Page 68 of Act of Brotherhood
Garth laughed mockingly. “So easy to tempt. It is why your kind is weaker.”
Auberi gathered himself. “Tell me. Are shifters the better species when they’re in animal form licking their own asses?”
“Och, I do nae lick my arse,” protested Striker. He then grinned wolfishly. “Ask me if I lick my balls.”
Gram’s eyes widened. “Do nae ask. He’ll show you and I’ll throw up. I could pull a stitch or something.”
Hans cleared his throat and waved a hand in the air. “I have no wish to see Striker lick anything.”
“Yer no fun.” Striker sat in a wheeled office chair that he’d brought from the bullpen area of the offices. While he’d started off using scorecards as well, he’d gotten bored with that and hungry. He’d already eaten his way through most of the food that had been in the breakroom refrigerator, regardless of who it belonged to, and was now doing his best to destroy the popcorn reserves. He watched Garth and Auberi while he ate from a bowl of microwaved popcorn. He lifted the bowl to Gram. “Want some? I’ve seen the shite they feed you in the infirmary. Bland diet is right. Even the pudding tasted horrible. How can you fuck up pudding?”
Gram snorted but didn’t take any. While the serum had ultimately worked to help kick-start his body’s natural healing abilities, it by no means offered an instant cure. He had burns that were still being treated over large portions of his body and his bones were still mending. All things, as a shifter male, he should have done already, but whatever he’d been given by The Corporation was proving harder to counter than anyone thought.
Somehow, Gram had managed to pull through. But the man on the other side of the explosion wasn’t quite the same as the one before it occurred. Not that anyone could blame Gram.
“No popcorn for you,” said Auberi sternly to Gram, ever the medical professional when called for, as he pointed a finger at his patient.
Gram met Garth’s gaze. “I changed my vote. Kill him. Turn him into dust. Be quick about it and I’ll help spring you from this hellhole with me. We can build a boat or something. Is that nae what yer kind enjoys doing? That or go steal loot. I know you have a thing for acquiring weapons. We’ll go in search of those. Make it quick, I’m nae getting any younger in this fucking bed.”
Striker chuckled as he tossed a handful of popcorn into the air, leaned in the chair, and artfully caught it all. Knowing Striker, he’d spent centuries perfecting the art of catching food like that. He chomped on it, seemingly unconcerned that bits of it were stuck in his wild, deep red beard. The man had the attention span of a gnat and a beard that was fast reminding Garth of the band ZZ Top. At some point, someone was going to hold the man down and cut the thing.
“Does somebody want to tell me what in the hell happened to my infirmary? And where is Gram? He’s supposed to be resting. He’s not even in the medical wing, let alone resting,” said Dr. James Hagen as he entered the training room. His gaze slid to Gram and the hospital bed. He lifted a brow. “Striker, what did you do?”
The burly Scot stood, holding the bowl of popcorn to his chest. Stray pieces of popcorn fell to the floor around him. “Och, I’ll have you know this was nae my idea. It was his.” He pointed to Gram.
Gram made a pouty face. “Sure. Blame the sick guy.”
Between the two of them, it was hard to understand half of what they were saying since they were both Scottish and proximity to another Scotsman seemed to intensify their brogues. At any moment they’d likely break out in songs dedicated to William Wallace, as both had been known to do in the past.
James glanced at Auberi and Garth. A sigh came from him. “Really? The two of you are fighting?Again?”
Auberi used the moment to deliver a rather well-placed punch to Garth’s face. “Yes.”
Garth growled and gave James a dirty look for distracting him. “He started it.”
“Do I have the two of you to thank for the mess in the infirmary in Lab D?” asked James, his arms crossing over his chest as he glared. The look on his face said he was tempted to give them both time-outs for bad behavior. That or join the sparring.
“Aye,” said Striker and Gram at the same time.
Garth and Auberi stared at the Scots and then shared a look. For that brief moment, they were on the same page.
“Assholes,” said Garth.
Auberi nodded and then he reassumed a fighting stance. That was fine by Garth. He more than wanted a piece of the asshole.
Auberi made a sudden movement, faking an attack.
“Weak,” yelled Gram.
James laughed. “He’s not wrong.”
Garth nearly fell for the faked attack because his mind had been elsewhere. “Just like the French, come out of the gate strong and then fold.”
“Unlike the Vikings, who pillaged their way through how many lands?” returned Auberi, never one to back down.
“Feed any innocent, helpless children your blood lately?” asked Garth, his mind still locked in a state somewhere between the past and present. He couldn’t get the little girl from long ago out of his head and he couldn’t stop worrying about Nicolette.
Auberi’s gaze narrowed, and Garth knew he’d struck a nerve.
