Revolutionary

by LeAnn Mason

  A condescending snort escaped him. "Weren't you just being a bitch about answering my questions?"

  "Huh?"

  "The arm..." He jutted his chin at my now-exposed right arm. He was in spiffy and vibrant plaid pajama pants that were a khaki color with a thin red line crossing throughout the pattern. They looked comfy, I'd give him that, and honestly, I didn't want to focus in the space between his waist and his face, because our resident yacht-baby was currently shirtless. His thin arms and clearly-undefined chest only showed maturation in the sprinkling of darkish curly hairs in between his pecs and below his navel. Nope! Eyes up, Dae!

  "Your face isn't inspiring confidence that you want my company," Steve deadpanned, calling me on the apparent distaste written across my face as I took in the sights. "I'll tell you what… tell me about your arm, and I'll make nice." His blonde eyebrows rose with the ultimatum.

  "Hey, just because I don't particularly want to see you less than fully dressed… even if your manner of dress is obnoxious as well…" My tangent wasn't doing me any favors, and I wasn't doing a good job of looking sincere. "Look. It does none of us any good to constantly go out of our way to avoid the others, to not bother to get to know each other at all. With the dangerous nature of the job—" I paused as a pain stabbed at my heart, the loss of Dane surging to mind.

  This wasn't going well. I seemed to suck at playing nice. I was trying. Really, I was, but I was losing him. He was going to decline unless I opened up first. There was no true reason not to talk to Steve. Well, except that I didn't trust his father, and he himself had not given me much reason to open up to him, shunning the team at every opportunity. Maybe this was the turning point, the conversation that would change our dynamic. I felt like I owed it to Dane to attempt acceptance of all, even a Davidson.

  My contemplation was interrupted as Steve apparently lost patience. "Right. I'm going to stay in here for the night." He pitched a thumb over his shoulder. "Got something, uh, something I'm reading." Pushing his glasses back to their perch, Steve looked down and started to close his door. It was time to put up or shut up.

  "My arm is uncasted, because it healed," I blurted before Steve could shut the door in my face. Still, he wanted more. "It's healed, because… because I can heal—quickly." My turn to raise eyebrows in question.

  Steve's mind still wasn't satisfied as he peered around the door. His lips rested against the back of the hand that was wrapped around the barrier as he eyeballed me shrewdly.

  "How? No other hybrid has dual gifts, and definitely not from both sides of Enhanced." He was working himself up, lost to the questions infused his mind. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he basically forgot I was still standing in front of him.

  With a heavy sigh and a barely-restrained eye roll, I moved to keep him to his part of the deal. Snapping my fingers in his face, I barked, "Hey, there. I told you the reason. Now, you get to come watch a movie with us like we're all a big, happy family." I smiled grandly before spinning away from him and moving toward the top of the stairs. "I expect you dressed and downstairs in five," was tossed over my shoulder as I began my careful descent. Stairs and I still had disagreements on occasion, so I made sure to be aware while I was on them.

  The members of my team whom I did like were all sprawled in various seats throughout the living room. Not one upholstered item was without an ass parked on it. "Well now, you started without me, I see," I complained to the room. Smirks and dismissive waves met my retort without remorse.

  What were you doing upstairs? Holden's baby blues narrowed in confused curiosity. He'd been close to coming up to check on me, wondering what was taking so long. The man worried about me in our own house. I rolled my eyes softly at the thought.

  "I was persuading Steve to join us."

  All manner of chatter ceased as every eye in the room swung my way at that declaration. The movie was in its opening scenes—already pitching the danger the guy was in as he screeched and plowed his stolen escape car through narrow streets and around harrowing turns—but the voices of my friends were void.

  "Uhh… why would you invite Boat Shoes to join us?" Jade finally asked skeptically, breaking the silence.

  I shrugged as I pushed Holden's feet to the floor and took the seat next to him on the couch, nestling between him and Jade as they both followed my movements with disbelieving eyes.

