by A. K. Koonce
Ouch, I’m going to have to pull up a half assembled chair if this soap opera gets any better. I pop a chip in my smirking mouth and chew slowly as Jameson narrows his eyes. The quiet sound of Mason’s laughter can be heard among the power tools and hammers.
They should really give him a break. He’s not pouting.
That much.
My fingers slip into Jameson’s, pulling his bright gaze down to mine just long enough to brush my lips against his. He melts into me at the feel of our lips touching in a slow greeting that I’d love to explore more fully.
I check his features, and the angry frown that was on his face is replaced with total calm now.
“Go with Alexa today so she can use Mason's power to track Archer. He's dangerous with new people. Untrusting. Don't let anything happen to her.” Tylin keeps his pace, continuously drilling while instructing Jameson and myself, barely even casting a glance in our direction.
All I heard was dangerous. My attention lingers on Tylin, but he doesn't seem too concerned… just worried enough to announce it. And make me dwell on it.
“I don't need a babysitter,” I mutter, tilting my head at him, and still he ignores me.
“I know your ego doesn’t, but you’re small. And you haven't gone up against someone like Archer. He’s incredibly different. He's a loner for a reason. Not even Armond pushed him back in the day.” He pauses, his gaze meeting my glaring one softly. “I'd feel better if Jameson went.” Another glaring pause. “Besides, I can tell he's just dying to gossip about the new unqualified instructor.”
Jameson mumbles something illogically about nepotism and sexual favors being involved in Rory’s promotion, but I barely hear him. Tylin’s small smirk is the only thing that makes me concede.
Then he has to open that damn mouth of his again. “Take Mars, too, just in case.”
Oh, not one sitter, but two. Perfect.
Can I get a whole team on babysitting duty or is that not in the budget?
The sound of his drill firing up again tells me the conversation is over.
Archer Ink. The lettering on the big sign say his name in bright colors, pointing down and all but inviting us in with big flashing lights. The brick building hums with a beat of loud music that’s shaking the glass of the tattoo parlor in front of us.
A Google search. That’s what lead us here. So much for needing Mason’s super special abilities today. I didn’t even need to take his powers. I rubbed his dick this morning for no apparent reason, clearly.
Okay, fine. Maybe there was a good, selfish reason.
“So, he’s an outcast but he slapped his name on his very established business?” Several taxi’s honk at the still standing cars on this busy road, and when the street light changes, Jameson slips his hand into mine and leads me across the street, barely waiting for Mars to join us as we head inside the front door.
My other babysitter is quieter, but I think it’s just his way. Mars is handsome with his long, light brown hair tied back, and his dark-rimmed glasses making his amber eyes shine even in the cloudy sunlight. He’s attractive in a subtle way. He’s also incredibly silent.
How on earth did Scarlett ever sleep with him if I can’t even get the guy to say a single word? He doesn’t seem like her type, but I try not to judge, realizing I don’t really know the guy.
“Just… let me ask the questions. Assassins aren’t very liked in this place,” Jameson whispers, and Mars nods his head.
“Because of the bad name Derek and Armond gave us?” I pause, not letting him walk a single step farther into the clean, glossy lobby before he gives me a full explanation.
“Partly. And partly because Archer isn’t an assassin.”
“What?”
My attention slips back and forth between his bright blue eyes, but he doesn’t seem at all bothered by this fact.
I only met Archer once, when he marked me. I knew he was the key to Armond’s success. He gifted us our abilities.
And he’s not a Hunter…
Confusion makes my brows crease, and when several seconds pass without receiving an answer, I pull his ass right back outside and pin him against the brick wall.
“We will be here all night, my friend. I’ve got all day for you to explain,” I warn a smirking Jameson.
My palms stay grounded into his shoulders, even though his height is so much taller than mine, making me look completely ridiculous as I keep my angry girl attitude in place and glare up at him.
“Mmm, I love this feistiness, Mistress, but I’m on the clock right now.” His mouth says one thing, while his long fingers trail ever so slowly down my sides, slipping beneath my black shirt and skimming right up my stomach in one steady move, saying the opposite.
“What the fuck is Archer if he’s not a Hunter?”
“Oh, that.” His warm touch falls away and he nods as a hint of seriousness comes back to him. “Archer was given a very important tool that supposedly was passed down generation to generation from the angel Michael himself. I don’t buy it but, you know, I shoot lightning out of my hands and shit, so anything’s possible. Archer isn’t an assassin and he told Armond he never would be. He calls himself the Amanuensis Deus.”
That’s… kind of intense.
“So he’s a higher, higher power?”
“In a way. Kind of. He could really fuck shit up if he ever wanted to. But he’s pretty ordinary except for the fact that he doesn’t trust anyone. Especially since the Armond/Derek thing.”
The Derek thing. I wish I was Jameson. He says that sentence so carelessly, that I can tell he hasn’t given a second thought to what happened with that man since he disappeared right before my eyes.
While I’ve thought about it every single night.
“Come on. Don’t worry so much.” Jameson’s slow, stroking fingers slide into mine and he leans in close until our foreheads lightly touch. “I’ll protect you.” His whispered promise fans across my lips before he pulls away.
