Shades of Gray - By Jackie Kessler & Caitlin Kittredge Page 0,11

due to her stormy eyes or her white-streaked pale hair. Instead, Meteorite had a smile that made her glow like a Lighter and a laugh that was positively infectious. And a sense of humor that rivaled Were’s. For someone who claimed to hate dirt, she had a positively filthy mind.

“About freaking time.”

Jet didn’t need to look at Frostbite behind the bar to know that he was sneering. She was too tired to argue, so she simply arched an eyebrow at him. Unfazed, Frostbite glared back at her, his face looking too old for his years. Like Meteorite, he was in a Corp-issued jumpsuit—the same one he’d been wearing for the past three days, based on the coffee stains. And the smell.

“Cut her some slack,” Firebug said with a laugh, brushing bright orange hair away from her eyes. Her black leather trench coat creaked as she moved her arm—a nod to the chilly October weather outside. “Duty first, eh, Jet?”

“Not funny, Kai.” Steele, even when not swathed in metallic bands, cut an imposing figure. Nearly two meters tall and quite muscular, she was more masculine than most male Squadron soldiers with extra helpings of testosterone. But right now, Steele’s eyes were soft, and the small frown on her lips was distinctly feminine. “Jet’s fighting the good fight. No need to make it unsavory.”

“Christo, it was a joke, Harrie.” Firebug placed her hand over Steele’s. “You used to have a sense of humor.”

“Things have been a little tense as of late,” Frostbite said as he tapped on a computer next to Meteorite. “Maybe you haven’t noticed.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Jet said, sliding onto a barstool. She nodded cautiously at the only one of the small group who hadn’t acknowledged her.

Seated at the far end of the bar, Hornblower continued to ignore her. Hulking in the shadows, he flexed and unflexed his massive hands as if eager to crush walnuts. Just looking at his sheer bulk, one would guess he was an Earth power. He wasn’t.

“No worries,” Meteorite chirped. “We were about to get a game of bridge going while Frostbite manned the screens, but now that’s been blown to hell. Can’t play bridge with five people. So we might as well have our status meeting.”

“Firebug,” Frostbite said. “Kick it off.”

The Fire power frowned. “The cleanup isn’t going well. New rabids, old rabids, the gangs, the Families, the petty criminals … Christo, it’s a fucking mess out there.”

“Language,” Steele chided.

Firebug shrugged by way of apology, and her coat creaked. “There’s just too much to clean up. And the city’s Finest aren’t making our jobs any easier.”

“That’s for sure,” Meteorite grumbled. “You should hear what they’re saying on dispatch. Most of them don’t buy that you four are still card-carrying good guys. Lee’s pressuring Wagner to extend the warrants to include you.”

Firebug rolled her eyes. “Lee’s an ingrate.”

Jet silently agreed. The mayor was quick to go whichever way the wind blew, especially in an election year. Hard to believe that not even two weeks ago, he’d been presenting Jet with an award for her service to New Chicago. But then, a lot had changed in two weeks.

“It’s not his fault,” Steele said softly. “How can any of them trust us? Hundreds of other Squadron soldiers are razing the Americas. Why should they think we’re different?”

“Gee, maybe because you haven’t tried to rip off their heads yet?” Frostbite scoffed. “Or destroy the city? Or declare war against the humans?” He punched in more keyboard commands, then scowled. “Colossal Man’s not helping, what with his ‘We’re not your dogs’ speech. That’s still getting airtime, if you can believe it. Freaking drama king. The media loves him.”

“We’re lucky that more of the Squadron haven’t gone completely rabid,” Jet said.

“Lucky?” In the corner, Hornblower let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, that’s us. Real lucky.”

Jet held her hands up, hoping to placate him. If anyone loathed her more than Frostbite, it was Hornblower. “All I’m saying is it could be worse.”

“Yeah, right.” He glared at her, and she felt the heat of his rage rolling off him in violent waves. “You haven’t had to go up against your own family. Oh, right,” he said, snapping his fingers. “You don’t have family, do you?”

Jet forced herself to unclench her fist. “Tyler …”

He slammed his palm against the table. “Don’t you ‘Tyler’ me like we’re buddies!”

“Sorry,” she gritted. “Hornblower. I know that going against Lancer yesterday was hard, but you did the right thing.”

“Hard?” The large man’s snarl would have terrified a