  "Well, I figured that our team would work most efficiently in dangerous situations if we all liked each other… or at least trusted one another. I think we're all good." I waved my hand around the room circularly, encompassing all of us present. "But, I need to be more comfortable with Steve. My life may depend on it someday," I muttered the last a bit sullenly. It was a sad truth that snuck up on me sometimes.

  This path was a dangerous one, one that not everyone would escape, and none of us would emerge from unscathed. There would be innumerable nicks taken from our armor, both mental and physical, by the time we stepped off the road. Still, I couldn't leave it. It called to me. It was definitely what I was meant to do.

  With that morose thought, I began to hear Steve's mental signature again and alerted the room. The others’ focus shifted over my shoulder for a moment before being pointedly redirected back toward the action movie Devlin had apparently chosen for the evening. It didn't matter that the situations, reactions, and results were all completely absurd; they were entertaining.

  "Does that mean I'm bunking on the floor?" Steve said sardonically as he swaggered to a stop near the beige armchair beside the couch where half our team lounged, me included. When no one made a move to make space, Steve huffed and turned to leave the room.

  "Uh-uh," I scolded. "We had a deal. Play nice."

  "But no one else is playing nice!"

  "Geez, c'mon. The carpet is comfy enough, and you can lean against any number of things. I'm sure I can persuade someone to relinquish a pillow or two."

  It was fun. Yeah, it wasn't smooth, but really, did we expect it to be? And since when did we not give each other a hard time? That was team-building. We were totally team-building in that moment.

  Trent tossed a piece of popcorn at the still-standing Steve. "Dude, sit. I can't focus on the TV when you're, like, hovering over here."

  With a huff, both mental and vocal, Steve lowered himself to the floor to the right of the little table centered between the furniture arrangements and leaned backward against extended arms. "Oof!" Steve exclaimed before retrieving the decorative pillow that had struck his head; again, both mental and vocal grumblings were present.

  "You're welcome." Dev smirked.

  The rest of the night went pretty smoothly, the nighttime routines occurring with maybe a little less bickering and sneering, and maybe a few more good-natured jabs. I couldn't help but be proud of myself. I’d done a good thing, the right thing in making sure I no longer impeded the cohesiveness of our team. Maybe we'd all realize that would only hurt us in the long run. I didn’t think we'd all be bestest buds and spend every waking moment together… happily, but not mentally sneering while we worked to unravel an incident would be awesome.

  Holden and I had bedded down in his bedroom the previous. I didn’t want him to feel like he was losing himself to me. He was more than happy to merge us, and while we were definitely headed that direction—in more ways than one—I couldn't take that plunge right then, not with so much uncertainty. Luckily, Holden never held it against me. Well, he did, but…

  Okay, so that was a bad pun.

  The morning routine seemed, like the previous evening’s, to be going just a little smoother than usual. There were no snide remarks or petty moving of breakfast items to make certain other people would have a harder time locating their sustenance. I seemed to suddenly have a few more minutes in the morning.

  It was weird not fighting with Steve, just as it was weird thinking of Steve as Steve. I pretty much always referred to him as Boat Shoes, and the nickname had permeated the team. We all thought of him that way. Well, not a
nymore. We were a team, and Steve was a part of it.

  Soon enough, we were all sitting languidly at the large conference table in the command post. Commander James, as usual, was perched at the head, his hands pushing into the surface as he leaned forward. His dark tactical wear bulged in a multitude of places, the items held in their depths hidden from view. I often found myself waylaid by the thought of just what had made it into a pocket that day. Today was no exception.

  Was there a flashlight clipped there in the open pocket at his right hip?

  Was there a bullet casing rattling around in that one just above his left knee?

  Tissues?

  "Nathalee."

  The utterance of my name by the commander didn't break my wanderings so much as the fact that his cinnamon eyes were now boring directly into mine. My cheeks flushed with heat that crawled up from my neck and was heading toward the tips of my ears with embarrassment.

  Coughing, I cleared my throat after I squeaked a reply, which didn't help the embarrassment factor. Chuckles sounded from around the table as minds were equally entertained. "Sorry. What?"

