Sloth

by Lana Pecherczyk

  “And you can shut up. You know what I mean. Wait. You saw Agent Danger?”

  Max smirked. “Of course. Me and the boys have seen all your movies.”

  “Huh.” Tony nodded. “Cool.”

  Max gave a grunt in return.

  “For the record, the attention wasn’t what I liked. It was the anonymity.”

  “Paps chasing you is anonymous?”

  “No, the acting part is. I get to play whoever I want on screen. No pressure. No”—he flicked his gaze Parker’s way—“no demands. Anyway, that’s how it started. Now… it’s just the same fucked up shit I get everywhere.”

  “Well, I think you’re good at it. Better than good.” He nodded solemnly. “What you do is hard, both sides of you, but you do it. Proud of you, Tones.”

  Tony’s eyes widened. “Thanks.”

  Yeah. The hero gig was tough. None of them had down time. For Tony and his siblings, it was their day jobs, and then nightly missions out to the city trying to save people from themselves. On top of all that, they now had the Syndicate to worry about. At least in the army, Max had time off after tour. Heading out into the bush or the beach for some R and R was the highlight of his year… until he and Gale got antsy and wanted back in on another mission. In the companionable silence that followed, Max couldn’t help looking in the direction of Sloan’s room, and Tony noticed.

  “She’ll come around,” Tony said.

  “What do you mean?”

  But Tony just smiled cryptically from over his champagne flute as he tipped it for another gulp.

  “Think I’ll take that drink now,” Max said.

  Six o’clock, on the dot, Sloan’s door opened and a vision stepped out.

  Her red dress clung to her curves from breasts to ankles. Shoulders glinted from some kind of jeweled body cream. Red lips he’d never realized were so full, pursed with irritation, or with nerves.

  When she shifted the dark fall of her hair over a shoulder, exposing delicate decolletage, Max caught a whiff of fruity perfume and went hot. Couldn’t think. Just knew he was screwed because, despite the animosity between them, his body reacted with passion, hardening in all the wrong places. He blew out a slow breath through his teeth. He still wanted her. More than ever now that she was more than a pixilated picture on a video screen.

  She was real.

  “What?” she snapped. “What are you looking at?”

  Tony gawped. “You look like a girl,” he murmured.

  “No shit, Sherlock. Have you forgotten already?” She rolled her eyes.

  “Um.” Tony shut his mouth. “Nothing.”

  “I think what he’s trying to say is, you look beautiful, Sloan.” Parker returned from his room and strode over to kiss her suavely on the cheek. “Now, let’s get this show on the road. Max, Sloan, you have your earpieces in? Hidden microphones?”

  Max nodded, still unable to speak, still unable to tear his eyes away from Sloan as she busied herself, searching inside her red clutch. She smelled mouthwatering. He already mentioned that. Shit.

  All business, Parker looked to Max and Sloan. “When we get there, Tony and I will do our thing. You two find Barry. Activate your mic when you’re speaking with him.”

  “Why?” Sloan frowned.

  “So we can stay on top of things,” he replied.

  “So you can micromanage, you mean.”

  “Don’t take it personally, Sloan. Just activate your mic.”

  “Whatever.” She pushed her finger behind the strap of her dress and pressed. After giving Parker a stare, she exited the suites.

  Max went to follow, but as he got to the door, an arm blocked his way. Jerking to a halt, he turned to find Tony’s scowling face, inches from his.

  Max frowned at him.

  “I know I said she’ll come around, and I don’t know what happened between you two, but you two need to sort it out.”

  “Got it.”

  “I don’t think you do, but I have an idea on how to fix that.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just wait for the opportunity.”

  Now Max was getting suspicious. “You playing match maker, Tones?”

  “If I was playing matchmaker, I’d say something like, break her heart again, and I’ll break you.” A few seconds of charged silence passed between them and then Tony’s lips split into an impish grin. “Just kidding.” He deadpanned again. “But, seriously.”

  “I get it.”

