by Elise Faber
“Jesse’s right,” Hannah said. “Let’s go.” She squeezed my arm but didn’t meet my eyes as she moved by me, signaling to Lily and Linc to follow.
That anger grew, stayed with me as I watched them move into position.
They were liquid night, darting across the back yard, disappearing inside the rickety, abandoned house that appeared ready to fall down around itself. I knew from the video and photos Hannah and Lily had taken during recon that the downstairs was broken up into three rooms—a kitchen, a small living room, and a dining area. A bathroom was there as well, though the walls had long since fallen down, leaving just the toilet and the sink in the middle of the space. Upstairs had two bedrooms and another bathroom, though these walls were still erect. But it was the actual staircase itself that was something out of a horror flick, its banister broken and jagged in places, more treads missing than present, the serrated, wooden edges like hundreds of tiny knives.
More perks of being a secret agent.
Increased risk of getting slivers.
Really big slivers.
“They’re good,” Leo murmured.
His voice sparked my fury anew. It was the voice of the Leo I knew, the man I’d thrown knives with, the man who’d been my friend. It was not the voice of the man from the conference room, from the clearing by the SUV, and . . . it was fucking whiplash.
Friend to asshole to friend.
What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?
All it did was make me defensive, make me want to lash out at him. Except—I sighed—we were on a mission, and that came first. As we watched our teammates slip through the shadows and move into position, I knew I needed to bury the urge, to focus on the task at hand.
“Really good,” Leo murmured with a grin, and then he bumped my shoulder with his.
He. Touched. Me.
Something inside me snapped.
I needed to get away from him. I needed space. I needed to shove down, to lock up, to put all my efforts into pretending. I couldn’t do that if he was touching me. “I’ll take the front watch,” I said, taking a step in that direction.
“Jess—” Leo snagged my hand, frowning. “It’s too dang—”
Something else snapped inside me.
Maybe it was the concern in his eyes, his worry about me getting hurt when he had sliced me repeatedly with an emotional blade over the last few hours. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe there was shit going on with him, and that had caused him to react poorly.
But I wasn’t a fucking punching bag.
I yanked out my knife, pressed it to his throat. “Don’t finish that statement if you—”
His eyes sparked, and quick as a flash, he’d gripped my wrist, snatched my knife out of my grip. “Want to live?” he asked archly, tossing it back to me.
“Yes,” I muttered, catching the knife. “And no, it’s not too fucking dangerous. I’m an agent, same as you.”
He stepped close. “I’ll take the front watch. You stay here.”
“Where there’s little risk of action?” I rolled my eyes, gestured at my body, strong and fit and designed for exactly this kind of work. “I can take care of myself,” I reminded him. “I’ve trained for this as long as you have.”
“My job is to have your back.”
“Then do it,” I hissed, clenching my fingers on my knife, barely resisting the urge to have it at his throat again. “And stop fucking talking so I can do my job.” I narrowed my eyes. “I’m taking the front watch, and if you have a problem with that, you can just shut the fuck up about it and complain to Hannah later.”
He lifted his hands, as though in surrender, muttered, “What’s crawled up your ass?”
What had crawled up my ass? My ass?
“Arrogant, asshole men,” I snapped.
A brow rose. A sardonic grin twisted his lips. “And I’m guessing you consider me one of those?”
My nostrils flared. I would not stab him. I would not.
I shoved my blade into its sheath. “If the shoe fits.” I tossed my head. “And you might as well add misogynistic motherfucker to it. Just in case you need some flavor or maybe some lovely little sparkles of decoration,” I added, fluttering my fingers through the air. “It goes perfectly with your outfit.”
Suddenly, I was pinned against the tree, his hard body against mine. “Bullshit,” he snapped, his mouth a millimeter from mine, hot breath puffing against my lips. “I am not a misogynist.”
My breathing wasn’t the least bit steady, especially when his hand dropped to my hip, his chest to mine.
“Just a cruel bastard then,” I spat. “One who enjoys hurting people.”
Something crossed his face—fury, pain? No, it was definitely fury. His fingers clenched tighter on my hip. “I love women.”
“That’s the part you heard?” I gritted out.
His breath painted my lips. “That’s the part that’s untrue. I’m not a misogynist.”
“But you are a cruel bastard?” I asked.
“Yes,” he agreed without preamble. “I’ve never had a problem with women, you know that.”
I sniffed, rolled my eyes. “So long as they’re not your equals?”
Fury drifted across his face. “Take that back.”
“No.” I shoved at his chest, but short of stabbing him, I had no means of escape. He had me pinned, my back to the tree, his heavy body blocking me in, his grip on my hip nearly unbreakable because . . . I didn’t want to hurt him.
Even though I wanted to stab him.
Yes, I was perfectly aware that the series of thoughts didn’t make one lick of sense.
No, I still didn’t stab him.
“You’re an asshole,” I said instead, venom in every word. “And a shitty fucking friend.”
His nostrils flared, green eyes darkening, and I braced myself for more sharp words.
But instead, they were soft.
And surprising.
“I know,” he whispered.
