We’re so ill-prepared, it’s laughable.
To think we spent four years planning this and now that I’m in the middle of it, it feels like a lifetime wouldn’t have been enough to prepare us for the level of depravity we’re infiltrating.
“We’ve been here a week, sent Rune the offer, and crickets,” I say.
“Taste,” Breaker says, ignoring me as he leans across the table to drop a forkful of a weirdly cut vegetable onto my plate. I meet his gaze, and that old, familiar zing shoots through me.
He’s dressed like Ben, in slacks and loafers and a white shirt open at the collar to show his smooth chest and the bold black tattoos. A gold ring adorns his pinky, and a thin chain hangs around his neck, contrasting with his dark skin. The man is so dangerously sexy it would be distracting if I wasn’t used to being around him.
And I didn’t want to throttle him.
He points with his fork at the food. “Try it. You’ll like it.”
I glare at him across the tabletop laden with various dishes, resentful of how he can act so normal when we are anything but. “I don’t want it.”
“Stop being a child,” he says, “and just try it.”
Behind me, shrill laughter scrapes across my brain. The urge to turn around and stab my fork through the offender’s neck makes me jab at the vegetable a little too forcefully, and myforkclinksloudly on the plate. The two people at the table next to us glance our way. I smile.
Breaker rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat as he sips his water. It was his idea to come here for dinner, so it’s his fault that I’m forced to sit still and act polite, which right now I’m incapable of. This entire week has been his idea, so I blame him for my mood. It has sunk to the depths of hell. He’s dragged me around town for seven days, hitting up all the trendy hot spots, letting my presence be known as we wait for an invitation to meet with Zane. One that has yet to come.
Not that Zane is fully functional. I know from experience stab wounds hurt like a bitch, compounded by the fact his fingers are broken and it’s all on one hand? Zane is probably high as a kite right now.
And more than likely furious.
And a furious Zane is a dangerous Zane.
“—that place with the neon flamingo out front,” Breaker is saying.
I quirk a brow at him and shove the bite into my mouth ungracefully, chewing loudly. He frowns, watching me stab another piece of colorful food on my plate and shovel it into my mouth. Various flavors, sharp and savory, explode on my tongue and I slow down my aggressive chewing.
“Okay,fine,” I say around a mouthful, “it’s good.”
Reaper would love this place and all this ridiculous food.
“Why are you acting like this?” Breaker asks, eyes bouncing around the restaurant like he’s checking to see if anyone is watching. They are. I’m being terrible, even by my standards. His gaze lands on me, and irritation flashes across his face. “Did I piss you off somehow?”
“Where do I begin?” I ask. “First you nearly destroy everything by flying off the handle, then you meet withhimbefore we’re ready, then you drag me around this fucking nightmare of a city like we’re a married couple on vacation.”
A bark of laughter bursts out of him, and the tension in my shoulders eases. We’re not used to this. Being so…normal.
Yes, we spent years moving in Rune’s circle, attending functions, even a few sex parties that left even me feeling a tad scandalized, all designed to grab Rune’s attention. But mostly, we’ve lived a quiet life, moving between missions with little to no contact with any other people outside of hotel attendants and the unfortunate targets we collected or disposed of.
And in the last four years, we’ve barely had any missions. Most of our time was spent watching Delilah and Cora, trying to gain insight into Rune’s daily life. Any time we ventured to a function in Rune’s circle, we did it as a group, with Reaper in the background feeding us info. Even those felt like a mission.
This feels like I’m roleplaying, which I am, but I never expected it to be soboring. So claustrophobic, wearing Vince’s suit all the time. It doesn’t help that I don't like the guy. Vince, me, is a total cunt. I’m loud and brazen, flat-out rude, and flirts with anybody who looks my way. And it’s rumored I have a mean streak.
I mean, it’s all true, butIat least control myself.
Vince doesn’t. He’s an absolute nightmare of a person.
Ben, on the other hand? He’s sexy and mysterious and, fuck me if Breaker doesn’t fit his role perfectly.
“We don’t have to go to the club,” Breaker says. “I only brought it up because Dave Sobian is a regular and we may run into him.”
“Fuck,” I grate, setting my fork down. I hate it when he’s right. “Fine. We can go to that club with neon lights and the—”
“Paradis,” he says. “It means paradise in Fr—”
