Page 20 of Altered By Lead (Undercover Sinners 2)
Natalia's jaw clenches and she stomps out with a few muttered curses in Russian.
"Fuck, that's sexy," I groan, biting my lip as I watch her perky, muscle-toned ass walk away. "Those pants should be illegal. How the fuck have you two kept your hands to yourselves for six whole weeks?" Turning back to my teammates when the door slams behind Natalia's sexy butt, I see the answer all over their faces.
With great difficulty.
Even though I'm taking my life into my own hands, I can’t help it. I laugh.
"You two are fucking idiots," I snicker.
"Can it, Colt. I'm not in the mood." Hawke scowls at me. "Mace, go grab Weston and dickhead so we can discuss a few things."
The big man lumbers out of the gym and I follow Hawke through the French doors that lead to a decaying wraparound veranda where he heaves a sigh and props his butt against the railing. Brave move, considering the condition of the wood, but that's Hawke through and through. Brave as shit. Or, more than likely, he’s already been out here, testing the railing for safety. That’s more his style. Total bore.
"How are you doing, Colt?" he asks me with complete seriousness, brushing aside all the Natalia teasing. "You scared the shit out of us, kid. Weston looked like he was ready to make deals with all kinds of devils to ensure you pulled through."
I grimace and rub a hand over my short hair. I fucking hate short hair, always have, but no one really asked my opinion when I was in the hospital.
"I'm fine, boss. Truly. They kept me in that coma way longer than they needed to." I drop my hand to my chest and rub at the shiny scars there. In the weeks since waking from my coma, I've pretty much given up wearing shirts at all. They all chafe at my scars in the weirdest way. Instead of being less sensitive, like scarring usually is, it's more. Makes wearing the rough cotton Blackbirch-issued training shirts unbearable.
Hawke says nothing for a moment, just squints at me in that creepy x-ray vision way of his, before shaking his head. "Fine. Have it your way. But if you don’t tell me anything’s wrong, I’m going to push you like nothing is."
I nod back, as close as Hawke and I ever come to hugging it out, and look up when the other three arrive onto the veranda.
"What's this all about then?" Arsen drawls, throwing himself down on one of the wicker chairs which is missing its padded cushion. He flips a cigarette out of his pocket and lights up with practiced ease. "It better be important, I was busy."
"You were jerking off," Weston corrects, smirking. "Probably picturing a certain Russian doll with her lips around your cock, no doubt."
Arsen levels a deadly glare at my tall friend. "Actually, I was reminiscing over a petite blonde who used to let me tie her up and use her body until she passed out from either pleasure or pain." He blows out a plume of smoke, ashing his cigarette onto the veranda floor. "Or both."
His casual mention of Portia makes my heart ache, and all traces of joviality evaporate within me. Even though I can see the pain in Arsen's fucked up, cruel eyes, it doesn't excuse him.
"Fuck you," I spit in his direction. What I’m objecting to, I’m not entirely sure. Maybe the fact that he’s reminding me why we’re on this job in the first place, or because hearing him speak of Portia makes me feel like a cheating asshole for feeling the way I do about Natalia.
Even though Portia's dead and gone.
Still, Arsen loved her just as much as the rest of us, so if anything, he's just proving how badly Natalia is getting to him. He'll never admit it, but we all know it's true.
"Okay, enough of that," Hawke snaps, shooting Arsen a look that could damn near kill. "Is she in the shower?" This question is directed at Mace, who gives a silent nod back. "Good. Then let's discuss the other piece of unresolved team business. The bet."
Hawke’s eyes simmer as he rubs a hand over his stubbled chin, and I frown. But then again, I'm not surprised. Hawke is an idiot who doesn’t know what he wants; I’d all but forgotten about that stupid bet we made. Feels like ancient history to be honest.
"The bet," Mace repeats when none of us speak. He sounds irritated as shit right now. And that’s rare, Mace getting annoyed with Hawke.
"All bets need a winner," Hawke replies, folding his arms over his chest and eyeing up each of us. "And our little mark did spill the info we were hoping for."
I scoff.
Can't help it.
Somebody here has to be the bigger man and stand up for Natalia. Never in a million years thought that person would be me, but well, here it goes.