His head dropped and suddenly, his breath was on my skin, his nose running slowly up my throat.
“I know,” he repeated, inhaling.
Goose bumps on my skin, a shiver along my nape.
His head came up, and his lips . . . were right there.
My pulse galloped in my veins, my fingers went from pushing him away to clutching him closer.
I watched his eyes change, knew the moment he’d decided to kiss me.
And I wanted that? I didn’t? I—
“Check in,” our earpieces blared.
Leo jumped back.
I swallowed hard, tapped my earpiece to turn on the mic as I stepped away from the tree. “Moving to take the front watch right now. Leo is on the rear.”
“Here,” Leo murmured, and I heard his voice behind me and in my ear.
The rest of the team checked in as I kept moving.
“Jess,” he said softly before I was out of earshot. “Wait, I—”
I didn’t turn around.
Chapter Eleven
Leo
I had approximately two minutes to berate myself after Jess murmured into the earpiece, “In position,” before she said, “Approaching vehicle.”
Then I was locking down my emotions, transitioning into Warrior Mode.
And still feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet.
Probably because I’d gotten into the habit of calling it Warrior Mode. Or maybe because I’d been an unforgivable asshole to Jess, and I deserved her vitriol and fury. I’d pushed her away, hurt her, and I’d done a damned good job of it.
Sighing, because my palm still burned remembering the feel of Jesse’s hip, I moved further into position, scanning my surroundings, listening for the sound of tires, shifting slightly when I heard the crunch of gravel so I could get a better view of the front porch.
Two men closed their car doors, the sound loud in the quiet of the night, their carefree voices reaching my ears.
Not nervous.
Not on
alert.
Hopefully, that meant they hadn’t been tipped off.
They sat on the top step of the porch, completely relaxed, chatting about . . . my ears strained to hear, “. . . and then she reached down my pants and just grabbed my dick.”
“Bullshit,” Lily muttered into the earpiece. “That little shit has never been touched by a woman.”
“I agree,” Linc said lightly.
Hannah snorted, murmured “There’s no accounting for taste. The little shit could absolutely have gotten laid.”
“Because some women are gluttons for punishment,” Jess whispered.
I hated her tone.
It slid right through my Warrior Mode, puncturing it as effectively as a pin to a balloon.
I wanted to run to the front of the house, to sprint to Jesse’s position and apologize, explain that I was fucked up in my head and had a hard-on for her, and I knew I couldn’t act on anything because we were friends and teammates, and I’d done that before, and it had all gone to shit, and I couldn’t be responsible for—
A second car pulled up.
The pair on the porch grew quiet.
Two more car doors slammed. Two more young men strolled up the walkway, leaning against the wobbly railing on the porch.
“Do you have them?” One of the guys sitting asked.
My body went on full alert.
The new pair nodded, and the one on the left went to the rear of the beat-up sedan. He popped the trunk, pulled out . . . a large blue and white cooler. I frowned, pulled out my binoculars to look closer at what appeared to be an ordinary cooler.
“I thought it would be . . . bigger,” Lily murmured.
Me, too.
I used my binoculars to scan the surroundings, searching for something else, someone else. My spine was prickling, telling me we were missing something.
“Who’s got eyes on the cooler?”
There was a pause and then a whisper of sound, a tree shifting just barely in the distance. “I do,” Jess said.
We waited, eyes trained on the man carrying the cooler to the porch.
He plunked it on the ground, tugged open the lid.
“Yes!” one of the original pair said.
“Raided my dad’s house,” the man—no, the boy, I was starting to realize, said. Not a slender adult, but the lanky lines of a teenager. No, this wasn’t right. None of this was right.
The boys reached into the cooler, pulled out cans that shone bright silver in the moonlight. Beer.
“Jesse?” Hannah asked.
“More of the same,” she replied. “Trunk’s empty, too.”
“Leo?” Hannah asked. “See anything?”
“Nothing back here.”
“Linc? The other vehicle.”
A pause, shadows moving on the opposite side of the SUV. “Nothing.”
“We wait,” Hannah said.
I nodded, though she couldn’t see me, and watched as the boys drank their beers, as they reached in for seconds, and then thirds, drifting around to the back yard to sit on a stump and talk about all the girls they’d had—or were pretending they’d had. I kept an eye on them after they’d returned for a fourth beer each, then another on Jess as she silently disabled the cars’ engines.
They could barely make it to the cooler; they wouldn’t be driving home.
Later, after the beers were gone and they’d returned to the back yard, sprawled out on the grass and drinking toasts to the stars, I kept watch as Linc searched through their vehicles.
And found nothing.
No weapons. No trackers. No KTS-grade tech.
Just fucking Puka shell necklaces, a keychain for the local high school, and a pair of crusty underwear.
Boys were fucking gross.
We’d mobilized an elite unit of secret agents to watch high schoolers get drunk off cheap beer and find crusty underwear.
I loved my fucking job.
That was sarcasm, not that anyone residing in my brain could possibly miss it. Not that anyone was residing in my brain. Not that . . . I was making any sense. And that was solely the responsibility of the woman I could just occasionally glimpse in the shadows near the gravel driveway.
