The ground floor of the new Ravens headquarters stretched wide and bustled with activity. Departments split from the main corridor like technical arteries. Everything was modern, sterile, and purposeful behind gleaming glass walls.
There were teams representing the Blacks, Browns, Greens, and hopefully soon, the Whites, within every main department: Cyber Intelligence Division, Weapons Development, Medical and Biogenetics Wing, Mission Coordination Center, and too many more to name.
He could feel eyes on him. People pretended not to watch, but their quickening pulses and sudden pauses in conversations always gave them away.
They stared at him the way a mortal would look at a god. Part reverence, but mostly fear.
He didn’t mind. Fear did what admiration couldn’t.
Ex walked quietly beside him. Black jeans he’d paired with a studded onyx belt hugged his ass. He wore his favorite black Jimi Hendrix T-shirt beneath a leather bomber jacket. His hair was still damp from the shower and held the scent of his favorite cedar soap.
Meridian’s gaze drifted toward him more than once. The memory of what they’d done three hours ago still burning beneath his skin.
His fist around Ex’s cock, the other hand wrapped around his throat, as he’d bent him over the edge of the sink and pounded into him.
Now, Ex moved with the quiet satisfaction that only came from being ravaged. And Meridian felt…contentment…maybe peace, if someone as evil as him was capable of such feelings.
They were a few feet from the double doors of the Command Center—also called the War Room—when Marius, his lead combat wardrobe specialist, jogged up to him. His signatureplatinum hair was spiked in every direction, and he was wearing an eclectic black sequin top, and denim bell-bottoms.
“Meridian,” he huffed, out of breath, falling into step at his other side. “I wanted to show you the new trench design before the meeting.”
He had a laptop balanced on his forearm as he turned the screen toward him.
It showed a sleek mockup of a calf-length black suede coat. It had the same features as the others, but it would be lighter than leather. The armor panels were thinner and overlapped to provide an additional layer of protection.
“It’s reinforced with graphene-laminate.” Marius grinned. “More flexibility and higher ballistic tolerance. We just need you to come in for updated measurements.”
Meridian looked over the mockup. It was functional but elegant and sexy. Almost perfect.
But he didn’t do almost.
He pointed to the collar design. “Make it higher and reinforce it. I want more coverage on my throat.”
Marius blinked. “That might restrict—”
“Do it. And widen the front flaps. I want to be able to shield Ex when I pull it to the back, not just the front.”
Marius hesitated again. “But that will make it more front-heavy. It could create difficulty in balance and—”
Meridian stopped walking and turned to glare down at his designer.
Marius swallowed. “I’ll take care of it.” He backed away and disappeared down the opposite hall.
Ex tilted his mouth into an almost smile. “You really know how to inspire your staff.”
“I inspire results,” he said flatly.
When they reached the doors of the War Room, two guards in black nondescript suits, with coms pieces wrapped aroundtheir ears, straightened and punched in a code on the access panel that made the doors slide open.
The room was a cathedral built for strategy. The air buzzed with low conversations and machine noise.
The oval table in the center was the size of a small ballroom dance floor, and its surface was currently projecting a holographic map of Chicago. Around it were rows of chairs, each section color-coded by teams.
The Greens, Valor and Zorion, were already there. Clean and sharp in matching tactical green, reminiscent of their military days. The rest of their team—their handler Cipher and their eleven lead field operatives, all dressed in moss and hunter green tones—sat behind them.
Zorion’s gaze was sharp and roaming. Valor lounged beside him, posture deceptively loose but coiled underneath. They always looked as if they’d just walked out of the forest that’d tried and failed to kill them.
He and Ex took their seats in the section reserved for the Blacks. Corvo was already there, reviewing something on his tablet, and their own team was in a tight huddle having an intense dispute.
