“I hung them in the closet. Sorry.” He cracks open a Diet Coke and passes it to me. “Old habits die hard. The Navy really drilled it in, and I’ve never—”
“You were in the Navy?” I guess I can see that, but I had no idea.
“Yeah,” he says nonchalantly before taking a bite of his taco, and I’m frozen, studying him.
Hello, sexy sailor.
“So, you know that my favorite meal is sushi and tacos and that my beverage of choice while eating is Diet Coke, but I didn’t know that Tytan Reynolds was a Navy man.That’s a big detail to miss.”
He abandons his taco and steals a piece of my sushi. “You know my drink of choice. And more importantly, you know the people who mean the world to me and who I am with them.”
“Right,” I agree. It probably isn’t a big deal.
“And Tytan Reynolds wasn’t in the Navy,” he adds as lax as when he admitted to being in the Navy seconds ago, so now, I’m officially flabbergasted.
I swallow my mouthful, wash it down with a sip of soda, and set a bewildered leer on him. “What?”
He wipes his hands as a lopsided smirk curls his lips, crinkling one of his mischievous eyes. “This is one thing I can tell you. It’s still not something you can share, but I trust you.”
“Good,” I breathe with rapt fascination. “You can.”
“The name I was born with was Andrew Michaels. Wells, Liam, Gage, and Ty are all new names for new lives.”
It takes a few seconds for that to sink in, but even when it does, I’m confused. “But Axel knew Wells when they were kids. He wasthe teen sports trainer for a summer program in Oklahoma, where my mom grew up, and Wells was in it.”
He holds my gaze, clearly gauging my reaction as he continues to astonish me. “Gavin Wells wasn’t. Chad Folsom was though. He lived two towns over from the one your mom grew up in. So, Axel is the one civilian who knows Wells’s true identity.”
“Ryker doesn’t even know?” I ask.
“Not that I’m aware.” He’s still surveying me, but there’s an amused glint to his features.
“And Liam and Gage, who were they resurrected from?”
“Jason Petrovsky and Joshua Ricci,” he supplies plainly, but I know that’s far more than a gold coin in Ty’s treasure chest.
My nervous stomach settles as I resume my meal. Maybe we’re getting somewhere if he’s trusting me like this, including me in secrets.
Stopping there might be wise, but I can’t. “I don’t see how that’s a death-sentence kind of revelation.It must be more about why you don’t have those names anymore.”
“Smart,” he says, and heat flushes my cheeks. Impressing Ty could quickly rise to the top of my goals chart. After a swig of his soda, he continues, “We were all Navy SEALs. But the government erased us—made it look like we’d died in combat—so we could be contract erasers and identity miners for them.”
“Okay.” I bob my head to show I’m following. Based on what they did for Ryker, erasing Mercy, that aligns.
He chews the inside of his cheek, which is evidently his nervous tell. Everything about his body grows rigid and serious. “That’s what we did for years. Until we fell into something bigger. It makes being owned by the government seem like a day at a playground. There is no room for mistakes, no getting out, no second chances.”
He sighs and licks his lips—if he wasn’t so gloom and doom, that would be sexy. But the air is thick with tension. “That’s all I can tell you without compromising your safety. Because once you know more, that’s it. Any association, and you’re theirs until death.”
That’s enough to have my intestines entwining my spinal cord, but the same could be said about the Noires. And while hearing about his affiliation rings alarm bells, I think it’s the foreboding delivery. I’m sure there are bone-chilling tales about La Lune Noire. But people who work for us and abide by our rules are afforded an amazing life. We pay better than any other resort and casino, and, yes, Axel is a master at roping people in, hitching them to him for eternity. Most people wouldn’t complain though. I mean, those who rob us don’t get a chance to. Although I’d argue that’s fair.
But Ty’s next words slice through me harsher than the rest. “It would mean no more blueberry fields and rain, Little Moon.”
That isn’t my depiction of freedom, but the somber tune resounds all the same.
We eat in silence for the next few minutes before I transition us to idle chitchat. Ty somehow morphs that into a third degree about my bruise until I excuse myself to brush my teeth, flick off the lights, and crawl into bed. He showers and emerges in a T-shirt and boxers, dumbfounding me by climbing in beside me. Arms crossed beneath his head and focus on the ceiling.
All righty then. No argument. No insisting he’ll sleep on the floor. A deluge of thrill floods me, our conversation long forgotten.
Tytan Reynolds is in my freaking bed.
