by Katie May
The next few minutes consist of Alfred teaching us how to reload the guns, where to get the paintballs, and how to shoot. We do a few practice shots at a target in the distance (well, I did a few practice shots while the rest of the guys whooped and cheered in encouragement. You would think that being a SUP agent would mean I have good aim...you would be wrong).
Finally, he explains the rules of the game. We will be split into two teams, and the second you get shot, you’re out. The last team standing wins.
Of course, that announcement causes a chorus of grumbles to erupt from the guys.
“Any team that has Ridley on it is going to win,” Brandon, the monkey shifter, exclaims. “No one will shoot at her.”
Alfred shrugs, as if he can’t be bothered to care either way, before turning towards Kyler.
I hadn’t even noticed the producer lurking at the side of the field, eyes on me. His blond hair, so light it’s almost white, is pulled away from his striking face. He wears an impeccably tailored brown suit that looks too warm for the weather we’re currently experiencing.
“The teams are as follows,” Kyler begins, procuring a piece of paper from his pocket and reading through the names.
“Julian, Brandon, Aaron, Ethan—”
“Whoop!” The vampire fist-pumps the air before Quinn physically grabs his wrist and forces his hand down.
To me, Quinn states, “I’m still working on him.”
“Chase, Keller, Norman, Criss, Edward, Jace, Dino, and Ridley. You are team one!”
The guys called immediately break into cheers while the others glare.
“Jerome, Fernando, Ren, Kaleb, Talon, Leon, Stephan, Jamie, Grant, Zade, Lincoln, Quinn, and Liam, you are team two.”
Turning towards the rival team, I pantomime slitting my throat. “You’re going down.”
“Ohhhhhh. Our girl has dirty talk,” Brandon cheers, coming up beside me and draping his arm over my shoulder. “Say some more. Please?” He flutters his lashes, and I can’t help but snort.
“You’re going to eat my dust,” I continue, and this time, my entire team begins to chant my name.
“And not the vagina type of dust either!” Ethan hollers, and Quinn, standing with the other team, facepalms himself. The vampire blushes crimson when he realizes what he said. Turning towards me, he hurriedly whispers, “Please kick me in the nuts and end my suffering.”
In a rare moment of bravery, I reply, “Maybe one day I’ll allow you to eat my dust.”
Cue: multiple facepalms.
Because vagina dust? There’s no way to make that sexy.
Ethan’s eyes widen, and he stares at me as if I’m the most beautiful female who’d ever walked the earth.
“I’d…” He trails off and clears his throat. “I’d be honored to eat your dust.”
Quinn huffs out a breath. “Oh, for the love of…”
“You may now grab your equipment,” Alfred interjects, nodding towards a building that resembles a western saloon. As we step into the building, I marvel at the selection of vests and helmets on display, each one hanging precariously from a wooden hook. There are also bowls of paintballs we can choose from that almost remind me of candy jars.
Julian, the broody demon, immediately places a vest over my head. Lips compressed in a severe, unrelenting line, he tightens the straps until it sits snugly on my chest. Reaching behind me, he grabs a mask and helps me secure it as well.
“I can do this myself, you know,” I contest, my voice muffled from the plastic. He simply grunts in response as he grabs me a gun that’s already full of tiny, pink paintballs.
“I want you to be safe,” he comments, and his low, husky timbre reverberates through me. He surprises the shit out of me when he reaches around me to smack my ass.
My cheeks? They burn as if someone had lit them on fire. And I’m talking about my face cheeks, not my ass ones. Although, they’re no doubt red too.
I’m pretty sure the pesky butterflies in my stomach from before return with a vengeance as well.
His smile is wicked, and his red eyes seem to shine as if someone had lit a candle behind them.
And because I’m too awkward to know how to flirt, I lean forward to slap his own ass.
Only to completely miss and awkwardly hit his upper thigh.
Trying to play it off, I begin to rub his skin through the jeans he wears. Like, “Hey, I always meant to pet you like a cat. Why did you think I wanted to do anything differently?”
