Page 70 of Twisted Shadows
Reece furrowed his brow, but he took the phone, gloved fingers brushing Grayson’s. He fiddled with the phone for a moment, then flashed Grayson a shaky thumbs-up.
Grayson straightened just enough to see over the crate, his gun in his right and Reece’s gun in his left. Respawn point was in the opposite direction of the manager’s office and he could send all eight players there at once.
He glanced down at Reece, who had closed his eyes and was lightly bobbing his head along to the music. Probably the best chance he was gonna get. He cocked both their guns and stepped out from behind the crate.
Three minutes later, he was diving back behind their hideout. He grabbed Reece by the hand again, and Reece’s eyes flew open.
Come on, Grayson mouthed at him, tugging.
Reece reached for his earbud with his free hand. “I hear shouting. Did you piss someone off—”
“Keep that in,” Grayson ordered, and pulled him to his feet.
They darted across the course, Grayson stopping just once to push Reece behind a plywood structure while he fired at a group of three who’d just emerged from the woods. Then they were running up behind the manager’s shack on the edge of the course.
Reece pulled out the earbuds. “How are we getting in?” he asked, as Grayson examined the dead bolt. He was still slightly too pale but looked a lot steadier on his feet now that the air gun fire had stopped. “We don’t have long before everyone’s back, right?”
“I might be able to kick this down,” Grayson said, as he accepted the phone and earbuds back. “Wouldn’t be subtle, though.”
“And I bet we can get in without any destruction of property.” Reece pointed up to one of the high windows. “Is that unlocked? I could climb in through there, if I had a boost.”
Grayson eyed the window. “You sure? It looks a tight fit to me.”
Reece cleared his throat.
Grayson gave him a flat look. “That’s a serious question that’s pertinent to your safety, not just a sex joke.”
“I promise I take you talking about tight fitsveryseriously,” Reece said. “Come on. You keep bragging about all that enhanced strength; can you lift me up?”
Grayson stood on his toes and tried the window, which slid to the side to make a narrow opening. He looked back at Reece consideringly. “Lifting you is never gonna be a problem. Lifting you without touching you might be.”
“But shoes should be safe, right?” said Reece. “And let’s be real—if it goes awry, you can still kick down the door, with the bonus that your day will probably actually beeasierif I’m unconscious.”
Grayson couldn’t really argue with that. He stepped closer to the shack, crouching down so Reece could get his foot up into his hands. They weren’t touching, not really—just three points of contact: Reece’s shoe resting in his cupped palms, one of Reece’s gloved hands on each of his shoulders. No skin-to-skin contact, just light, soft pressure on Grayson’s hands and shoulders.
And Grayson was as aware of every inch of Reece as if they’d been naked in a bed. He didn’t do much touching these days beyond fights, and gloves or not, he hadn’t had someone’s hands this gentle on him in a long time.
“You’ve, um. You’ve got really nice shoulders.” Reece’s fingers curled into him, each one lighting a spark under his skin. “I mean. Just saying. They’re a good, um. Handhold.”
Oh, great. Now he was thinking of a dozen other positions they could get into where Reece would be gripping his shoulders tight.
Reece cleared his throat. “Maybe you better lift me up.”
“I think I better.” Grayson lifted, and confirming how damn easy it was to manhandle him was not helpinganything.
Reece twisted, putting his hands on the ledge and poking his head through the window. “There’s a desk just below I can land on. I’m going in.”
“Sure, sure,” Grayson muttered under his breath, as Reece ducked under the frame and levered himself through the narrow opening. “And I’ll just stand here. Watch you squirm in through that window on your stomach. Notice how flexible you are. Think abouttight fits. This is fine, this isn’t gonna haunt me.”
A minute later, Reece was unlocking the dead bolt. Grayson stepped inside to join him.
“Waller’s got AMI propaganda—who could have seen that coming?” Reece said, bitter and sarcastic, pointing to a bulletin board with tacked-up flyers.
“I’m not sure AMI is the one who put him up to coming after you.” Grayson crouched, looking under the metal desk for anything taped underneath.
Nothing he could see, but there was an unopened package on the floor, maybe the size of a shoebox. Reece hovered at his side as Grayson picked it up and set it on the desk. It was addressed to Keith Waller with the airsoft course’s address and postmarked two weeks earlier from Vancouver, British Columbia. No return address. Grayson broke the tape and lifted the cardboard flaps to uncover—
Empath gloves.
