Page 29 of Vengeance (Ruthless MC 4)
“Okay,” I agree quietly. Meeting her eyes. “I can do that.”
Doc shifts nervously from foot to foot and immediately looks away. But she gives me a quiet, “Thank you.”
Hyena looks between the two of us with an approving grin. “Good stuff.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “You can feed her lunch today and get her schedule all set up.”
I squint at him. Usually, I’m the one giving the orders within our group, not the other way around. And, this feels like some sort of cutesy set-up.
But before I can protest, Hyena adds, “And we all do that Disney sports movie thing where put our hands into the circle and yell, ‘Go team!’ We all know this, right?”
Christ. I grew up playing street hockey with my cousins before my dad caught time. But Hyena was never allowed to play sports as a kid, and he’s always trying to make that Disney sports movie fantasy come true.
Des-E’s already shaking his head, and I say, “No, Hyena” as Doc rolls her eyes and says, “Let’s don’t do that ever, please.”
But if Waylon hadn’t road named him Hyena, Badger probably would have been his second pick.
He refuses to stop bothering us until we all reluctantly agree to put our hands in and yell, “Go team!”
However, I immediately wish I'd held out a little longer when he and Des-E leave me alone with Doc to plan tomorrow’s study day.
She stuffs the flashcards and textbook back in her bag, then folds her arms over her naked chest, like she always does when I look at her directly—this time with the backpack underneath like a shield. And I avert my eyes, just like I always do.
Everything’s changed now that she’s here with us to stay. But also, nothing’s changed. Awkwardness rises up between us like a noxious gas.
“Do we have to do the lap thing in the chair?” she asks. “Or…”
“You’re allowed to sit up in the bed,” I remind her.
“Okay, um…”
She starts to turn toward the bed, but then stops. “You don’t…you don’t really have to do this. I know you don’t like me like Des-E and Hyena do. And my project management skills are actually pretty A-plus.”
I have no doubt about that. And me leaving would make things less awkward without breaking any rules. Hyena, Des-E, and I already agreed while she was sleeping off the chloroform that we’d need to give her time alone to study.
But I stay rooted to the spot. It was easy to let her misinterpret my actions in the kitchen. Now, however, Hyena’s voice rings in the back of my head. You need to get all the way over your shit.
“You’re right. I don’t like you as much as Hyena and Des-E,” I admit.
Her face falls a little. But she quickly composes it back to neutral. “Okay, we’re in agreement then—”
“I like you more,” I blurt out. Maybe I’m not as much of a coward as I thought. “Way more. But I don’t…I’m not good at liking somebody the way I like you. Showing it…I’m not good at that.”
“Wait a minute.” She juts her chin forward, like I just confessed to being an alien. “Are you trying to tell me that you, Vampire—the de facto leader of Vengeance. Mr. Cold and Mighty himself is deep down inside an awkward nerd?”
I clench my jaw, and a heat I haven’t felt since I gained twenty pounds of muscle during my first year of service creeps up my neck. That was over a decade and a half ago, but I still recognize it for what it is. Embarrassment. Abject and acute.
I’m a vet—a goddamn Reaper on top of that—and she’s somehow managed to transport me back to when I was a skinny foster kid in high school.
But then she says, “Aw, man, me too! It’s so dang nice to know I’m not the only one. I mean, I was a total virgin a few days ago, and now this. How are you holding up? Because let me tell you, I am freaking out.”
I stare at her. Then stare at her some more. Then I admit, “Me too. The freaking out part. Not the virgin thing.”
I duck my head but somehow manage not to chicken out before adding, “This. You. We’ve wanted this for a long time. And it’s hard to believe it’s really happening now. That you’re okay with staying here with us. Like this.”
“What’s the alternative?” she asks.
Her face is open and pleasant, as if she’s merely curious and my answer carries no weight at all. But I recognize her question for what it really is. A carefully lobbed grenade.
So, I assess her the same as I would a bomb threat and pick a wire to cut. “You could break the rules. You could run.”
“Could I?” She gives me a questioning wince as if I’m a patient she suspects might be lying. “I mean, I don’t have access to a map or anything, and I’m pretty sure we’re in the middle of nowhere. Plus, I don’t have any clothes.”