I physically freeze when I realize where my hand is—and consequentially, where my face is since I’m leaning so far over. When my eyes flicker down, I see a rapidly growing bulge saluting me.
The muscles in my shoulders are so tense they physically spasm. Slowly—dying a painful death with every consecutive second—I remove my hand from the back of Julian’s thigh and settle for patting him on the shoulder. Once. Twice. Three times. Trying to dispel the awkward tension polluting the room, I begin to pat his other shoulder as well.
The outcome?
Me standing in hardcore battle gear as I massage the shoulders of a horny demon.
Hearty laughter has me glancing over my shoulder to see Quinn the incubus doubled over, already fully bedecked in his battle gear. Tears cascade from his eyes as he laughs.
“Suck it,” I hiss in his direction—before realizing I’m still intermittently squeezing Julian’s shoulders. Cursing, I remove my hands and clasp them behind my back.
Julian surprises me by leaning forward, his red eyes ensnaring my own. His lips twitch slightly as he hovers above my face shield.
“If you didn’t have that damn equipment on right now, I would kiss the shit out of you,” he breathes.
On a scale of one to ten, how pathetic would I look if I whipped the face mask off and screamed, “Come at me, bro?”
Before the idea can even take root, Julian grabs his own gun, vest, and helmet and hurries out of the saloon.
All I can do is gape after him, feeling oddly like the Little Mermaid her first time on land. Only this land is a minefield of penises.
Quinn winks conspiratorially at me.
“Do you need lessons as well?” he jests, stepping towards me to nudge me with his elbow. I grab his wrist and spin to face him.
“Shut it, Quinny.”
His brows pull up even as a cocksure smirk plays on his lush lips. “Quinny? That’s a new one.”
“You know what? Suck it. You’re going to be screaming my name when I’m through with you.”
“That’s what she said,” Liam coughs from somewhere over my shoulder.
“Sweetheart,” Quinn leans closer until his lips are a hair’s breadth away from my own, “if you want me to scream your name, all you have to do is ask.”
“Well…” This close, the raw sex appeal he exudes is nearly overwhelming. I know he’s not doing it on purpose. The pheromones an incubus produces are entirely instinctual—they just happen to increase when said incubus is aroused. “Well, I’m still going to shoot you,” I sputter.
Without another word, I hug my gun to my chest and hurry towards the arena.
Why am I such an awkward, ineloquent noodle?
And why do these guys even want to date me?
Chapter 8
I’m stopped eleven times on the way to my team’s home base—located in a desolate stable constructed of distressed wooden pillars.
First, it’s Grant, wanting to make sure my vest is on correctly. Next, Ren tugs on my arms, pushes my face mask away, and plants a feverish kiss to my parted lips.
Then, it’s Zade, anxiously checking over my battle gear, followed by Kaleb, Aaron, Leon, Keller, Jamie, Criss, Dino, and finally, Lincoln.
By the time I make it to the stable, I’ve been poked and prodded more times than ever before. Well, if we’re not counting the bedroom, of course. I’ve been alien-fied there on numerous occasions.
“You ready for this?” a soft voice inquires, and I turn in Norman’s direction, surprised.
Because Norman? He has changed out of his usual garden gnome attire. Now, he is outfitted head-to-toe in camo with war paint on both of his cheeks. And is that…?
I tentatively touch the bombs strapped to his chest, and his smile broadens.
“Paint bombs,” he exclaims, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His red hair is wildly disheveled, a few strands caressing his piercing green eyes. “To protect you.”
“Here’s the plan.” Aaron’s strident voice has us all turning in his direction. He stands at the front of the room, a cigarette dangling from his lips. As I watch, he removes it and tosses it on the ground, quickly using the heel of his combat boot to stomp it out. “Julian, Keller, Norman, and Dino—you will be on the offensive.”
First, when did Aaron become the leader of our ragtag paintball team?
And second, why do I find it so freaking sexy? Even in his leather jacket with that hideous face mask contorting his features, I still want to get burned by him.
