by A. K. Koonce
Rory shakes his head at me like I’m helpless, but he extends a hand. At first, I think he means to pull me from the bed, but within a second Jameson’s hand is lifting into the air without physical help. When Rory’s power tilts Mouse’s body away from me, I take the opportunity to slide from between my bedmates, scooting carefully down the bed and off the end to stand next to Rory. I watch as he carefully places them all back the way they were, minus me, and I grin widely when Jameson ends up cuddling with Mason; his arm around Mouse’s back, their chests nearly brushing as they slumber.
I flash the whites of my teeth up to Rory’s face, thoroughly amused, and am blown away when I see the edges of his stone like lips tip up in the corners. The man is fucking smiling. Somewhere in the world pigs are flying, stones are bleeding, and hell has fucking frozen over. He’s human after all—and he has a sense of humor. The sight of his little grin is devastating to my soul.
It’s as if I physically want to like all of these men. Even Rory, who doesn't seem to want anyone to like him, especially me.
Looking down on me, his face sobers and he snaps his fingers, pointing to the door. Just like that, my heart rate returns to normal and I remember all the reasons I practically hate this guy.
Except I don’t. I know I don’t, but I don’t look at that too closely.
No. Right now, I’m going to go kick his ass.
Stomping down the steps, I round the corner and enter the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” He demands from the doorway.
“Getting breakfast. Do you have a problem with that?” I add an abundance of sweetness to my sass, overcompensating to cover the fact that I’d felt something for the man other than annoyed frustration.
“Five minutes. Basement.” That’s all he says before he’s gone.
“What crawled up his ass?” My frustration returns full force, stomping out any remaining embers left from this morning’s lack of judgement where Rory is concerned. I grab a box of cereal, pouring a heaping helping and giving thanks that Jameson isn’t awake to make snarky comments about owing him a sexual favor for every cinnamony square that ends up in my mouth.
I hop up onto the counter in my signature spot that allows me to survey the whole kitchen and shovel a spoonful into my mouth, arching an eyebrow back at Tylin, who is sitting at the table assessing me.
Of the four of them, Tylin seems to be the oldest. It isn’t in his smooth features but in his demeanor. It’s the way he carries himself as if he truly knows who he is. And I think that’s something only age can give you. Knowing yourself. Loving yourself. Trusting yourself.
I’ll never admit it, but I envy that about him.
“What?” I speak around a mouthful of breakfast, uncaring about being ladylike. No one can worry about manners before coffee has been had, and it doesn’t sound like Rory plans on giving me the time to consume a cup of the liquid gold.
We simply stare at each other, neither saying anything or breaking eye contact. I won’t lose. Not in anything. Surely, they realize by now that I don’t give up.
With a crooked grin Tylin tilts his head and his eyes narrow slightly. “For someone with the power to control time, you’d think you’d be able to actually be on time.” He lets his gaze fall to his watch before looking back up at me with a smirk on his face.
“Shit.” I hear the stomping footsteps of Rory ascending the basement stairs and quickly down as much cereal as I can before tossing my bowl into the white sink to clatter along the bottom.
Hopping down from my perch, I hurry to the basement door, flinging it open just as Rory goes to reach for the handle.
“Coming. I’m coming.”
“Not yet, you’re not,” Jameson says as he saunters down the steps to the main floor, scratching at his very bare, nearly hairless chest. “You would have been if you hadn’t left me cold and alone in bed.”
If Tylin’s attitude makes him seem like the oldest, Jameson’s makes him seem like the youngest. But that might be his perfect, model-like features too.
“I think you had plenty of company,” Rory says, that amused expression back on his face making my heart skip. Turning, he heads back the way he came.
I purse my lips, the expression doing nothing to hide the smile I’m trying to contain. Jameson brushes past me as he walks by, despite the wide space around us, his fingers find a way to slip beneath my shirt and skim against my lower stomach. “Cheeky little vixen.” His voice hums against my neck, his lips barely brushing there. “If you wanted to see me spoon with Mouse, all you had to do was ask.” A thrill shoots down my body as my mind goes wild with naughty, sexy thoughts. I press my thighs together as my body responds to the visual I can’t unsee.
With a salacious wink he disappears into the kitchen. The man has way too much swagger for someone who hasn’t had their coffee yet. “Good morning, lone capitan,” he greets Tylin.
I roll my eyes. How have the guys lived with him for so long?
I’m grinning by the time I reach the bottom of the stairs. Jameson’s gotten under my skin and his odd sense of humor is growing on me.
My good mood evaporates, however, when Rory tosses another set of black heels in my direction.
“Put those on.” All hints of a grin are gone from his face, and his voice is gruff and in command once more.
“Not this shit again.” I grumble but pick up the heels. As soon as I have the torture devices on my feet, I prop my hands on my hips. They’re at least an inch taller than the last pair and my ankles protest immediately.
“Move.” He crosses his arms over his chest, waiting. Watching.
I grit my teeth and start walking, getting used to the feel of them again, even though my ankles wobble with each step.