  “Good man.” Tony pushed through to the hallway, taking his champagne bottle with him despite Parker’s scowl. “Now, let’s have some fun.”

  Max turned to Parker and almost wished he hadn’t. He’d caught every word of the exchange. The wilderness stared out of Parker’s eyes, promising many dangerous and violent things without words.

  Max nodded and stepped into the hallway, following the first two down to the elevator. Message received, loud and clear. Don’t fuck it up this time.

  The gala was well underway when Max walked into the ballroom behind Sloan. Music from a string quartet softly rolled over him as he surveyed the room and checked for exits. For an environmentally conscious charity, the wastage was obscene. Plastic plants hung from chandeliers. Fake pink flowers frothed at the center of tables. Sparkling butterflies dangled from fishing line. There was a bar to one side, a big screen and stage at the front of the room, and a few hundred people gliding about, laughing, drinking and eating their fill.

  Tony blanched. The corners of his mouth went white. For a moment, Max thought Tony would hurl, but the man snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downed it in one gulp. Parker shot him judgmental eyes, then immediately replaced his exasperation with fake excitement. He clapped his brother on the shoulder and shouted for another waiter. Of course, upon catching the celebrity faces of one of the country’s richest men, and his movie star brother, nearby heads swiveled their way.

  Operation Distraction was a go.

  Max sidled up to Sloan and leaned close. “How you want to do this? You do east, and I do west?”

  “No need,” she said, eyes shrewdly locked in one direction. “I know where he is.”

  Really? So soon?

  She nodded toward the bar. Max followed her gaze. When gaps in the crowd parted, he spotted where Barry sat looking morose, nursing a glass of Scotch.

  “How did you know?” he asked.

  She took his elbow and drew him to the side, out of the path of commotion her brothers caused, and near a wall where bored husbands and delinquent teenagers sat.

  “Remember when I felt that negligence at the clothing store?” she whispered.

  “Before the… uh… dog thing?”

  “Yeah. Well, it seems like Barry has the same sin-signature. He must be the one I felt.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “It means he’s not happy working for the You-Know-Who. He had something to do with that animal attack and he feels bad.”

  Max rubbed his chin. “We might be able to turn him to our favor.”

  “Exactly.”

  Impressed, he looked down at her with a sense of pride. A small smile tilted his lips. “So, what now?”

  “You’re not going to convince me to stick to their plan?” She tugged on her hair.

  Their plan, meaning Parker’s plan to gather Barry’s biometrics surreptitiously. Max pondered the opportunity presented. There was always the risk that Barry’s guilt wasn’t strong enough to supersede his loyalty to his employer… but if Sloan had a strong feeling about it, he had to trust her. This was what she was made for, besides, he was a cover-all-bases kind of guy. If they turned one of the Syndicate’s lead scientists, it would be a major turning point for the Deadly Seven. “I trust you. You got this.”

  A small hitch in her breath drew his gaze downward. She looked at him as though she didn’t know him. Some unnamed emotion passed over her features before morphing into something he hadn’t seen in a long time: hope. It was only for a fleeting moment and the
n her guard went up, shuttering. She turned away, eyes intense in the direction of her brothers.

  Had that flicker of hope meant what he thought it did?

  A raging inferno sparked inside his chest and every feeling he thought locked away came rushing to the surface. She was all he could see and scent. Fruity and musky at the same time. It was as though she climbed inside him and unfurled herself, warming his every cell. Enamored, he couldn’t look away. Her delicate nose. Red, juicy lips.

  Kiss those lips.

  Licking his own, a yearning like no other captured his soul. Unbidden, his fingers lifted to trace her smooth jaw with a feathered touch. She shuddered, full body, but didn’t pull away—she leaned into him. That little movement told him more than words. He lowered and breathed deeply. Her musk grew stronger until arousal washed through him. Hot, heady and drugging.

  Cupping her nape, he tilted her head back and like a moth to a flame, his mouth dipped to hers and hovered. Somewhere, a part of him bellowed—what am I doing?—but it was distant, and the moment her lashes lowered, fanning her cheeks, he no longer heard a single protesting thought. He craved her in every cell. His body was all in.

