"Alright, alright."
Saxon, when his brother turns his back to him, flips him off with both hands—the double bird also includes a hip-thrust. "You'rea fuck-tard."
Big Voice turns on Saxon, now, then addresses the group at large. “Next person to say that word is gonna be pickin' their teeth outta their turds."
“Yeah, Sol," Saxon says, sticking out his tongue.
"Are you people ever serious?" I ask.
"No." This is from everyone, in unison.
"I see," I say. "Well, your boss may want you to, like, lock in a little so we can rescue him. Need I remind you, he's beenshot?”
Solomon approaches me. "Brys Bennet, I'm Solomon Cabot." We shake hands, and he steps back and stands with his handhooked in the neck of his vest. "I assure you, despite the shenanigans, wearetaking thisveryseriously. Humor is how we cope. I promise you, the constant jokes don’t mean we're not the best in the business at exactly this."
"I dunno, man," the short, stocky, bearded one says. "Alpha One does some damn fine rescue work. I wouldn't wanna tangle with those cats."
"I'll take us over them any day. They're all old now, anyway." This is from the brown-skinned one with the mohawk—a hairstyle I've rarely seen work, but on him, for some reason, it just looks badass.
"As fun as that theoretical matchup sounds," I interrupt, "can I get some introductions, or do I have to guess as to who is who?"
Nico stands beside me with a friendly hand on my shoulder; he points at each man as he names them. "Rev, Kane, Silas, Chance, Saxon, Solomon, and Lorenzo." He points at the women, next. "Scarlett—sorry, Maria, I am still getting used to that. And Sophia, also known as Inez."
"Nice to meet you all," I say, mentally repeating each name a few times, trying to pin the name to the face; I've never been good at remembering names, although I never forget a face.
"So, Nico, Brys." Solomon breaks the brief silence. "Sitrep."
Nico answers for us, obviously. "They are holed up in the south end of an abandoned manufacturing or bottling plant just under click over that ridge. There are six soldiers, plus Pugli, each of them armed with MP5s and sidearms."
Solomon frowns. "Only six? I don't like it."
I eye him. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"If you believe there's only six of them to our ten, then yes."
"Eleven," I correct. "Don't think I'm gonna be sitting in the truck twiddling my thumbs while you guys rescue Jakob."
Sol opens his mouth to argue, but a glance at Nico has him clicking his mouth closed again. "Fine. Just…follow orders, okay?"
I grin. "I'll try. That's not something I typically do very well with."
"What, taking orders?" he asks.
"Yeah," I answer. "I have a serious case of 'fuck authority.' "
"I bet that goes over well with Jakob," Sophia/Inez says. "That man has one setting—command."
"It has been a point of contention between us a few times, yes," I say, trying to keep the blush off my cheeks.
Sophia's eyes narrow at me; she knows. Shit. I don't know how, but she knows. She approaches me, scrutinizing me closely. "You and I are going to have to find time to speak in private."
I scrutinize right back. "Oh?"
Her eyes are dark and hard and cold, and the stare she gives me is icy and venomous and threatening. I bet it makes lesser mortals—namely, men—quake in their boots. I'm stepping on her territory, I think, somehow. I doubt she and Jakob are or ever have been a thing, and I know she's with the Brazilian hottie who has yet to speak. But I still get the sense that she doesn't like the fact that I'm encroaching on what she considers her territory.
I hold her gaze without flinching or looking away, and give her my own Ice Queen stare-down.
Saxon steps between us, pushing us away from each other as if we were moments from coming to blows. "Okay, okay, ladies. Enough of that. Keep staring at each other like that, and you're gonna start a nuclear winter or somethin'."
