FARROW KEENE
The medics checkhis vitals on the ambulance before driving off the property, and I find a small, reddened bite on the back of his neck. After they clear him, he jumps off the ambulance and returns to today’s schedule. Barely missing a thing.
“Slow down for one second.” I catch his wrist before he enters the mess hall for lunch.
Maximoff stops and checks his watch. “They’re here for me and my cousins. I can’t bail on anyone?—”
“No one will fault you if you need to rest,” I interject, taking note of his ashen complexion.
“I feel fine, or at least, good enough to eat.” He stares deeper into my gaze with the same words he said the minute he could speak:I’m glad you’re here.
Me too.
I almost reach for his hand, but a gaggle of girls and guys pass and snap photos of him.
And then a voice in my ear pulls my attention. “Akara to security.”
Maximoff motions with his head to the mess hall. I nod and follow by his side.
Among the rowsand rows of wooden cafeteria tables, I sit beside Jane at one of the emptiest ones.
Only one table away from Maximoff. He has a throng of people squished close. Likewise, Sulli’s table is swarmed with people who want to hear stories about the Olympics.
Akara, Donnelly, and Oscar all surround her protectively.
Our earlier comms conversation stays with me.
Oscar:how could an ant be on his neck?
Akara:he may’ve been leaning on a tree.
Donnelly:or someone put it there.
Quinn:no way.
Me:I would’ve seen it happen.
I’m not subscribing to that conspiracy theory. No one collected fire ants just to put them on Maximoff and watch him choke to death. And even if I somehow missed a dipshit who tried to intentionally or unintentionally kill him, the person failed.
And they’ll lose an arm if they try again.
Jane blows on her spoonful of chili. “Another one is coming,” she tells me, and sure enough, a twenty-something brunette sits down in front of me.
This is the seventh girl that’s confronted me just at lunch. During longer events, this happens frequently to the most attractive bodyguards. And let’s be honest, Omega is full of sexy fuckers.
Eyes start wandering and people start noticing the guys that they can’t have. The ones who are quiet in the corner with ripped muscles and a scowl. It’s gotten a lot of security laid.
I’ve been hit on by a few men, many more women, and my answer rarely changes:hell no.
The girl waves to Jane like she’s on the other side of the room and not right next to me. About 95% of her focus centers on me, and she begins, “My name’s Tara. So my tent-mate left today, and it’s just me tonight. You should stop by, check it out. I’ll show you my tattoos?—”
“I’m gay,” I say, pausing to bite into a red apple.
She blushes. “You could’ve just told me you’re not interested.”
“I’m not interested,” I say, “and I’m gay.”
She quickly stands and zips back to her table.
