“We’re not calling her Blue!”
“I like it,” Antonio chimes in. I hope this motherfucker likes all the sprinting he’s about to do.
“I mean, she is wearing a blue shirt,” Elias adds before shutting up and focusing on his pushups. One word from me, and Leon isn’t likely to offer him a spot in the boxing ring.
“No codenames,” I tell the group. “Before we leave, I want to go over the schedule. I know we hadn’t planned on taking on a client needing around the clock protection so soon after Callahan. We’ve got some gigs on the calendar, and?—”
After a lifetime of Luis, I know the exact moment he stops paying attention. I spin on my heel, ready to round on him when I’m cut short. He might be an idiot, but my lovablecousin doesn’t just stand around, mouth hanging open like he is now, without good reason.
“Shit,” Antonio curses from his spot on the ground.
I’ve never seen someone go so fast. For a second I wonder if Isolde’s doing her own timed sprints, but she never stops to adjust the treadmill.
She just goes and goes. Her heels kicking up, her arms and shoulders in perfect form. If it weren't for the dangerous whir of the treadmill, we might not be so taken aback.
But the machinery is fighting for its life; that’s how hard she’s going.
Isolde isn’t jogging on the treadmill. She’s running for her life.
She thinks I don’t see it. The terror on her face when Cade’s name is mentioned. Her fear freezes over her pale, delicate features before she wipes it blank. She’d rather be a hamster on a wheel than let anybody in.
“Should we. . .” Elias says.
Luis rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, that thing is going to break.”
They’re not joking. Either the treadmill or Isolde is going to get hurt. Probably both if I’m being honest.
My muscles tense as I gear up to be the overbearing bodyguard, the creepy guy at the gym who’s gonna tell Isolde what to do.
I’m saved when Adeline prances over, stepping up onto the front of the treadmill. Leon wouldn’t like how she plays around on the gym equipment, but my jaw unclenches slightly.
Isolde slows the treadmill, taking out her earbuds. Adeline chats away, uninterested in working out, her attitude spreading to Isolde, who steps off the treadmill.
Luis curses under his breath in Spanish before shooting forward.
I miss the back of his shirt by a hairbreadth, my fist clenching around air.
“Look at that.” Luis squats down, taking in Isolde’s scar.
“Luis,” I seethe.
He’s oblivious. “That’s fucking awesome. Shit. Look at that.”
Isolde blushes slightly, and she doesn’t meet my eye. She shrugs at Luis’s comment, looking away.
“That is gnarly,” Luis awes. “Can I touch it?”
Adeline doesn’t hide her laughter. “Down, boy.”
Luis pops up, a cheeky smile on his face. “Sorry, Blue. Boundaries, I get it.”
“Blue?” Adeline asks.
“Codename,” Luis replies, serious. “Like Secret Service, you know?”
I pick a spot on the ceiling and count to ten. There’s nothing I can do about my cousin—I’m just going to have to fire him. I’ll deal with my aunt later.
“Nice,” Adeline says, knocking her elbow into Isolde. The Brit winces, and the Akatov’s face immediately falls. “Oh, no, I’m sorry! Is that the side that got hurt?”