“You’ve seriously never worn heels before? I thought this shit was a staple in girls’ closets.” He sounds accusatory again. We seem to waft back and forth between being civil and being… this. This angry and untrusting sort of friendship we have with one another.
“I’d like to see you wear these things when you’re trying to scale buildings and balconies to reach your next mark.” I carefully pivot and start back the way I came.
I don’t dare raise my eyes to his face as I speak, focusing solely on each perilous step.
“I could do it.” The certainty in his voice irks me. Pure cockiness. The way he says it makes it sound like he wants to whip it all out and compare who has the better dick. Except I don’t have one, and I have very few objections to meeting that member of the team. I’d probably like him better than Rory, that’s for sure.
I sneer without looking up, “I’d fucking pay to see that.” I pivot once more, nearly losing my balance. I throw my hands out to my sides, helping me keep my balance on the pointy tips of the heels.
“You’re not on a fucking balance beam.” While I’m standing still, I chance a glance upward and narrow my eyes at him, throwing him a sarcastic look before my eyes find the floor once more.
With careful steps, I start my trek back across the room. “Where’s a nice pair of flats when you need them?” I mutter to myself.
He snorts. “Some assassin you are. Afraid of a little pain there, baby doll? Can’t take it as good as you give?” Somewhere in there is an odd compliment. And a whole heap of insult. And a smidgen of innuendo that I’m just going to overlook for now.
I swing my narrow gaze to his face so fast that I lose the unsteady balance I’ve been fighting for and start to fall to the side. The floor grows closer before strong hands wrap around each of my biceps, yanking me forward into a stone like chest.
Rory’s chest.
I look up, all traces of anger gone from my face. I can’t think. I can’t move. I just stand there and let him hold me.
The spicy musk of his cologne, or aftershave, or deodorant washes over me, and I breath him in. For more than a casual minute, we stand there, a mere inch between us. Something deep inside of me wishes for him to pull me closer. Close the gap. Crush me agains
t his body.
That part of me is fucking insane and deserves to be shot.
Wasn’t this guy insulting me not three minutes ago? Yeah, tell that to my body. It doesn’t seem to care. Rory has been the unbreakable statue. The man made of stone, and right now, there’s something in his eyes that’s decidedly human. Like his smile. Like his offering to train me.
I don’t break the moment. Instead, I relish it, drinking in the rare sighting of the man beneath the asshole exterior.
Warmth flares to life in the depths of his green eyes.
His eyes flick back and forth between mine before he pulls me closer, leaning down. My breath catches.
His lips part and I hang on his words before they're even spoken.
“Again.” A smirk curves his lips and I let myself breathe again, scolding myself for getting caught up in something between us that is entirely non-existent.
That damn smirk of his tells me he knows what was floating through my sex-ridden mind.
Stepping away carefully, I let my eyes search his once more. They’re not as steely as they usually appear. As much as I want to rant on his mood swings, I figure any non-hostile moment between us is one small step for me, and one giant leap for the team.
For two hours, he makes me walk around in the heels while I block random attacks and various flying objects. He tests my reflexes, my preparedness, my strength, and my speed. I’m proud to say I only ended up on my ass twice, and for how much he’s been throwing at me—literally—I consider that an accomplishment.
Part of me wants to practice my new abilities. I know it’d benefit us. But it could also hurt me. It could hurt us.
Until I know how to use it, how to contain it, I need to just stick to what I do best. For now anyway.
It’s late and my thighs weirdly hurt when I finally lay myself down in the middle of the basement floor. This is me admitting defeat. Rory doesn’t mention it. He just stares down on me, appearing larger than life from this angle.
An awkwardness drifts between us. I feel it in the air around us and I feel it in the way he’s staring hard at every uneven breath I take. As much as I don’t hate him anymore, I don’t know if he feels the same way. With effort, I test our new blossoming friendship.
“Do you think I’m ready?”
His gaze skims down my bare legs and black heels before trailing back over my shorts and Jameson’s shirt. My hair’s a mess and he seems to notice that too before finally meeting my eyes.
“No.” My lips part as he starts to trail up the steps, leaving me with fuming outrage on the floor. “The best we can hope is that you don’t get yourself killed, and don’t even get me started on the fear that you’ll out us.”
I stare up at the ceiling as his steps echo over the flooring upstairs.
I can’t believe he has such little faith in me after everything. After I put so much effort into our friendship. I thought we were actually friends—gaining ground and learning to like each other… even if it was just a little bit.
Why am I so awful at understanding friendship?
Twenty-Four
A Date
I watch from the shadows as Tylin slips out the door. The baggy exercise shorts sit low on his hips while the white t-shirt he’s wearing clings to his body, hinting at the defined muscle mass beneath.
Stretching his hands over his head, he limbers up and takes off, jogging at a leisurely pace. I step from the shadows of the front yard and follow suit, loosening up before I begin to move. I’m sore from today’s unending workout, but I’ll never give Rory—or any of the guys—the satisfaction of knowing the real effect that their training is having on my body. I purse my lips. I can practically see their cocky, smirking faces now. I’d like to see them wear a pair of heels for hours let alone doing so while they were deflecting all the shit Rory can throw at their heads. I smirk as the image assaults my brain.
