“Do you want me to thank you for checking in on me like some sort of decent human being or whatever it is you are?” Rohan asks once he’s stopped being a dork by what looks like sheer willpower alone. Or perhaps due to etiquette lessons forced on him as a child. I remember those. They were so shit.
“No,” I scoff, pulling a face. “Because what would I even say to that? You’re welcome? You got it, mate? No probs, bro? All for one and one for all?What?” I look him up and down with mock contempt. “You can take your ‘thank you’ and eat it.”
Rohan’s eyes have widened considerably. In a voice which is partially awed and also partially disturbed, he murmurs, “I’m starting to think I would have been better off getting kidnapped by Carl, the ankle-biting catman.”
“Carl isn’t a catman,” I correct him. “He is either a man or a cat. You were too much of a coward to find out which it was.”
Rohan shakes his head self-deprecatingly.
“I couldn’t handle the truth.”
“Don’t feel bad,” I soothe. “Feel sorry for Damon.” A deep cackle burbles out of my throat. “I think Carl lives in his building now.”
Rohan sways forward again, putting his hands down on the metal table, finger subtly inching towards his tools. I’ve probably overstayed my welcome, and he wants to get back to work. Feelings time is officially over, I think.
“If I had any sympathy,” Rohan says, that mordant bite returning to his voice, “I would offer it at the sad, sad turn of events you just described.”
I can’t help another merciless snicker at the idea of Damon reacting to Rohan if the other man ever tried to offer him anything other than the open scorn Damon is used to receiving from him.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate the sentiment.”
He most certainly will not. There are very few people Damon actively dislikes, and I don’t even think he so much dislikes Rohan as he can’t be bothered to deal with his attitude.
Rohan is looking at me with heavy scepticism.
“I,” he replies wryly, “am less sure.”
“And that”—I flash a jaunty grin at him—“is whyyou’rethe genius.”
I’m not ultimately sure if I’ve gained anything, and more importantly, I’m not sure if Rohan gained anything from this conversation. He deserves to have the truth about his mum acknowledged, and I’m hoping he’ll talk to someone about it properly one day. I don’t expect that person to be me, and I don’t even want it to be.
It would be a lie to say I’m not still worried about how things are going to play out in the future within our new unit. But if Rohan thinks he can handle being around Jack, I can’t tell him otherwise. I’ll just have to trust him and brace myself for the possible chaos.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JACK
“You frightened away all the little fishies,” Leo accuses playfully, sounding overjoyed by the fact my mere presence seems to have caused all the agents who were in FISA’s large and well-kitted gym to scatter.
After my beyond-disastrous meeting with the unit, and the semi-confrontation with Stone about the death of his runaway mother, I was not in the mood to deal with other people. I was barely in the mood to put up with myself. But there’s nothing I can do about that.
It seems my attempt to escape other people has proven similarly impossible. I can only be glad Agent Lane and his gaggle of twits have decided to pretend they aren’t useless somewhere else. I was starting to get twitchy about them hanging around me all the time. There’s only so much thinly veiled fear masquerading as pathetic shows of aggression I can take.
I was getting dangerously close to letting loose my own far more impressive aggression and breaking something on Agent Lane. Give him a proper reason to be afraid of me.
But it’s likely FISA would just throw me back into one of their cells. I might even have to write up an incident report about the whole thing. FISA seems the kind of place to bother with those. Senior Agent Aaron North certainly comes across as the sort to appreciate rigorous commitment to official procedure and correctly filed paperwork.
I ignore Leo and his overly upbeat energy. I have to, or I’ll punch him, and that might get me in trouble as well.
Leo is in FISA-stamped gym wear, looking as tall and built as I remember. He could be a scary man if he wanted to be. His size, his power. But the dopey smile on his face and the gentle warmth in his eyes offsets it all so thoroughly, I can’t find it in myself to think of him as a real threat.
I find it hard to reconcile that this person, as he’s presented himself to me, goes out there and commits violence as a secret government agent.
Leo’s hands are wrapped, and he appears to have been using a thick punching bag. He lowered his hands when I walked into the gym and watched in amusement as all the agents tripped over themselves to get out of the room.
I came here to lose myself in mindless exercise, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do that with Leo in the room. He’s one of those people who seems to take up space, who fills it with their existence like air fills a balloon.
Leo seems to note the slump to my shoulders because his brows draw together in what might be genuine concern. He doesn’t make a move towards me, but he does settle back into a more relaxed stance as if trying to reassure me without words that he won’t be moving around without warning any time soon.