  "Are you ready to do your firearms training this morning? If things go well, we can get you qualified and carrying."

  "Oh, yes. Definitely." I nodded somewhere between lazy and enthusiastic, or so I hoped. I needed this. I was tired of being the weak link, someone without offensive abilities to help me out in a fight. I guessed not all of us did, but I seemed to be the most lacking when it mattered. I couldn't help at all the last time. I didn't want to be a liability. I knew I was "vital" because of my telepathy, but I wanted to be rounded. I didn't want to be a piece of the puzzle that people worried about fitting.

  "Good. Then you, Holden, and Devlin will head back to the range at the farmhouse. Jade?" At her acknowledgement, he finished. "You will train the recruits with Steve today. I think we have a couple prospective Sages who may be around as well. We'll see if they show for our meeting and go from there. We may pop in on all of you if they seem genuinely interested." Those eyes found mine again. "I may need your help if we're thinking of moving forward with them. For now, let's get started. I do believe that Brielle and the others are here now."

  I got what he didn't say: I would be the one mentally vetting them.

  I would admit that my interest was piqued. Who would show up as an interested party to this shindig? Were the Sages starting to venture away from their comfort zones, or were their intentions more nefarious?

  We would find out soon enough, but for now?

  I'd get the chance to actually fire a firearm.

  CHAPTER 7

  The gun wasn't blue this time, and it would fire the bullets that were also very real. I'd handled this weapon many times. Hell, I'd been tearing it down and reassembling it at that same table just yesterday.

  This was different. It was the first time I'd actually get to fire the weapon. Without my hand having limited mobility and impediment, I could wrap my hand fully around the grip. My fingers wound around, palm flat against the right side, thumb up, and index finger extended to lay just under the slide. I tentatively wrapped my left hand from the other side so that the fleshy part of my palms overlapped, moving both around until I found where they fit comfortably. Then, I moved my arms to bring the weapon to my right side, a safe position.

  "You've been waiting for this, right?" Dev's deep voice chimed from behind me. His approach was silent, as per usual, until he stood beside me in the open field we called The Range. "I'm really kind of dreading it, to be honest," he grumbled as he messed with the pieces left on the table. Lifting the percussion-reducing headphones, he thrust them at me. I was having a slight case of déjà vu, seeming like a replay of the day before, except I actually held my weapon.

  I didn't have a hand free to take them until I holstered the weapon. Locking it into position within its safety container was something I did reluctantly, the weight as familiar at my hip as it was in my hands. I was somewhat surprised to see Devlin had his attached to his hip as well. It wasn't always there; he didn't need it. Most Enhanced didn't.

  Holden strode toward us from down field where he'd been securing the paper targets to their stationary posts. Even with his head swiveled, face unseen, and focus on surveying his surroundings, he took my breath away. I was pretty frickin’ sure there wouldn't be another man for me. Ever. But I refrained from telling many adults that particular tidbit, because every teen said that at some point, didn't they? Some said it more than once, probably a lot.

  It seemed that Enhanced didn't change partners too often. Well, at least Sages didn't. Their fact-driven minds seemed to find a compatible companion and stick. I didn't know if the fertility and birthing issues had any bearing on that or not—

  You ready, Nat?

  Holden's question wasn't the least bit muffled by my earmuffs, because my ears weren't affecting how I heard him at all. That glorious deep timbre was projected directly into my noggin. I nodded, a crooked smile lighting my face as I stared back at my outwardly-silent boyfriend.

  “What's the goofy grin about, Hybrid? Wait, don't tell me. I don't wanna know,” Dev huffed, donning the universal “I don't want to know” gestures and striding closer to the affixed targets further down-range. “Let's get this party started, Dae!”

  My enthusiasm waned as worry struck. Would I suck at this? What would happen if I did? Firearms were like a make-or-break thing in the Non-Enhanced world. Would it end my enforcer career if I was a horrible shot?

