by A. K. Koonce
The assaults are quick. And I retreat back from them just as quickly. I need room to put into place my next attack. Soft cushions skim against my back as I leap over the couch, putting space between myself and the now groaning men. My feet hit the ground with a light thud.
This. This is what I like. Now I’m in my element.
Rory’s furious eyes trail my movements as I stalk slightly closer to them, keeping the couch as security between us. Heavy breaths meet his lungs at a rapid pace but I know it’s because of rage, not exhaustion.
My fingers follow the seam along the back of the couch as I sway my hips and come a little closer. Tylin presses his palm flat against his pecs and he looks at me with more curiosity than anger.
But the anger is there. It's just not as fuming as Rory's.
Before I can think of a snarky thing to say, the couch beneath my hand flies out from beneath my fingertips. The entire thing hits the far wall with a cracking thud. Picture frames crash to the floor spraying glass along the old boards.
My brows lower as I look up at Rory and his hard set glare. His attention never once leaves me, but I feel the threat of his power strumming through the room. It feels like reverberating cords of music, but instead of awestruck amazement it sends fear spiraling down my spine.
“We’re using power now?” I cock a brow at him.
“If we’re going to fight dirty, we might as well go all out.”
The challenge in his tone makes a weird impulsive adrenaline snap through my veins. It’s a dangerous feeling that doesn’t give time for logic or reason.
“Fine.”
Instead of attacking him, I do the one thing I know will really piss him off. I lift my hand, admiring my nails as if I have nothing of importance to do at the moment. And then with tingling energy slinking out of me, I pull the couch out of the now cracked wall. I guide it back through the living room and settle it down right where it was.
Before gently placing my hand right back in place and lifting my patient gaze to his.
I swear to god his eye twitches.
This is no longer a war of weapons and strength. It’s a pissing contest to see who can infuriate the other in the least amount of time.
At the moment, I’m winning.
His hand rises violently and a gust of wind pulls at my hair as he throws the couch across the room once more. The foundation of the brick wall gives an alarming cracking sound and a nice big crunch of the roof falls to the ground. We all stare at it while Rory’s steps thunder against the flooring. In three big steps he’s right in my face, breathing down on me with so much frustration I wonder if he ever really releases all that anger.
His jaw tics. My muscles tighten reflexively. Seconds slip by while I just wait for his next move.
The breath in my lungs catches as if telling me to keep my mouth shut. Don’t open it. Don’t let out those fucking words, Alexa. Don’t do it. Don’t. Do. Not. Test. Him.
“That’s all you got?”
Motherfucker.
I flinch at my own words, anticipating a blow. At the sound of my simple statement his fists close hard, his body almost shaking with aggression.
“I’m never going to hit you, Alexa.” The exhale that leaves him washes over my cheek and I swallow hard at his admission. “Push and shove me all you want, but I won’t hit you.”
Warmth spreads through me. We stand chest to chest but he refuses to look at me as my gaze drifts over his features. A thin slice of blood cuts through his lower lip from where I punched him.
My attention zeros in on that little slice of pain that I gave him. It’s a minor flaw against his full lips, but it’s something I caused. My fingers lift at my side, but I never raise my hand to touch the small wound. Guilt is a crawling thing that’s eating away at my stomach. My lips part and then close.
Seconds skip by.
“I didn’t realize. I thought we were doing what you and Ty always do. I’m sorry.” The weight of those words coming from my mouth are heavier than I expected.
Deep green eyes lift to meet mine. He looks at me full on for the first time without a single hint of anger. His eyes are prettier than I ever realized. Mossy, the purest emerald color that I’ve ever seen.
And I never noticed because they were always so clouded with hate.
“I’m sorry for pushing you,” I whisper.
He leans in closer, the hard panes of his chest pressing more fully against my breasts. Thick dark brows raise high at the amount of effort I’m showing him, and I wonder if I say it once more if it’ll morph us from bratty step siblings who loathe each other's existence to those second cousins who almost make awkward small talk during the holidays.
That would be an astronomical leap for us. Not a friendship. Not even close. But it’d be something.
Something better than we are right now.
“I’m—”
“Don’t… don’t say it again. I hate when people apologize.” His rumbling voice is almost a growl. It’s his typical brooding tone that is more alluring when it’s hushed like this. It’s more captivating when the anger isn’t scraping against his words.
“Didn’t look like you hated it from up here.” Jameson bites his lower lip to suppress the cocky smile on his lips. It’s a smile that’s now seeping right in to me.
Dark lashes meet Rory's cheekbones as he closes his eyes, pushing his hand slowly down his face.
“The privacy in this place is nonexistent.” Rory’s gaze is nearly a resemblance of human kindness when he stares down at me once more. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen from him. And when his hand turns, his thumb catching lightly against my wrist with the most minimal of contact, the breath in my lungs halts. “Let’s try this again later. I have to try to slip into those private rooms at Club Crystalline this evening. I’m going to take a shower. Alone.” He emphasises that word for all of the room to hear as if Mason himself might sneak in on him.
But that isn’t what I heard at all.
“You’re going into the private rooms at the club? The—the sex rooms?” I hiss the last two words for some reason.
