Page 117 of Wrecked
“I’ve got camouflage face paint if anyone wants it,” Hawk said. “Tommy, where’s your go-bag?”
“At my desk,” Tommy replied.
“No wallets, no phones, no jewelry,” Hawk explained to his cousin. “Stryker and I will have burners.” He regarded each of them. “If you aren’t up for this, stay behind and talk to me.” On a nod, he said, “let’s get this done.”
He passed out the comms. After they did a sound check, everyone filed out, except Addison.
He didnotwant her backing out, but he didn’t want their personal relationship to get in her head space and take her off her game.
“You sure you’re okay working with me?” she asked.
He shut the door, but he didn’t touch her, didn’t step into her personal space either. “We’ve had each other’s backs for years. That hasn’t changed for me, especially not in the last twenty-four hours.” He studied her face. “You good with me—I mean, working with me?”
“We make a great team.”
The tension that had been gripping his shoulders released a little. “You need my face paint?”
She nodded. “Of course, I do.”
He pulled the face paint stick from his duffle and handed it to her. When she took it, her fingers brushed against his, and that familiar zing of energy traveled through him.
She held his gaze for a beat.
“Thanks,” she said before leaving him alone in the conference room.
This cannot be happening with her.
Rather than get mired in his feelings, he stashed his laptop, shouldered his bags, and made his way through ALPHA to the men’s locker room. There, he left his phone and watch, pulled a burner. He turned it on, but it was dead.
“Fuck.”
He grabbed another. It had more charge, but not enough, so he plugged it in.
Stryker, who was pulling his hair into a man-bun, glanced over. “You okay?”
“I’m low on juice,” Hawk replied.
“I got you,” Stryker said before tossing him a burner.
“Thanks, bro.”
Stryker walked over. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
Stryker furrowed his brow. “You seem a little off.”
“All good,” Hawk replied, but Stryker had to know he was full of shit.
That man didn’t miss a damn thing.
“I’m here if you wanna talk before we head out,” Stryker said.
Hawk had come dressed in black. He pulled on his black knit cap, sat on the bench, and swapped his running shoes for black combat boots. On went his Kevlar vest, his shoulder harness. He tucked one Glock into that, slid the second behind his back.
Snatching his helmet, he went to check on Tommy and Barry. Barry was ready to go. Tommy was sitting on the bench, phone in hand, texting.
“Everyone good?” Hawk asked.
