“Settle down,” Park said, the slightest of smiles shaping his perfect mouth. Gift wanted to kiss that perfect mouth so badly it hurt.
“As I was saying,” Kendrick said, enunciating so they knew he was over their hijinks, “there will be a competition of sorts. Since none of you are anywhere near ready for a real assignment that could cause an international incident should you get caught, we’ve decided that each pod will work as a group to solve a mystery of sorts and eliminate the threat. Whoever silences their target—and gets away clean—first wins.”
“Is this like some simulation or do we actually get to merc somebody?” Payton asked. When Kendrick sent him a withering look, Payton shrugged. “This is a school for assassins, and I’m the weirdo for asking if we get to kill a real person? Okay.”
“Yes, this is a real crime, with real victims. There is a real perpetrator and you will take him down,” Mac said, waving a file folder in his hand.
“What do we win?” Persephone asked, her kinky, dark hair falling over her shoulders in waves.
“Just…wins,” Kendrick said, shaking his head like her question was absurd.
“So, we don’t get anything for winning?” Drake asked. “Not a plaque or an ugly gold cup we can stick in our trophy case?”
“There’s a trophy case?” Kendrick muttered in Park’s direction.
Park merely shrugged.
“Not even a pizza party?” Morgan bemoaned. “We got pizza for reading twenty books over summer vacation in middle school, but the U.S. Government can’t feed us for eliminating a hostile threat? Wow.”
“You should take this seriously,” Kendrick snapped. “This might be a game to you, but it comes with real world consequences.”
“Like what?” Remi asked just as Drake leaned his big body closer to him. Remi did his best to inch away from the much larger man while giving his attention to Kendrick.
Kendrick fiddled with his tie. “Well, if you get caught…we won’t help you. We will disavow all knowledge of you.”
“You can’t do that,” Lennon said.
“Yeah, our parents are loaded,” Moses said.
“People know we go to school here,” Diego added.
“My mom has three TONY awards,” Dove said wistfully. “And I’m too pretty for prison.”
Mac turned his back, but his shoulders were shaking. Gift assumed he was either crying or laughing. Since it seemed like everybody hated Kendrick, it was likely the latter.
It was Gift who felt like crying. Park hadn’t looked at him once since he’d moved his chair away from Payton.
“It’s not working,” Gift whispered.
Payton looked at him, distracted. “What?”
“He’s not even looking in my direction,” Gift said, not caring how pouty he sounded.
Payton grinned. “Believe it or not, that’s a good thing.”
Gift rolled his eyes. “How?”
“Look at his body language,” Payton said, nodding towards Park.
Gift hadn’t taken his eyes off Park since they’d walked in the room. “He’s…just sitting there.”
“You need to get better at observing people or you’re going to get us both killed on assignment,” Payton teased. “Look at him. Arms folded over his chest, hands white-knuckling his own arms, his foot bouncing. He’s agitated.”
“So what? We’re all agitated,” Gift said, raking his gaze over Park, trying to see what Payton saw. “This is boring.”
All Gift could see was a thin shirt pulled taut over well-muscled arms and Park’s knife-sharp jawline. He dropped his gaze to Park’s hands. He supposed his long, nimble fingers were squeezing his arms tighter than usual.
Gift’s tongue shot out, wetting his bottom lip. What would those hands feel like on his naked skin—not just his cheek but everywhere?
