Chapter 11 – Viper
VIPER
Fire.
I slide my tongue over my teeth as I stare at the woman before me, with hair the color of flames. Her eyes are fierce and angry. A spark, ready to ignite a bonfire.
No. That’s not the right word, is it? It hits the ear wrong. Discordant.
A spark, ready to ignite…
“An inferno,” I say with a grin. That’s the word.
She raises an eyebrow at me. Not scared but apprehensive. Cautious. I smile a little wider, wanting to show her my teeth, wanting to see how she reacts to a predator.
“Excuse me?” she asks, arms crossed. When I don’t answer, she huffs, tapping her finger against her arm in annoyance. “Look, buddy, you’re going to need to order something or get out of line. I don’t have all day.”
She gestures toward the menu behind her, but it’s all nonsense to me. What the fuck do I know about the difference between a latte and a cappuccino?
“Coffee,” I order, ignoring the board. “Black.”
“Size?” she asks impatiently.
I grin. “Big.”
So fierce, this little spark. Even with me towering above her, even with most people on the street actively avoiding my eyes, trying so desperately not to look at my scars, she manages to glare at me, irritation written all over her face.
As she pours my drink, I stare into the glass case next to the register, full of buttery-looking treats.
Lavender bunny macarons, says the sign next to a line of lilac-colored cookies shaped like cartoon rabbit heads. The eyes are grotesque, a caricature of innocence and joy.
I haven’t eaten since the private jet that dropped me back in Fortune City this morning.
Daryl’s wife and children are safe and sound—as safe as any of us are in this world—stashed in a city where the weather fluctuates between hot and hotter.
Somewhere they’ll never be found. It hits me suddenly how hungry I am.
“Give me two of those,” I tell her, tapping on the glass. She slips a little glove over her hand before she reaches into the case for them. Her gloves aren’t anything like the ones Doc makes me wear. Hers are clear and loose, the plastic paper-thin.
Can’t use gloves like that in the lab. They’d be torn to shreds.
“That’ll be twelve fifty,” she informs me, setting the cookies on a plate next to the mug of coffee on the counter between us. Steam floats up from the mug, a tendril of heat stretching out for me.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a handful of cash, barely looking at it.
I don’t care about money. That’s Doc’s job.
Even my paycheck, ostensibly paid through Sterling’s company fund for some such bullshit I’m apparently listed as doing, doesn’t mean shit to me.
It’s all piling up in a bank account somewhere, all those imaginary dollars, ones and zeros, stored who the fuck knows where.
None of it is real. None of it concrete.
I peel a bill away from the rest and hand it to her, ignoring the way her jaw drops as she takes it.
“W-wait! Your change!” she says, as I scoop up my purchases.
“Keep it,” I tell her. What the fuck would I do with it anyway?
I have everything I want right now. I grin down at the little rabbit cookies, stacked so nicely on their plate.
The world isn’t built for people my size. The chair I force myself into is uncomfortably small, and the table looks like I could break it if I moved too quickly. But I’m too focused on the little cookies to care.
I snap one in half and slip it into my mouth, closing my eyes as I chew. Sweet, like sugar and cream.
Just how I imagine my little rabbit will taste.