And leads me right back inside.
The pulse of the music climbs right into my veins. A long desk with pictures scrawled inside the glass is positioned right up front, and Jameson’s swagger is on full display as he strides up to the beautiful, petite redhead behind the counter.
“What can I help you guys with this morning?” Her perfect white smile is interrupted with two piercings in her lower lip, and that beaming happiness is there for only a minute.
Her big eyes slide over the tattoo etched across Jameson’s neck. And then mine. And then Mars’.
“Archer isn’t here,” she states, with a scowl twisting her red lips.
Oh. We are not welcomed. Clearly. Maybe they should toss a sticker on the door.
No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service.
No Soliciting.
No Assassins, Hunter, Huntresses, or All Around Stabby Type People.
Does give a bit of an off-putting vibe, I guess, for folks just looking to get their Carpe Diem tattoos.
“You three need to leave before I call security.” Her shoulders square, her chin tipping up as her small hand slides behind a wall to her left, and I already know what she’s hiding there.
A gun.
“We just want to talk to Archer. We’re not here to cause any problems.” Jameson’s hands lift and I mirror his stance, as does Mars. “We’re his friends,” Jameson adds, with a careful smile tensing his lips.
Jameson can’t even be charming right now. It’s that bad.
“If you were his friend, you’d know where he is.”
Gathering my power, I charge the air, letting it tingle over my skin before I release my hold on my abilities, freezing time and giving myself one minute. My attention drifts from one thing to the next, trying to steal as much information as possible before my power runs out and we’re thrown out.
Or shot.
There, on the far wall, framed in black, are hand sketched images. There is a big, broken bridge drawn in intricate detail cast in shadow by the biggest su
nset. The same bridge at a different angle is drawn in darker, harsher lines in the middle of another frame, with a moon shining down on the quiet water below. In the final picture, flowers bloom through the broken boards of the walkway. The railing has fallen away on one side, while there are winding vines taking over the man-made object on the other, in the perfect representation of nature creating beauty in the midst of so much destruction.
My power fizzles and disappears, releasing its hold on the people frozen in motion around me.
“We’re leaving,” I say, my voice ringing out above the music as those drawings start to burn into my mind. My memory flares to life, etching place after place into my brain, flickering images at warp speed of every single bridge I’ve ever glanced at, either in person or in a picture, until the right one clicks into place. Unused to Mason’s powers, my head aches from the process, but I try not to let it show on my face.
Shit. Mason’s mind is a fucking mess all the time it seems. How he manages to contain such information both shocks and impresses me.
I try to shake away the rising anxiety inside me as I back slowly out of the tattoo parlor, towing Jameson right along with me.
When the door jingles and we finally step out into the cool air, Mars is watching me with big, assessing eyes.
“You know where he is, don’t you?” he asks in a quietly amazed voice.
I swallow thickly, thinking of the one lingering image—a green street sign practically glowing in my memory—as I slowly nod to him.
“I know exactly where he is.”
Eight
Unmade
The street sign that flashed through my mind is just as I pictured it. White lettering cuts across a green, chipped background, and the metal pole holding the sign leans slightly to one side. Rust eats away at the silver, until there isn’t much of a gleam at all.
“This is the place?” Jameson inquires, peering around like Archer is hiding from us in the dry bushes off to the side of the road.
A smirk forms on my lips and I reach for him, tugging the back of his shirt and pulling him from his explorations. “Babe, this way.”
A half smile tugs at Jameson’s lips and my heart does a girly little flop in my chest. Even the scar that mars his face, pulling with every smile and facial expression he makes, isn’t enough to detract from his attractiveness. I force my gaze away and try to focus on what I’m about to do, and my libido stomps her foot in protest.
She’s so needy. Not that I blame her. Things with Jameson have been hot, but we haven’t actually done anything in far too long. And I miss him.
I miss all of them.
I crack my neck by swinging my head side to side, pushing away thoughts of sex. A harder task than it should be, especially when I’m about to tango with the guy who holds the key to activating assassins’ powers. A breath shakes out of me at the idea of facing Archer, especially knowing what I know now. That not even Armond would go toe to toe with the guy.
“What says this guy will even listen to me?” The words leave my lips in a breathy way, nearly a whisper as I give them life.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” Jameson rubs a hand along the back of his neck, his face taking on a skeptical expression, and that’s all I need to see.
Even Mars looks on edge, his eyes shifting this way and that with every step we take.
“You think this is a waste of time?” I glance to Mars to see if he feels the same way. Hanging just behind us, Mars shrugs his shoulders, looking just as indecisive as my golden assassin.
Wow. These two are fantastic at giving inspiring advice.
“Fuck.” It’s the last thing that leaves my mouth before I see the bridge up ahead. Stark lines of steel and wood slash into the air, an old relic of architecture still standing in this city. I can’t deny that there’s a beautiful harmony about the bridge. I can see why it draws Archer, especially with his artistic skills.
