They both knew that was a lie. Gift was like none of the other students. Park made a noise of frustration. He couldn’t deal with this conversation right now. He took another swig of the alcohol, letting it burn its way down. He was too tense, too…horny. Fuck.
“I’m not going to give into some childish impulse to sleep with him just because it might temporarily feel good. I’m not some oversexed frat boy. And killing people for money requires patience, calm, restraint. Something I’ve always had.”
Unlike his temperamental father. Park took another swig. His father? Where had that intrusive thought come from? Christ, now he was going to wallow in his shitty childhood. What was happening to him? He was having a complete and utter downward spiral over brushing Gift’s cheek? This was ridiculous. One touch and he was unraveling. Gift was some kind of siren or incubus. Park was sure of it.
“I mean, being an operative also requires a blatant disregard for one’s own safety too, so…” West reasoned.
Park had always had that, too. At least, since his father had kicked him out and told him to never come back. And he hadn’t. And he had never been freer.
Before Park could fall too far down the rabbit hole of his generational trauma, there was another knock at the door.
“Christ, did you send out invitations?” Park muttered.
Boone rolled his eyes. “This is my office. You invited yourself,” he reminded, then called, “Come in.”
The door opened, and this time, Archer Mulvaney poked his head inside. “Hey, we acquired the first target and Mac has worked up the assignment for Peregrine Pod.”
As soon as he saw West and Park, he seemed to lose interest in his own news, stepping inside. His large husband, Mac, was hot on his heels. The two couldn’t have looked more different. Archer looked like a modern day pirate while his husband looked like a ginger lumberjack.
Park couldn’t even fathom how a professional gambler and a nature photographer had come to be working at the facility, much less be put in charge of things as important as target acquisition and curriculum. But they were, and they were important enough that their opinions superseded Boone’s and even Kendrick’s. Much to Kendrick’s dismay. Park would love to know who really pulled the strings on this fucked-up science project.
“Is this some kind of unofficial office meeting?” Archer asked, frowning.
“Or an office party?” Mac asked, taking in Park and the half-full bottle of liquor in his hand.
“I was just trying to get some paperwork done,” Boone said. “But it seems that ship has sailed. Close the door.”
Park shoved the bottle in their direction. Mac took a swig and handed it back, but Archer shook his head, holding up the water bottle in his hand.
“So, why does it look like someone’s cat died?” Mac asked, leaning against the wall, beefy arms crossed over his muscular chest.
When West and Boone looked at Park, Archer laughed. “Ah, it must be Gift.”
Park glowered at Archer. “What do you mean, it must be Gift?”
Archer and Boone exchanged knowing looks that made Park want to hit them both. With a hammer.
Finally, Archer said, “Listen, you’ve got all the warmth of an iceberg. You’re all business, all the time. Mr. Responsibility—”
“Are you getting to the point?” Park asked, cutting him off, irritated.
“The point is,” Boone said gently, “the only person who can make you this…”
“Human?” West offered.
Boone snapped his fingers. “Yes, human. That works. The only person that makes you act like a human is Gift.”
“I am a human,” Park muttered.
West snorted. “Youwerea human, like sixteen years ago. Then you just shut down and became a machine. A killing machine. The infamous Bone Collector,” he said, waggling his fingers like he was talking about some ghost in an urban legend. “In all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never seen you so much as mildly agitated, but if that boy is within ten yards of you, you just…fall apart. It’s embarrassing, man. Aren’t you embarrassed?”
Park blew a breath out through his nose like an angry bull. What would Kendrick do if Park beat the shit out of another instructor? Probably throw him in a black ops prison and leave him to die. Looking at West’s smug face, Park thought it might be worth the risk.
Boone shrugged. “West’s right. I don’t know what it is about that kid, but anytime he’s around, you suddenly look—”
“Constipated,” West finished. “Emotionally constipated.”
Park’s mouth became a hard line. “Are you two gonna keep finishing each other’s sentences? I’m starting to think you’re the married couple in the room.”
