“Fine,” I huff in English. To Blair I say, “You’re pretty fluent. It’s impressive. Even your accent is on point.”
“My dad was adamant about me being multi-lingual. If I didn’t sound native, he would force me to only speak that language until it came easily.”
Her voice is naturally soft and deep which forces me to really listen as she speaks. Normally, it’s really hard for me to concentrate. My attention bounces from one thing to the next like a pinball in a machine. But for Blair, she’s captured my full attention.
“Oh yeah?” I lean my weight on one leg, jutting out my hip, and cross my arms over my chest. “What other languages do you know?”
Blair hums thoughtfully, her eyes shifting to just past me as she considers the question. “Hm, other than English and Spanish, I know Arabic and German. Throw me into a Russian village and I couldprobablyget by, but it would be tough.”
I gape for a second, surprised by her response. I’m not too shocked, however, to notice Wes’s shoulders go rigid for abouthalf a second before forcing himself to lower them away from his ears. He looks over at her with a curious glance.
“End up in Russian villages often?” he asks her, his tone light but curiosity flashes in his eyes.
Blair chuckles and shakes her head. “No, thank goodness.”
“Now why would she be in Russia, Wes?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “What a ridiculous?—”
My words cut off when Blair abruptly looks down at the same time Wes shoots her a quick warning sideways glance.
“No, not-ah!” I shake my head quickly and point between the two of them. They look back at me, their expression the epitome of innocence. I don’t buy it, not for one second. “What was that? Why did you both suddenly get weird?”
Wes reaches down to turn on the grill’s propane tank. I have a sinking suspicion he’s using this moment to buy himself some time.
“It’s nothing, Santi,” Wes answers after a moment. “We were just telepathically making sure that we both knew my question was light teasing and that yes, it’s clear you're obtuse.”
Blair’s dark eyes don’t quite touch my face as she steps away from us. “It’s okay, Wes. Honestly, he probably deserves to know the truth since the reason I’m here is a bit unconventional.”
Wes straightens, his eyes going wide. I study the two of them as they exchange another look.
“I don’t know about this, Blair…” he starts. Worry pinches his brows together as he frowns.
“Don’t know about what?” I press, eager to get to the bottom of this.
Blair sighs. “Ledger says he trusts these two just as much as he does you. If he trusts them, so do I. Except…” She grimaces. “I’ve never uttered the words out loud.Ever. So, would you tell them so I don’t have to?”
Before Wes can reply, Blair walks away.
I watch, baffled by the abrupt exit. No one speaks until the back door shuts behind Blair. Rhett’s at my side in an instant. He pokes Wes in the chest.
“What the fuck was that about?” He demands. “Tell uswhat? What do you know about her?”
Wes lifts the grill top slowly, then turns on the burners. When they’re set just how he likes them, he turns to face us. I lean in, eager to understand the tension in his jaw and the way his body has gone rigid.
“I shouldn’t have asked about Russia,” he starts, then clears his throat. “It was a slip of my tongue and I regretted it the minute it came out.” He reaches up to run a hand down his face. When it drops away, he continues. “Blair’s father was—is—a hitman. Given how often hitmen travel and her comment about being dropped in a Russian village… I kind of assumed something like that had happened before.”
Silence follows Wes’s declaration. Well, for about thirty seconds—about the same time it takes to wrap my head around the news that our new member is the daughter of a hitman—before I throw back my head and laugh.
“What? Shut up!” I gasp out when I can get a breath in. “In what fucking alternate universe have I been dropped into?”
“Shut up, Santi!” Rhett hisses. His scowl is so deep his brows almost pinch together. “This isn’t funny!”
I gape. “Please tell me you’re joking?! This iswild,right?!”
Rhett gives me one more glare before turning it on Wes. “Ok, her dad’s a hitman. That doesn’t meansheis, right? Unless…” He scowls, deep in thought. “Unless Blair’s here because a job went wrong?”
“As far as I’m aware, Blair isn’t a gun for hire,” Wes answers, his voice lowering into little more than a whisper. “But I’ve seen what she’s capable of. If she’snota hitwoman, then she could definitely get a career in that field if she chose it later on in life.”
I gasp with delight.
