He rises and squeezes my cheeks just enough to purse my lips and taunts, “Thanks for looking out for me. Good girls get good dick,” he promises, then he plants a hard kiss on my lips before releasing me to walk away. I stumble forward because his departure was a little unexpected, as is the dip in my stomach from him calling me a good girl again.
“Wake up, you lazy bastards,” Remy shouts. He doesn’t seem to be lacking energy at all. What the hell is up with that?
I take my pants all the way off and shake them out before pulling them back up my legs. Felix slowly starts to stir, while Remy taps—well, lightly slaps Gray’s face.
“If you don’t stop hitting me, I’m going to make you feel the insecurities of a fourteen-year-old boy,” Gray snarls.
Remy stands back and chuckles. “Just making sure you’re okay.”
“Uh-huh, and I’m sure the pep in your step has nothing to do with your fingers smelling like pussy.” Gray sits up, cradling his head in his hands.
“It’s not my fault you were literally sleeping on the job.” Remy shrugs unapologetically.
“Why does my skin feel too tight?” Felix ignores Remy and Gray’s banter, rolling his shoulders.
“I feel like a million bucks,” Remy chimes in.
“Why is that?” Gray finally stands up, even though he seems a little unsteady.
“Magic.” Remy smiles and waggles his brows. “I can feel it. I bet I could cast just as well as you now.”
I stretch out my fingers in an effort to test my own magic, but I don’t feel any different. “Is that true? Can you feel more magic?” I glance between Felix and Gray.
“Maybe. I have some pressure behind my eyes that’s giving me a headache,” Gray admits.
“Well, I guess there’s something good that comes from not having enough of my own magic to cast a fart.”
“What are you, like twelve?” Felix chastises Remy while dusting himself off.
“I don’t feel any strange magic,” I tell them.
“You’re the caster, so it makes sense that it would be your energy binding us to you.” Felix approaches me slowly while looking me over from head to toe. “How do you feel otherwise?”
“Kind of the same.” I wince a little, reassessing my body again.
Felix picks up my hand and I think he’s just going to hold it, but instead, he flips it over and runs a finger over the freshly formed scar on my palm. “You seem disappointed,” he remarks, looking up from my hand.
“No, never,” I deny quickly. “It’s dumb, but I was expecting…” I shrug, not knowing what to say.
“Our names tattooed on your ass?” Remy supplies. “I want mine to say, ‘Remy’s good girl.’”
Felix continues to ignore Remy and strokes his finger over my scar again. I can’t deny how sensitive it is, or maybe it’s just his touch I’m susceptible to. Turning my palm again, he guides my hand up under his shirt and places it against his chest, where I can feel his beating heart.
My lips part as he stares down at me. The connection I was doubting is there, it’s just deeper than I expected it to be, rooted in our souls and our very beings. I’m part of them, and they are part of me.
With my free hand, I reach up to find my own heartbeat and swiftly realize they are beating in time, as if synced. “Come here.” I beckon Gray and Remy over excitedly. The hand that was on my chest is already outstretched, waiting to see if theirs match too. Gray makes it over first. I shove my hand under his shirt without invitation to find exactly what I’m looking for—a perfect rhythm.
“Remy, lift your shirt up and come here,” I demand, turning my head to the side so I can plant my ear on his chest when he does. His is thumping right along with the rest of us. It’s surreal.
“What happens when one of us gets excited? Will it stay like this, even when we’re not together?” I keep my eyes closed as I just feel them.
“I want to know if we’ll be able to hear the killer weasel,” Remy says, and I pull my head back from his chest and grin. Why the hell did we wait so long for this?
GOOD EVENING, I SEE THE ASSASSINS HAVE FAILED.
After spending the afternoon naked and extremely satisfied, I’m summoned to the kitchen after a very long, hot shower with the promise of food.
Felix is at the island, opening boxes of takeout. He’s shirtless, and I can’t help but lean against the doorframe and admire him.