“Brandon,” he gesticulates towards the monkey shifter who is currently swinging from the wooden beams by his ankles, “you’ll handle the roofs. Shoot anyone who comes near.”
Gracefully, Brandon drops to his feet and salutes the hellhound.
“Aye aye, captain.” He turns slightly to wink at me before once more pulling himself onto the rafters.
“Edward,” Aaron begins, and the werewolf glances up from where he’s surveying a saddle. “You’ll do...whatever it is you normally do when you sneak up on people and scare the shit out of them.”
Edward smiles merrily, and as I watch, that smile turns into something darker. More wicked. Without responding, he merely steps backwards until he’s flush with the far wall, lost to the shadows.
“Creepy motherfucker,” Aaron murmurs under his breath. Shaking his head once, he points to Chase, Criss, and Jace. “You three will help me by protecting Ridley. No paintballs will touch her.” The last statement is almost said as a warning. His eyes narrow into unforgiving slits.
However, none of the other guys seem to believe that he’s going a little, teeny, tiny bit overboard. They all nod seriously as the three he instructed crowd around me.
“Is this really necessary?” I specify, tapping my foot irritatedly.
Aaron shoots me an eloquent look that makes me take an automatic step backwards until I’m once again consumed by the muscular bodies of Chase, Criss, and Jace. Huh. If Criss and Jace ever got together, they totally could have a ship name of Chase. This is officially a dream team right here.
“What about me?” Ethan pipes in. He looks...fierce. Fierce and determined as if he’s already mentally planning to shoot everyone down. It’s kind of sexy.
Aaron’s lips quirk up as he regards the vampire.
“You’re the bait.”
“I don’t get why I need all the protection,” I murmur as the game begins. I’m surrounded by four of the men—Jace and Criss on either side of me, Chase at my back, and Aaron leading the charge.
“Face it, Princess, you’re the most important person here,” Jace huffs, irritation lacing his tone. I pause abruptly, and the rest of the guys stop as well, almost as if they’re in tune with my movements.
“To you as well?” I query, cocking my hip to the side. When Jace merely stares at me, not immediately comprehending, I elaborate, “Am I the most important person here to you as well?”
Something flickers in his eyes again—a yearning and need so intense that it takes my breath away. Before I can comment, he snaps his head to the side, awkwardly brushing at the mask on his face.
“Come on. We need to get you to safety.”
“You can leave at any time,” I press as our group continues on. “So why don’t you? I’m sure the contract didn’t specify you needed to stay until the very end.”
Jace is a fucking rock god, for crying out loud. He can have any girl he so desires, yet he chooses to remain one of my contenders. Why?
When the damn gorgon remains stubbornly silent, his multi-colored eyes unreadable beneath the mask, I release a huff of air.
Why must guys be so...confusing? As soon as this show is done, I’m switching my profession. Instead of a SUP agent, I’m going to become a self-help author. My lesson? How to understand men. It’ll be a New York Times bestseller in days.
Criss gently places his hand on my arm, and I turn towards the wendigo with a raised brow. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he cajoles, “He’s actually starting to like you, sweetheart, but he doesn’t know how to deal with it.”
“Did he tell you?” I keep my voice as quiet as his, the conversation remaining between us. In the distance, I can hear muttered curses and the sound of guns firing.
“I have eyes.” He flashes me a decidedly sheepish smile. “Half of the men here are already crazy about you.” For a brief moment, sadness darkens his expression. “You’re going to end up breaking a lot of hearts.”
Oh, yes.
Because I have to choose one.
I never hated that word more than I did at that moment.
Movement over Criss’s shoulder captures my attention.
“Criss, down!” I instruct, and he obeys without hesitation. Immediately, I fire three rapid shots at the man approaching.
Talon the valkyrie grins slightly as he stares at his paint-splattered vest.
“Good shot!” he calls cheerfully, already moving towards the exit of the arena. From there, he’ll be able to sit comfortably inside the air conditioned lobby and watch the rest of the game unfold on the televisions.
“Aren’t you supposed to be more upset?” Jace calls out. Talon continues to grin widely as he backs away.
