He had to eat, and I had to convince him to do so before he noticed the kiwi on the fruit plate sitting on the tray. He was going to outright refuse to eat anything kiwi might have touched.
He sniffed a spoonful, and his nose scrunched up.
I pressed, “Eat, Zion.”
“You should probably know that your tone has a totally different effect on me than you think,” he said, promptly stuffing his mouth full.
29 YEARS OLD
The golden bag—my golden bag—sparkled as Zion took it out of the kitchen cabinet of the two-story house our team had been assigned at Conall’s compound.
“Zion,” I growled.
For years, he had been stealing the coffee I would procure, often with the help of Conall, but finally,finally, I had caught him in the act.
He was not leaving this house unscathed.
With the coffee bag suspended midway out of the shelf, he grinned. “Gedeon.”
“Put. That. Back.” I took a step toward him, and he swiftly hid his treasure behind his back. “Or I will?—”
“You will what? Catch me?” He bolted out of the kitchen. His sneakers squeaked across the living room, the door banging as he dashed outside.
I spared one second to collect myself before sprinting after him, weaving through the couches and the table Sadira and Ryder had usurped for their tech, past Eli climbing down the staircase, and into the busy street.
Zion blurred in the mass of Conall’s people roaming the road, and I raced through the crowd, running around those carrying wooden crates brimming with apples and pears to the market, parents herding their children, teenagers sneering at me as I elbowed through the middle of their group and flew toward Zion diving into a cream-colored building with blue doors.
Godsdamnit.
He had gone straight to our meeting location, where Conall and Damia awaited us to discuss the needs of their compounds and how we could assist. Chasing Zion instead of debating our options was a far cry from what today was supposed to entail.
The mid-summer sun pricked my nape, but I ignored the heat swirling between my toes, gluing them together, and darted into the dwelling.
Prowling through the foyer and into the dining room, I willed my pulse to settle. Zion had plopped his ass down at the head of the long table, as scuffed up as the matching chairs, all carved out ages ago.
“Weren’t we supposed to meet in, like, twenty minutes?” Conall sipped from a glass, probably the orange juice he had been drinking with every breakfast for as long as I could remember. “Damia is not here yet, and we’re not exactly ready either.” He motioned to the two women and a man flanking him.
Aanya gave me a shy wave, while the other two glanced between me and Zion, their postures exposing them as trained fighters.
They were probably the partners Conall had mentioned he wanted to introduce us to. The bastard had decided it was time for him to have a family, whatever that meant.
Paying no heed to Conall, I splayed my palms on the table. “Zion,” I barked a warning.
Hoisting his feet onto the table, he crossed them at the ankles. “Yes?” He stroked the golden pack resting on his crotch. “Something you want?”
I stalked around the table. “I want what is rightfully mine.”
He leaped out of the seat, taking off in the opposite direction. “And what would that be?”
Conall traced the rim of his glass while glaring at Zion. “What did you do?”
“He stole the coffee you got for me,” I gritted out, then launched onto the table, rolling over the unforgiving surface?—
Zion scurried away, making a break for the other side of the room, laughing like a madman, the sound overfilling the space.
A smile challenged my attempt to give him a dirty look. “You will pay for this.”
He hopped onto the table and shoved the crinkling bag into the front of his dark blue sweatpants. Leaning back on his elbows, his legs dangling off the edge, he drawled, “Then come and get me.
