I shake my head at Damon, warning him to stay put and not do anything to further antagonise Rohan. I really don’t want my best friend to get murdered by a drugged-up superhuman.
“Okay,” I say to Rohan. “Can we skip the fight sequence, please? I’m really not in the mood.”
Rohan takes a second to absorb that. He makes a face at me. “How about you put your money where your mouth is and drop your weapon.” His speech is slow but clear.
I snort derisively. “Not on your life. You’ll probably kick me or something and try to run away.”
“Well, excuse me,” Rohan says with faux magnanimity. “But you really should have thought about that before you abducted me. You can’t abduct people. It’sillegal.”
I blow out an irritated breath. “I do not apologise. You interrupted my dog walk. You and Mr. No-blinky in there.” I tip my head in the direction of the hall that leads to the bathroom. “It was very inconsiderate of you both, actually.”
Rohan’s eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and fear at the mention of Kitty. He looks towards the doorway and then back at me.
“He’s here?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. He’s handcuffed to a toilet, and King is guarding him.”
Rohan gives me another one of hiswhoandwhatare youlooks, which is uncalled for. He shifts, coming out of his prefight stance and straightening his back, rolling his shoulders again and resetting himself to neutral.
“I have so many questions,” he murmurs. “First. Who. Theactual fuck. Are you?”
I slowly lower my hands and put away my weapon, making the insane choice to trust that Rohan won’t immediately take the dirty shot. Rohan tracks my movement but doesn’t otherwise react to it.
Damon is standing next to the sofa, his attention fixed on Rohan. He’s looking at him as if he’d like any excuse to try and put him down again. He darts a glance over at me, making it clear with his expression he is not on board with what I’m doing here. But he doesn’t move, complying with my silent request to let me take the lead.
“You go first,” I demand. “What the hell was going on out there, other than a really intense game of tag?”
Rohan doesn’t answer, instead squinting at me like he’s calculating a difficult mathematical problem. Seconds later, he seems to have an epic light-bulb moment, his eyes blowing wide as he looks at me with a more incredulous expression than before.
“Hold on, you’re Leo Snow, right, the director’s nephew?” He tilts his head in Damon’s direction. “And wow, look at this.” He makes a contemptuous noise. “The great bloodyDamon North.”
Damon looks mildly amused by this. He, more than anyone I’ve known, dislikes his own reputation. Every junior agent knows who Damon North is. Best agent in a generation. Top of the league in FISA’s training program. Youngest agent ever to be promoted to team leader. Plus, Damon is the son of Aaron North and Teresa Cortes, two very well respected and high-ranking field handlers, once famously excellent field agents.
Some people might take advantage of their position or at the very least enjoy the privilege and notoriety such a reputation automatically grants them. But not Damon. He dislikes the special treatment the higher-ranking agents give him. The unfettered awe of the junior agents makes him extremely uncomfortable. He would much rather go under the radar and not have to deal with so many expectations being constantly heaped on him from every corner of the agency.
Everyone expects him to be incredible, and the truth is, Damonisincredible. But maintaining that level of excellence all the time is draining, nerve-racking, and just plain impossible.
I understand a bit of what Damon goes through. As the director’s nephew, I get more pressure loaded onto my shoulders than most.
“Yeah, been a while since we last ran together.” Damon’s response is unapologetically sardonic. “But. I remember who you are too,Stone.”
He says the name so deliberately, it’s impossible to mistake it for anything other than a pointed gibe.
Rohan does turn his head then, piercing Damon with an impressive glare. “It’s Sathe now, you dick. So much for protecting my secret identity. Thought you’d be better at that shit, considering you’re the best secret agent who’s ever lived in the entire history of our collective existence. Apparently.”
Damon doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but I can tell he really wants to. “Don’t have to get all precious about it. No one cares who your dad is.”
“Fact check:youdon’t care.Youaren’t everyone.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Damon asks wryly.
Rohan snorts, unimpressed, and crosses his arms. He stares Damon down like I’ve only seen a handful of men be brave enough to do before. “Only one you’re ever going to get out of me, North, so fucking treasure it for the rest of your life.”
“Anyway,” I interrupt them before this can get out of hand. “I already know you’re Ian Stone’s son, and I don’t give a shit either.”
Ian Stone, as in the director of Obsidian Inc.
Damon was sent on a mission early in his career to retrieve an asset from an Obsidian Inc. black site. He thought he was just going after a scientist who wanted to betray OI and cross over to FISA’s side, but it turned out Damon was going on a rescue mission for none other than Ian Stone’s son and heir.