“Because a beautiful girl was the one who shot me?” He snorts once. “Maybe I’m a masochist or something, but seeing her shoot that gun was hot.”
Aaron turns towards me with a raised eyebrow, walking backwards to maintain eye contact. “I thought you said you sucked.”
“I do. I had to learn how to shoot a gun, of course, for my training at SUP, but since I’m usually always at a computer, I haven’t shot a gun in a long ass time. It’s the kickback that gets to me,” I admit with another shrug.
“Ridley.” Aaron pauses and places one gloved finger beneath my chin. “You’re a badass.”
“I know,” I say cheerfully.
Aaron’s body suddenly lurches forward, and he releases a muffled curse. Turning slightly, I see the blobs of paint on his back.
Quinn smiles slightly, gun raised as he aims it at me.
“Sorry, baby girl,” he apologizes as his finger hovers over the trigger. I can’t help but giggle. I guarantee you that Quinn is the only man here who won’t hesitate to shoot me down. He sees me as his equal—a friend and a companion, not just a girlfriend who needs to be protected.
Before he can take aim, however, two paintballs appear on his chest. One comes from above him, and the other from behind.
I glance towards Criss and Jace, and though they have their guns raised, they weren’t the ones to pull the trigger. Even Chase, still behind me, wasn’t able to in time.
Squinting my eyes against the blinding sun, I see Brandon on the roof. When he catches my stare, he waves erratically.
“I got you, babe!” he calls down, cupping his mouth.
But that doesn’t explain the second bullet.
Frowning, I turn towards the entrance to a surprisingly accurate recreation of a western bar. Standing in the doorway, resembling an avenging angel, is no other than Ren.
“You’re on my team, asshole!” Quinn calls as he dramatically clutches his chest.
Ren simply grunts before hefting his paintball gun over his shoulder and sauntering back inside.
“It’s because I have boobies!” I call to Quinn sympathetically, and he roars with laughter.
“Quit talking about your boobs,” he jests as he walks with a fuming Aaron towards the exit. “It’s an uncomfortable time to get a boner.”
“I’ve been hit!”
Criss calls suddenly. Spinning on my heel, I see jaundiced yellow paint sliding down his chest.
“Fuck!” Jace curses as he too is eliminated from the game.
Jamie steps out from one of the nearest buildings, and I can’t help but laugh at the betrayed expression on Criss’s face.
“You shot me?” he asks, outraged.
Jamie shrugs nonchalantly. Before he can reply, Edward the werewolf steps out of the shadows. Unlike the others, he isn’t wearing the safety-issued vest and helmet. Instead, he has on a skin-tight black shirt and black jeans.
With a word, he fires a single shot to Jamie’s shoulder and then to his heart.
The ghost releases a muffled curse as he glares at the newcomer.
“I wasn’t going to shoot Ridley,” he hisses, face pinched in pain. Despite the safety precautions, paintballs hurt like a bitch.
I may or may not have watched dozens of YouTube videos when I learned what activity we would be doing today.
Criss leans forward to whisper, “It’s because of the boobs,” and I can’t help but break into laughter.
“Come on,” Chase says gently, grabbing my elbow and pulling me away from the eliminated men. Edward has already disappeared back into the shadows—almost as if he was never here to start.
I really, really need to take him out on a date and learn more about him. Is he the cheerful, talkative man from the first day we met? Or the mysterious one who disappears into the shadows and wields a gun as if it’s second nature?
Or...is he both?
“Let’s go here,” Chase instructs, nodding towards an alley between two wooden buildings.
Chase is, in every sense of the word, the stereotypical angel. His good looks are almost otherworldly with his cropped blond hair, tan skin, and tall frame.
I know him the least of all the men here. Everything about him is a complete and utter mystery. He’s an angel...so why does he worship the devil? Is he one of those people who believes that Satan was wrongly imprisoned?
With skilled efficiency, Chase swings his gun in both directions—ensuring there’s no one hiding in the shadows—before gesturing for me to enter the secluded alley before him.