  You got this, Nat. No big deal. Just relax and listen to what Dev says. I'll chime in if I think I have something to say that will help you. He ducked to catch my eye from where I was staring at my target.

  “It looks so small.”

  It'll get bigger as we get closer. With a hand at my back, Holden guided me toward where Devlin stood, about forty-five feet from where our targets were plastered. Plus, it's easier than you think to eat least hit the target.

  “This distance seems… far.” The longer I stood there, waiting, the more anxious I became. Is this really a good idea? “I’m of the more cumbersome variety. Should I be allowed to carry a weapon?”

  “That’s exactly what we’re here to judge,” Dev said as he paced back up to Holden’s and my side. “Today is for us all to get a feel for your aptitude for sidearms. They are a powerful and useful tool in the right hands but a dangerous and temperamental weapon in the wrong ones. Minefield has so far been able to escape having many guns in the hands of those not trained to use them. Easier to do when there was no need to resort to one. We’re all dangerous.”

  “Have you run into many who choose to wield one?” I hadn’t heard more than a handful of stories—rumors, really—of killing with man-made weapons and wondered if more had maybe been hushed. Dev’s answer said that he didn’t know of many… then, he mentally chastised me for stalling. I had to buck up and get on with it. My eyesight was impeccable, it seemed. I just hoped my hands were as steady.

  With a bobblehead nod, I signaled my readiness to begin.

  “All right, Hybrid, get into your ready stance,” Devlin barked.

  I planted my feet parallel to each other and pulled my weapon from the holster. It slid free with a click, and I extended my arms, bending into the position I’d taken to calling “standing crapper”. My left hand cradled the base, creating a more secure grip where my right hand embraced the stocky black weapon. I kept my finger away from the trigger until I had my target in between the sights. I stood in that position and waited for the voices in my head to stop talking so I could concentrate…

  “Remember to breathe,” Devlin voiced. An echo of one thought going through his head at the moment. I rolled my eyes, because I was breathing, of course, and because what was tripping me up wasn’t my breathing.

  “Dev, maybe either stop thinking until you wanna talk… or maybe just think my instructions? The echo is making it hard to concentrate.”

  “Well, you’re going to need to get used to shooting
with distractions, Captain, but for today? Fine. I’ll think my instructions at you. Just don’t confuse me with him,” Dev complained.

  “Trust me, Stealth, I could never confuse the two of you.” There was definitely a devilish gleam in my eyes, I knew. I mean, there had to be with the wicked thoughts Holden elicited within me.

  Two conflicting male responses reverberated in my head, each conveying the opposite of the other, though it was the same sound. Holden’s rumble was full of sinful knowing, while Dev’s was full of knowing disdain. I laughed aloud at the noise. “Men.” A rueful smile graced my face before I encouraged the guys to get back on task.

  “Enough of that. Line up the target between the rear sights. Good. Then, bring the barrel up or down so that the sight at the front, with the single dot, is directly between the other two.”

  I took a moment and did as advised.

  Don’t hold your breath. Focus, then squeeze the trigger as you exhale. Let the shot surprise you, Devlin’s instruction sounded loud and clear in my skull. He gave me a knowing look when I cut my eyes his direction. I’m not always an ass.

  That got a laugh out of me, causing Holden some confusion. He wasn’t used to not hearing my conversations. I usually had silent ones with him. The turn of events was making Devlin grin like, well, like the devil his name suggested. He was loving the role reversal.

  Crack!

  The sound of the gun firing did indeed surprise me… and my two jockeying advisors. “Holy crap, that thing bucks!” I cried with barely-restrained exuberance as we all looked to see exactly where the shot had landed. It went wide left, making a small round hole in the white portion of the target. I missed anything resembling human on the drawing, but while that was a bummer, I was excited to try again.

  “While eventually you don't want to close an eye, maybe start that way. To help your aim.”

  I tried not to take offense as I did as Devlin suggested and closed first one eye, then the other. Closing my left eye caused the target to jump locations, so I closed my right and took aim once again, making sure to keep the target between the sights.