The man blocking my entry to the house I'm supposed to be sharing with five other men for the duration of our assignment is about my height, somewhere in the neighborhood of six, two, I estimate. He's broad in the shoulders with a barrel chest that makes a pretty fucking effective door.
My eyes make a quick tour down the man's imposing figure, taking in the wide legged stance, the slight bend to his knees, and the boots firmly planted at shoulder width; posture that looks casual to the untrained eye, but tells me that he's thinking through the same list of scenarios to get me out of his way that I just did about him.
I like him already.
The boss warned me that Hunter Sagan wouldn't be happy to see me.
The titanium post running between the man's boot and the place where the fabric of his black cargo pants has been cinchedbelow the knee of what's left of his left leg makes identifying him easy enough.
I adjust my posture slightly, still ready for the possibility of a fight, but trying to look less like I'm going to the be the one who starts it.
Harlan also warned me not to get distracted by Sag's prosthetic-- or fooled by it.
"Still here," I point out, keeping my voice casual but firm.
Sagan continues to glare at me and I hold eye contact with him, refusing to be the first to blink.
We both know he's gotta let me in eventually.
Out of the hundreds of men and woman employed by Frost Security, I was hand-picked by Harlan Frost personally to be his newest recruit in the far lower-profile organization he operates on the side. And when I say "low profile," I mean "invisible."
When the man I've been working for since I discharged from the Army four years ago, called me to the head office in Montana to meet with him in person, I wasn't ready for what he told me. But you can believe I jumped at the offer to join the exclusive list of personnel making up the teams he told me about.
There wasn't a chance in hell that I was going to keep on playing bodyguard to privileged and wealthy clients in the private security business when I could be working to eliminate real evil from the world.
Especially if it means putting my skills to use. Even if it means working in the shadows as part of a team of what amounts to little more than vigilante outlaws.
"Stand down, soldier."
Another man taps my door guard on the shoulder, saying the words with almost impatient sarcasm.
"He's one of us now, Sag, like it or not."
The big man gives me another glare that makes it pretty clear which way he's leaning on the subject, but reluctantly steps out of the doorway.
"Austin Ward." The man who lets me in introduces himself with a handshake that's not quite as friendly as the smile on his face.
"Talon Avis," I return, dropping his hand after the customary grip that's little more than a dick measuring contest.
"You'll be bunking with Cap," he tells me, leading me into a bedroom with twin beds on opposite walls. "He's still wrapping up whatever he's been on, but he's due in any day so don't get too used to the privacy."
I drop my duffle on one bed, and follow Austin as he leads me into the back of the house. There's a rec room back here that's part man cave, part operations HQ; computer monitors lining one wall, a pool table taking up the center of the room.
"Eaton. You know Sag. The other Ward-- my brother, Jay."
Austin points in the general direction of the men corresponding to each name as he says them. Eaton-- Leopold, I remember from Harlan's briefing-- ignores me as he leans over the pool table.
The shot is impressive; a trick set-up that sets off a chain reaction and sinks three balls in separate pockets.
Leo's a sniper. If he handles a rifle like he handles a pool cue, I doubt he's ever missed a target.
Harlan didn't give me much info on the men I'm teamed with, outside of names and their primary functions in the team. I know we're all ex-military, but I got the impression that not all of us would do it again.
My eyes travel to Sagan's missing leg-- which he uses to kick Leo with.
"Fucker," the big man grumbles, as he gets to his feet and studies the balls left on the table before calling his shot.
Jaden Ward acknowledges me from across the room, where his attention hasn't left the computer monitor in front of him, even as he picks up the phone on the desktop beside his keyboard as it buzzes with an incoming call.