I motion to the guys to stay behind and give me a minute, silently battling with Jameson as he shakes his head back and forth. I push his hands from my hips, but he pulls me right back and I only have to dig my fingers into his ticklish ribs to slip out of his protective grasp. His glare is firmly in place, even as I keep walking. He finally fully relents. His arms cross over his chest, the bronze muscles stretching the fabric of his t-shirt, making him look like a sexy protective body guard. I spin and head away from them, forcing myself to stand straight and not fidget or flinch as I hop over the bridge’s railing and head down the embankment. Rocks clatter just slightly under foot, and I hate the small amount of noise that could give me away.
And there he is. I see Archer standing behind an easel, with water gliding behind his dark silhouette like he himself just stepped out of a painting.
“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for,” Archer comments, but doesn’t pause his brush strokes, and that alone speaks volumes. He doesn’t find me threatening, and I’m not even sure if he’s right or not.
This calm and assured man is the one I’ve been warned about over and over again?
I don’t know what kind of power he holds to be so blatantly dismissive of me as an assassin. Unless this is a woman thing. And if it is, he’s got another thing coming.
“And you’re just as much of a broody asshole as I remember you being,” I retort, narrowing my eyes on him and the way his brush pauses for merely a second. It’s more of a stutter than a pause really, before his tattoo covered hand goes back to its fluid movements. Dark symbols line each of his knuckles, and orange splatters are flecked across the ink, interrupting his bad boy persona with brightly colored hints about who the man really is.
A light smirk curls the side of his mouth as I study his profile.
“I’ve met a number of assassins in my day, you know. And still, I remember your name.” His tone is low and dark. “Armond’s little Hart, isn’t that right, Alexa?” The way his cruel, crawling voice says my name, drawing it out, makes shivers prickle along my arms, but I don’t let him see that he unnerves me. “You’re the only one who drew his attention more than I did. Curious.”
“And yet you don’t seem fazed. Why?” I let my instincts loose, taking in every minute detail of Archer and the surrounding area, staying alert. I hear the crunch of gravel that tells me Jameson’s patience has worn out and he’s not waiting any longer to join us.
“Because I could just as easily unmake you,” Archer replies, cocking his head and letting his eyes flick toward the bridge before returning to his canvas, and smearing another swipe of paint across the surface. His strokes are sure and slow, giving away no hint of anxiety or nerves, which tells me he’s not bluffing, but I don’t understand what he means either.
“Unmake me?” I prop my hands on my hips, fighting the urge to purse my lips and let my ire rise from the puzzle this conversation is turning into.
“I assume your leader hasn’t filled you in, then? My skills are rather unique.” His brush never stops as he dips reds and oranges from a pallet and continues with his project as if our small talk isn’t in his way at all.
Even if his words are clearly incredibly conniving and thought out.
His distracting question is one any assassin would use—when in doubt, turn the team against each other. That’s not going to happen with Tylin and myself. Sorry.
I don’t take his bait. Skipping over his question, I aim one of my own at him. “How much do you know about what we’re trying to accomplish?”
“I know enough to know that you took down the leaders of the League and are now trying to rebuild one of your own.” Disgust shines through his words clear as day, and I shake my head.
“You’re wrong. We’re trying to do the opposite. We want to create an Anti-League. A group that works toward good and not bad. As you’re well aware, we all have powers. We’re trying to find a better use for them, for those who want to try their hand at a new life.”
Archer scoffs. “Anti-League? You need a better name.”
“Tha
nk you!” I gesture toward him, and continue, “I’ve been saying the same thing. We we’re almost Maroon Five for a minute, if you can believe it.”
The continuous flicks of his brush halt, before his eyes lift to meet mine with the most genuine look of complete confusion.
“It was Furious Five. It’s a work in progress,” Jameson chimes in for the first time, sounding defensive yet casual all at the same time.
“And what is it you think your leader wants me from, then? To create more Hunters for your Anti-League?” Piercing light blue eyes slash to mine as he finally gives me his full, unsettling attention. His brown hair is shaved on the sides of his head, left long on the top and pushed back and away from his forehead. Inked tattoos cover every inch of available skin I can see, from his hands to his arm and up his neck. He runs his free hand through his longer locks as he stares me down, waiting for my response with a cold look chilling his gaze.
It’s a look of impatience and power.
Not good. Not good at all.
“I-I don’t know,” I answer, truly thinking about what Tylin wants with Archer. Tilting my head, I study the man with a hard gaze, but he’s right. Why would Tylin want to make more assassins when we already have a surplus.
I trust Tylin. Whatever his reasoning, it’s a good cause.
“The situation is dawning on you now, little Huntress.” His eyes flash and he almost seems amused. A dark kind of amusement that screams of danger.
“What did you mean earlier when you said you could ‘unmake’ me?” My breath wants to escape in heavy pants as the puzzle pieces begin connecting in my brain, but I force my voice to remain unwavering.
“She catches on quick.” Archer casts a condescending look over my shoulder to the golden god of an assassin guarding my back, and I hear Mars approach with slow steps over the rocks as he moves up next to Jameson, keeping my now angry assassin grounded in place with a hand on his shoulder, and a hard squeeze that warns Jameson to stay still.