  “You miss us,” he whispered against her lips. Wanting. Hoping. Begging. “Admit it.”

  Those lips pressed together.

  Stubborn. So stubborn.

  He missed her. He wanted to roar, to shout and scream it. To show her that he’d never stopped thinking about her, never stopped missing or wanting her in his bed. His one true love, she had been. His confidant, his best friend, and the woman he still fantasized about in his dreams.

  “Do you remember what I said you’d do to me if you ever wore red lipstick?”

  A low moan slipped from her lips. Her hot breath tickled his face. Oh yeah, she remembered. And she wanted it, too. At least her body did. Unmissable hard nipples pushed at the fabric of her dress. Together with the pulse rabbiting in her neck, the flushed tinge to her cheeks, and her quickening breath… there was no denying it.

  But she shook her head, and it cut his heart like a knife.

  “This isn’t you,” she breathed. “Your behavior right now is my fault.”

  He opened his mouth. Shut it. “Sloan?”

  “It’s the pheromones.” She shook her head again. “Later.”

  Right. Later. Confused, he stepped back, putting some distance between them. The lust-filled haze that had drenched his mind cleared a little. Bloody hell. He’d been so distracted. They were on a mission.

  “What do you need me to do?” His voice came out low, rough.

  “I’m going to talk with Barry. Feel him out. You need to get his glass for the fingerprints, just in case.”

  Then she pushed off the wall, and walked away, hips swaying seductively. That cute new haircut brushed between her shoulder blades, drawing his gaze down to her perfectly round ass. He liked that she had some curves on her and his fingers itched to explore. He blew out the breath he’d held and tugged his collar for air. The minute this mission was done, the second they were alone, they’d sort this thing out between them.

  He wasn’t done with her.

  Nine

  Fanning herself with her hand, Sloan strode across the ballroom, making a beeline for the bar. Somewhere to the right came the high pitched squeals of women no doubt being flattered and ego-stroked by the Wonder Twins, Tony and Parker.

  Utterly failing at keeping her thoughts on track, she kept veering toward Max’s words. “Do you remember what I said you’d do to me if you ever wore red lipstick?”

  Oh, she remembered all right. Both she and Max had been very open about their sexual fantasies with each other. When you could only communicate with sound and picture, you had to be honest and clear. Words were their erotic foreplay. Their video calls were as vivid in her memory as if they’d happened yesterday. They’d start off innocent, a shared game or movie, and then the friendly banter and ribbing would turn sexual. Sometimes they’d play a game of strip poker… then… well, you can imagine how that ended. At the end of the call, they’d always kiss their fingers and raise them to the camera at the same time, imagining touching across the vast cyber expanse.

  “I trust you. You got this,” were Max’s other words.

  She forced a lungful of air in, and pushed her nerves out. Focus. Barry is there. The same Barry with whom Flint worked alongside for eight years. The same man who once thought he could save the world with his brain. On a flash of genius, she pulled out her cell from her clutch and dialed Flint.

  Two rings, and he picked up. “Sloan. Is everything okay?”

  The deep voice of familiarity grounded her. “Yeah, but… we found Barry, and I don’t think he wants to work for the You-Know-Who. He’s got the same sloth-signature as the one I sensed right before the animal was loosed on the city. I’m going to try to turn him. Can I patch you into my earpiece while I talk with him? Maybe you can offer insight.”

  As she spoke, a hushed, urgent voice hissed through her earpiece. Parker had been listening, and he wasn’t happy.

  “Just a sec, Flint. There’s some white noise in my ear I need to clear.”

  “Sloan,” Parker snapped. “What are you doing? Turning him is not the plan.”

  “It is now,” she said. Her gut believed Barry could be swayed.

  “We haven’t discussed it.”

  She huffed a sardonic laugh, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter if we discuss it. You do what you want anyway, right? I’m on another call, bras, please… shut up.”