I was in knots because of Jess.
Gripping tight to my focus, I waited with the rest of the team, watching the boys until they passed out, still looking up at the stars. Lily checked on them, rolling them over onto their sides to make sure they were alive and wouldn’t choke on their own vomit, if it came to that. It was a far step further to ensuring the horny fuckers’ lives than I probably would have taken—
Then again, we all knew I was an asshole.
As Lily was playing mom, Hannah checked the cooler, and no surprise to any of us, found nothing. Linc checked the cars again. Also found nothing. Jesse and I combed the woods.
A big fat nothing.
But still we stayed at the house, watching as the first rays of sun drifted up in the sky, brightening it to reds and oranges before we decided to call this a bust and head out.
Either the information Jesse had pulled was inaccurate—unlikely, I knew based on her commitment and the amount of time she’d spent vetting the data—or the weapons deal had been derailed by a bunch of high school dumbasses wanting to drink their Thursday night away. Bottom line, it wasn’t happening today, wasn’t happening here, and it would be best to go back to base and sort through the failure.
Dark circles smudged the skin beneath Jesse’s eyes as we ran back to the car, but I could have gotten a bead on her exhaustion without even looking at her. It radiated in the space between us, heavy waves that crashed into me over and over again. Even so, she set the pace for the rest of us, somehow even more brutal than it had been on the way over. My ribs cramped. My thighs felt weak as hell. My lungs were filled with shards of glass.
But I kept pace beside her regardless, deliberately ignoring the dirty look she shot me.
I knew I needed to apologize.
I didn’t have the words, and this wasn’t the place. But I needed to anyway.
We paused in the clearing where we’d parked the SUV, chests heaving, Lily, Linc, and Hannah not far behind us but still in the tree line.
I opened my mouth, my apology on the tip of my tongue.
Jesse glanced at me, her skin gilded in the early morning sunshine, those freckles I wanted to count dotted across her nose and cheeks.
“I—”
Her gaze slid by me.
Her eyes went wide.
Faster than I could turn around to assess the threat, Jess had knocked me to the ground, thrown her body over mine like a shield.
“Down!” she shouted.
I heard a pop, and—
She hissed.
Her body jerked.
And then blood began gushing out of her throat.
Chapter Twelve
Jesse
We emerged from the trees, stepped into the clearing, my heart pounding, lungs sawing.
The SUV was in front of us, and I wanted nothing more than to just get into it and get the fuck back to base. Not only because of Leo but because of the fucking weapons exchange . . . or the lack of one anyway.
Where had I gone wrong?
I’d researched. I’d re-researched. I’d run all the details by everyone and—
We’d spent the night surveilling teenagers.
My fault. My goddamned fault.
Leo spun to face me, his lips parting, and I braced for more vitriol, for more of that push-pull, whiplash of friend to enemy to friend—
A flash of black in the trees behind him.
I narrowed my eyes, stared across the clearing, just to the left of the SUV, and saw the movement again. Movement that was happening in the wrong direction of my teammates, the build of a man much burlier than the lean strength of Linc, shaped more like Leo.
Except, Leo was in front of me.
And I knew.
The world was about to go to shit.
The man in the tre
es raised his arm. I saw the gun and—
I moved before I even processed what I was doing, grabbing Leo’s shoulders, sweeping out with my foot, taking us both to the ground, as I shouted, “Down!” to warn Linc and Hannah and Lily, who were just coming up behind us.
Leo was below me, his eyes wide, his lips forming words, but . . . too late.
I heard the gun discharge, felt the sharp bite of pain, the warm gush of blood.
But Leo was okay.
I reached for my own weapon, raised it and fired off a few quick shots to buy us some time. Then Leo had flipped us, his hand gripping my throat tightly enough that I gagged, his other holding his gun, firing rapidly.
“Move!” I heard in my earpiece.
Hannah’s voice.
The rest of our team laid down cover fire, and I scrambled to my feet or maybe it was more that Leo hauled me up, and then we were sprinting for the tree line. I was dizzy, stumbling, but we made it the ten feet, bullets whizzing around us. It wasn’t a warzone, didn’t have the explosions and screams that sometimes still made up my nightmares.
Instead, it was surprisingly quiet outside of the rapports of the gunfire, the hissed orders from Hannah in my earpiece. Whoever was out there already knew our positions, so there wasn’t a huge benefit to keeping quiet, but panic and the yelling never brought anything good. And we were better than that, I thought, fighting to keep my eyes open, knowing I wouldn’t be a help to anyone if I slipped into unconsciousness, so I held tight to my awareness, focused on my surroundings.
We’d taken up cover behind a fallen tree, Hannah and Lily on either side of us, their backs pressed to thick trunks that would protect them.
Linc was already there, kneeling next to me, his medic kit out, and I winced when he dumped clotting agent—KTS’s special sauce for just this situation—into my wound then began wrapping a bandage with even more of the compound embedded into the gauze, yanking it tight enough that I had to force back another gag.