Tylin looks to me for a long moment, but I don’t know what he sees in my impassive features. Rory’s explanation holds all of my attention.
“Yeah, I think if I just show up there alone, have a few drinks and ask where the real party’s at then they’ll let me in the closed off section so I can investigate further.”
“The—the real party? I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think kinky men talk like that, Rory.” I blink at him a few times, but he doesn’t seem to see the problem.
“That’s true. That sounds like vanilla ice cream asking for extra sprinkles on top.” Jameson nods and his statement only makes Rory’s brows tense even closer together.
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Rory lifts his big hands toward the ceiling as if he’s asking god himself instead of the taunting man staring down on him.
“It means, you are not the one who should be walking into a sex club, my friend.” Jameson takes a leap from the second floor balcony. His balance is pure poised perfection when he lands on his feet. He strides past Tylin with a swagger that has me rolling my eyes him. His bare shoulder brushes Rory’s. “I better go get in the shower if I’m going to find out where the real party is at tonight.”
His cocky demeanor is this annoyingly addicting persona that I both love and hate to watch. I fully believe everything about Jameson Ryne is a performance on the stage that is his life. But oh what an amusing show it is.
I like the little glimpses of him that he shows me when he thinks no one else is looking. That’s the Jameson I love.
…I mean appreciate.
A smirk almost creeps across my lips, but it freezes in place when I realize what he just said. And just like with Rory, I hate the ugly jealousy that rips through my chest. It’s an irrational thing that I have to talk myself down from.
I can’t bring myself to tell any of them that I don’t want
them going into any back rooms without me.
Like I said, it’s an irrationally possessive feeling.
Because they’re not mine at all. Not really.
Nine
A Claim
The sun rises over the horizon in an explosion of pinks and dusty reds that peek between the darkened buildings of the city. My new coat is warm around my shoulders, but I rub my hands together to keep my fingers from freezing as I watch the sharp peaks of the Lifeless League house jutting into the sunrise. Their house is quiet throughout the evening, but as the sun begins to creep up in the sky, black clad assassins slink back to their lair like the creepers they are. It doesn’t escape my notice that I used to be one of those creepers. And while it hadn’t bothered me until I met Tylin and his crew, I feel like shit over all the blood that stains my past.
Jameson was out until well after midnight. Not that I was awake, staring at the water stained ceiling while I waited for him. He stumbled in smelling of alcohol and sex and promptly passed out on the couch. I knew the scent was most likely from the club itself, but I couldn’t sleep and needed to get out of the loft and its lack of privacy.
I’m currently perching on a rooftop with a pair of binoculars, trying to glean any information on what’s going on at the League, or who’s even running the show now that we took out Armond.
I barely hear a soft ruffle of clothing before Mouse settles himself beside me. As usual, he moves silently as he joins me on the roof. Passing me a paper cup of steaming coffee, he takes in the view. The small gesture brings a smile to my lips.
He did promise that he’d always find me.
“You were gone when I woke up.” He glances over at me, searching my face.
“I just needed to get out of the house.”
Reading me better than anyone else, he hooks a finger under my chin and turns my face toward his. “You know he didn’t sleep with anyone last night.” It’s a statement not a question.
I look down, but he simply tilts my head higher up and dips his gaze to catch mine once more.
“It’s not like I have a claim on him.” I shrug. “There aren’t any rules to this thing.”
“Maybe there should be.” He’s completely serious, and as I stare into his brown eyes, I see a hopeful glimmer that I know is also reflected in my own.
“It doesn’t bother you? That I have… feelings… for you as well as your friends?” I cringe internally, realizing that I added an ‘s’ to the word friend, and I hold my breath as I wait for his reaction.
“If it did, I would have said something already. I’m nothing if not honest. You think I don’t know how you feel about Jameson? He sleeps in bed with us nearly every night. I’ve seen you two make out… and more. I knew what I was getting into when we started this thing, and I know your feelings for the others have grown as well. As long as you have feelings for me, I’m fine with it. When I became an assassin, I never thought I’d get close to anyone again. Then my friendship with Tylin, Jameson, and Rory happened. It didn’t start out strong. It took time to grow. Their friendship is more than I thought I’d have in this life. And now you. You show up out of nowhere and infiltrate our life, and it’s been the best fucking thing that happened to any of us, Alexa. You fit in a way that none of us expected. We’re a team, practically brothers, although we’d never admit it in front of each other. Our lifestyle is hard. It’s a way of life. We all accepted long ago that normalcy was a long shot for us. Why should this be any different? You’re more than any of us deserve, but I’ve decided to be a greedy bastard. I want you, Alexa. If it feels right, then it is right. And it feels perfect to me.” His words dwindle down to a hushed, rasping whisper that tingles across my skin.
My gaze flicks between his eyes, reading every emotion that crosses his handsome face. Mason and I have been opening up to one another lately, but this… this is more than I expected from him. My heart swells with his words, and I resonate with each one of them.
Our life isn’t normal. I never thought I’d have “people” after Kioko. People who cared. People who gave a shit. I’d shut down and hardened my heart, building up walls that were now crumbling around me. Mase did that. They all did.
