Page 33 of Dark Soul

“It feels strange,” Griffin said, after swallowing the cheese-soaked bread in his mouth. “To be free, but not really free.”

He looked up, almost surprised that he’d said the words out loud.

Dark got the feeling it was the most honest thing the ex-CIA agent had shared with them.

The grim expression on Ash’s face said he, too, thought of little else. In the dim, yellow light, the scar that bisected the man’s eyebrow was even more prominent.

“You were free already,” Rogue said, when Slate nodded as well. It wasn’t a question, but then, knowing his skills, Dark figured there wasn’t much Rogue didn’t know about any of them.

Slate shrugged. “Yeah. I was living it up in the mountains of Wyoming.”

“So why did you join us?” Ash asked, ignoring Dark’s glare. “We know it has something to do with the guy glaring at you from across the table. Are you really brothers? You look the same age.”

“Irish twins,” Griffin said, baring his teeth. “I’m a year older. Of course, we didn’t both get the same amount of brains.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Slate replied, incensed.

“All of you shut up. You two, that’s your story to tell, should you feel like it. Ash, stop goading them. I don’t think you want us digging too deeply into your story.”

Ash’s complexion paled, making the scar stand out even more.

Fuck.

This isn’t going well.

Dark sighed, putting his fondue stick down. He wasn’t even going to pretend to be hungry anymore.

“Listen. We all have a past.”

“A sordid past, you mean.”

“A past. Let’s leave it at that.” He kept his voice low, though the door was closed. One of the reasons he’d picked this space was that they’d be able to hear the waiters trampling on the stairs long before they arrived. “That’s one of the reasons Thorne chose us. And it’s one of the reasons we can do this job.” He ran his hand through his short, dark hair, then took a deep breath. “Fuck, I wasn’t sure we could, at the beginning. But now I believe that, together, we have the skills required to bring this man down.”

“Because Thorne told us to?” Rogue questioned.

Dark shook his head. “Because we have the skills, and we find ourselves in a unique position to do it. And because he needs to be taken down. If those plans end up in the hands of the Iranians …”

“They won’t be using them to build Disney World.”

Dark stared at each of the men in turn. He wasn’t going to back down.

“That’s quite a pep talk,” Griffin said, finally, but something like respect glimmered in the man’s green eyes.

“I was never any good at pep talks,” Dark said, allowing himself a small smile.

“That’s alright,” Rogue drawled. “I was forced to read Henry V in high school. Once-more-onto-the-breach and all that. I didn’t like it.”

“I say we drink to your words, Dark,” Slate said, standing up to find a half-full wine bottle standing on a side table. He picked it up easily in one hand and began to pour, filling each wine glass more than Dark was sure was socially acceptable.

When Slate approached Rogue’s glass, the Australian placed his hand over it.

“Not for me,” he said, his jaw tight.

Slate paused. “Can I get you anything else? Tea or coffee?”

“Water’s fine.” Then, as an afterthought, “Thank you.”

Slate nodded and moved on to the next glass.