  He tried to speak some more, but she brought her cell back to her other ear. “Sorry Flint, you were saying?”

  Parker was hard to ignore while simultaneously listening to Flint, but her brother would soon get the message. If not, she didn’t care if she was in full view of the room, she’d pull the earpiece out.

  “Flint?”

  A pause. “Sloanie, you know I want for Barry to be on our side more than anything in the world, but the fact is, if you’re right about the sloth-signature, he’s been making those beasts. He’s probably the one who made the clones and the Greed serum. None of that is good. I don’t know if you can get through to him. It might be too late.”

  “We should try, though, right? Redemption is what separates us from those beasts.” By “us” she meant her and her siblings. They were created in a lab, just like those animals. If they weren’t careful, they’d turn into the very same thing… or worse, like Daisy.

  There had to be a way back.

  Another pause, then: “You’re absolutely right. I’ll be here.”

  “Patching you through now.” Despite King Pee sounding like he was having a conniption, she cut him off and transferred Flint’s call to her earpiece before slipping her cell back into her clutch. “You there?” she murmured.

  “I’m here.”

  Another deep breath, and she stepped forward. Her palms felt clammy, her heart fluttered, but her gut was never wrong. Negligence was a version of sloth. She knew this. They had to trust her.

  Plastering a smile on her face, she went to sit next to Barry, and flagged the waiter down. “Two more of what he’s having.”

  Barry shot her an uninterested sideways glance, dark eyes inspecting from underneath dark brows.

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree, love. Married.” He waggled his finger with the gold ring and then went back to his drink. “Plus, I’m old enough to be your father.”

  He’s British, she realized with a jolt. Flint had never mentioned that.

  Behind Barry, Max arrived, pretending to wait for the barman. He didn’t show it, but she knew he kept one eye on Barry’s almost empty Scotch glass, waiting for the opportunity to scan it for fingerprints. Seeing Max there, looking calm and collected, gave her the confidence to continue.

  “Oh,” she laughed softly at Barry. “This isn’t a line. I’m a fan of your work, Doctor…” Shit. What was his name again?

  “Pinkerton,” Flint said.

  “Pinkerto
n,” she finished.

  “Well, that makes one of us.”

  The barman dropped two glasses in front of them and poured the Scotch. Sloan dragged one to Barry, and lifted her own, tipping it toward him in a salute.

  “Tell me, love. What exactly about my work do you like?”

  She paused. Should she talk about his current work? There wasn’t much about that to like. Which meant… Flint saved her by adding, “Tell him, although you were never a fan of the smell, you’re a huge fan of the way he preserved his Hairy Frog.”

  She almost spat out the Scotch. Hairy Frog? Gross. She wouldn’t be saying that. What kind of nonsense did Flint and Barry get up to when they were younger?

  Barry watched her expectantly.

  “Say it, Sloan.”

  “Um.” She felt the blood drain from her face. “I can’t say I’m a fan of how it smells, but I’m a huge fan of your work with Hairy Frog preservation.”

  “Hairy Frog!” he exclaimed. “Haven’t touched one of those in decades.”

  “Remind him about how the frog’s bones extend from its digits when under attack. Tell him. Also, it’s highly carnivorous and terrestrial. Tell him.”

  Good Lord, Flint was getting excited. Sloan repeated his words. When she was done, Barry had forgotten his old drink, and swiveled on his stool to peer at her with clever eyes. “What else?”

  With Flint’s guidance, she mentioned some sort of underwater slug that could withstand boiling and freezing temperatures, and an amphibian that could grow its brain back. While Barry gawped at her, Flint muttering about how his little round ball that could disrupt three floors of tech was much better than any slimy invention of Barry’s.

  Sloan handed the man his fresh drink and casually nudged his empty glass back toward Max.

  “Impressive,” Barry said, accepting her drink. “I never thought anyone was interested in that line of research anymore.”

  “Well,” she snorted. “It’s nowhere near as good as a little silver ball that can disrupt three levels of tech.”