mind.”

“You wanna work together. Cool. It’s all good.” Hank showed him the pistol, dangling it by one finger. “Here’s the thing, Joe. You aren’t the only one who’s different. I watched all of you. Like you watched us. Bet you didn’t catch this part, though.” His heavy hand clenched around the pistol and strained. The thick muscles of his arm corded and bunched and a moment after that, the metal started to bend into a new shape. Hank strained, his face wrenched into a mask of ugly hatred and bared teeth, and then he relaxed and held out his hand for Joe.

Joe was so busy being stunned that he didn’t even think. He simply caught the ruined lump of metal in his hand.

He looked down at the service weapon. The barrel was warped, the grip crushed into a new shape. What he was currently holding was little more than an expensive paper-weight.

“You’re kidding me.” He was barely even aware of speaking.

Hank leaned in fast, his teeth bared in a nasty grin. “I look like I’m joking? You think I look like I’m having a laugh on you?” He stepped back. “I waited until we were alone so we could have this talk. You’re in charge. I’m good with that. But stay out of my head. I got things I want to keep to myself. I find you in my head again.. .” He looked down at the pistol in Joe’s grip. “I’ll see if I can bend bone just as easily.”

The two of them stared at each other for several moments. If looks could have killed, probably one or both of them would have been dead.

Finally Joe nodded.

Hank smiled and started walking. “So, where are we going?”

“We’ve got a few chores to handle. Got to get a car and maybe pick up a few weapons.” He kept his voice calm, but his eyes stared hard at the back of Hank’s head. Joe held a special hatred inside of him for everything that Hunter Harrison was and could be. There was no one, nothing in the world that he hated more. Still, for a few moments his anger toward Hank eclipsed that hatred.

Doubly so because Hank walked on as if he hadn’t put his back to one of the most dangerous predators in the world.

That was something he might learn to regret in time.