The pain in my muscles reminds me I’m alive, so I won’t complain. Two days. That’s all I have left before I risk my life for a cause I’m not fully a part of. I’m part of the team, but I’m also… not.
Tylin’s figure grows smaller the farther away he gets, but I’m not worried about catching up. If I need to, I can always use my sixty seconds to reach him. That’s not necessary, however, because even though he has some distance on me, he’s jogging at a leisurely pace.
My footsteps thud against the pavement as I give chase, pushing myself fast, aiming to reach him. Within minutes, I’m on his tail, enjoying the view.
“You’re not nearly as stealthy as you think you are. Have a good time hanging out in the bushes like a creeper?” Tylin questions, the headphones decorating each ear obviously just for show.
I’m not short, but I have to push myself to keep up with the long strides of Tylin’s legs. It doesn’t help that he increases his speed, forcing me to keep up with him before I can even get a response out.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I deflect, not willing to give him the satisfaction of being right. I jog to his side.
Dark eyes meet mine as we turn in sync to stare at each other. I arch an eyebrow, refusing to give in.
“Mmmhmm.” He murmurs, turning away. I heave an exasperated sigh.
“I was not creeping. I was waiting.”
“Mmmhmm,” he repeats again, his tone a little lower than the first time; unbelieving. I growl at his response and his refusal to look my way.
Is he always this infuriating? I thought that was Jameson’s ticket. Fuck. It’s all of them.
Silence wraps around us as we run, each content to leave words behind. Not that he’s contributing much to the conversation anyway. Rounding a corner, Tylin steers away from the asphalt, crossing a grassy patch that leads to a path in the woods. I follow.
Not many people would run here during the middle of the night, afraid of what danger lurks in the darkened forest beyond, but nothing out here is as dangerous as the pair of us. Hell, it’s not as dangerous as even one of us.
Crisp, fresh air greets my lungs as I breathe deeply, enjoying the freedom of being outdoors. I don’t do this enough. The regret of all the things I haven’t done weighs on me, and I put on a burst of speed, trying to outrun them.
He chases me then, like a hound after a fox in a fox hunt. My legs burn and I relish the feeling.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
Each pound of my feet on the dirt path below resounds the rhythm.
Stay. Fucking. Alive.
It’s not that I don’t realize that death is a real possibility for me. I know that I’m disposable. The one worth risking on this ramshackle team. The least important. I’ve never been important to anyone. Until Armond. Until now—I think. Mason and Jameson make me feel that way, but they’re also not stepping up and devising another plan that would keep me out of the line of fire. My own mortality has never felt so real.
Flashes of the past assault me, and I have to remind myself I’m not that small, hungry little girl anymore. I’m not defenseless. I haven’t been defenseless for a long time. I’m not alone anymore, either. I matter, at least in some small way, to the four guys on this team. Mouse and Jameson have been staying by my side every night lately, and I haven’t missed the protective streak in Tylin, even if he doesn’t want me to see it. And Rory, he’s the conundrum I can’t figure out. He hates me, but he also cares enough to give me extra lessons. Maybe he just wants his information. If I die, I can’t report back. They’d lose their biggest asset.
I’m an asset. Another burst of energy spirals through me at that thought. The thick trees give way and my steps are echoing against pavement once more. Fire burns through my lungs but I ignore the stinging pain of it. Tylin’s storming steps pound against the road just behind me. I push myself harder, determined to prove I’m the asset they think I am. The quicker my pace becomes, the quicker his becomes. The mansion I’ve come to call home comes into view, reaching up into the dark, starry sky.
Home sweet suburban home.
<
br /> Out of the corner of my eye, I see him. I push myself a little harder to get an edge on him. A smirk touches my lips as his arm brushes mine.
He’s relentless. But so am I. Up the sidewalk, I run faster. I don’t know why I’m making this into another test, but it definitely is now.
And I. Will. Win.
I’m three feet from the front stairs. I will win. I will win. I will win.
And then his body collides with mine. The burning air is pushed from my lungs as I hit the damp grass with a thud. His body cages me in entirely, his hard chest skimming against my shirt, strong forearms hold him above me.
That glinting look is in his depthless eyes as he smiles down on me. An ache forms in my chest that has nothing to do with our run and everything to do with Tylin.
I love when he smiles.
“I’d never let you win that easily.”
My eyes narrow on him, but instead of snapping out a retort, all I can do is breathe hard. My chest heaves against his as we stare at one another. My palms settle against his upper arms, my fingers skimming against his damp muscle tone.
They don’t say it. No one says it, but Tylin is the leader in all of this. He actually tried to kill Armond. The most I know about him isn’t from what he’s told me, but from what I’ve researched about him. The swirling name that’s inked across his forearm wasn’t in his file. Who was the woman who stole his heart enough for him to brand her name across his skin?
She must have been beautiful. Perfect. Not at all a fuck up like myself.
Not that he’ll ever tell me.