Well, maybe not Rory. He’s still an asshole most days.
But that didn’t mean that deep down I didn’t feel things for him as well. The burly man has worked his way into my heart when I wasn’t looking. I let my guard down, but I’ll never admit my revelation out loud. Barely even to myself. Fuck that. I’ll keep that shit buried. Deep. I’ll keep myself from getting more attached to him than I already am.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Al.
My voice of reason is starting to sound like Jameson. I think I should be worried.
Mason’s thumb strokes along my jawline, and I close my eyes as I let what he said fully sink in. He cares about me, and he doesn’t mind that my feelings extend to the group. He doesn’t feel that he deserves love. I can empathize. I don’t feel like I do either, but I don’t see Mason that way. Not at all.
Below the terrible deeds he’s sure to have committed is a heart that’s pure fucking gold. Mason is a genius. A talented, sweet, incredibly smart man.
“I see you, Mase. For exactly who you are. You do deserve love. You deserve all the good things that life has to offer.” It’s barely a whisper in the early morning air, but he hears me. And the intensity he stares back into me steals the breath from my lungs.
The dark coffee color of his eyes richens, and he leans forward, pulling my mouth to his as he seals us together in a passionate kiss. His lips slide over mine and I can’t help but to respond. I battle with him, matching his intensity as he runs his tongue along the seam of my lips, begging me to part for him. And when I do, he spares no wasted time as his tongue tangles with mine, driving me wild. I give as good as I get, tilting my head while he devours me, matching him stroke for stroke. The kiss draws on my very soul. I feel his magic sparking with mine, and the pull of him is almost too much to resist. I siphon just a smidge of his power, and the result of feeling his energy buzzing inside of me is nearly erotic given the embrace we’re in. I press my cheek closer to his, needing more.
Everything is simmering in a way it never has before, and I’m desperate to be naked and alone with Mase even if it is freezing out. The rooftop is deserted, but before I can work on the clothing issue, Mason pulls back, both of us breathing rapidly.
His chest heaves against my sensitive breasts, making me ache, and I want to dive back in for more. One taste of Mason will never be enough. I’m addicted to his personal brand of passion, and it’s one addiction I’ll never want a cure for.
My heart has gone rogue, completely running away with my feelings for this man. The light line of traffic hums on the streets below, but up here we’re completely untouched. It’s a world of our own making, and I wish that I could make all the bad shit we’re dealing with disappear. The threat on our lives has never felt more real or more pertinent than it does in this moment as it dawns on me that the stakes with the League are suddenly so much higher. It’s not just my life I have to worry about anymore. Not when my heart has extended outside of my body. It’s a weakness that I can’t afford. To care about so many people. The risk of getting hurt is so incredibly high. But it also feels so fucking worth it.
Mason’s breath mingles with mine and a soft smile plays on his lips.
“Now do you think you can come back to the loft and make nice with Jameson and the guys?” His question is reasonable, but I purse my lips anyway as I think it over.
“No can do.”
He arches a dark eyebrow at me. “Why not? Do I need to convince you some more?” The sinful smirk that tilts his lips has my ovaries melting, and I can’t decide if I should jump him or answer his question.
The chill in the air convinces me to keep my clothes on, so I go with option A.
“Rory doesn’t play nice.” I smile to myself as I pick my binoculars up and peer through them, lining up the
house I’m spying on and adjusting the focus.
“I thought you two were improving. Kind of. To be fair, you don’t play nice either.” There’s mirth in his voice and it makes my grin grow wider.
“You bet your sexy ass I don’t,” I mumble, and he chuckles for real this time. The sound does funny things to my heart.
The League is quiet now that the sun has come up, and I’m about to give up on my covert operation when I see a brown haired girl walk tentatively up the sidewalk. Pausing, she stares up at the spiked towers of the house before she slowly heads through the iron gate and starts up the steps.
“Fuck.” I lean forward, making sure the focus is set as clear as it will go. “It’s her.” Allison reaches for the handle on the front door, and slips inside.
“No, no, no!” I mumble. What is this girl doing? Does she have any idea what she’s getting herself into? No. Not a damn clue or she’d be walking away!
“What?” Mase is on alert, every muscle in his body tense as he prepares to react to whatever it is I’ve spotted.
“It’s her. I’m sure of it.” The image of her small picture on Mason's notes flashes through my mind.
There’s no mark on her neck. Which can only mean she hasn’t been fully accepted yet.
That’s a good sign. I guess.
She looks younger in person. I knew she was eighteen but the sight of someone so young being lured into the League seeps a disgusted feeling into the pit of my stomach. An odd sort of protectiveness fills my chest.
“Going into the League? Are you sure?” He reaches for the binoculars, but it’s no use. She’s already inside.
“Fucking positive.” There’s no way to get to her if she’s inside the League headquarters, and we can’t stay here all day either. This whole thing just got more complicated. I grab my things and toss them back into the messenger back I’m carrying. Standing, I go to sling it over my shoulder, but Mase, as quick and silent as always, pulls it from my grasp and has it over his shoulder before I can complain.