“I dunno! I just got lumped in. Which, hello, I’m human, and not a Karate Kid robot, so your guess is good as mine.”
“It’s ‘cause you said you’re a ‘sniper.’” Deacon lifted both hands, cards held haphazardly in one, to make air quotes. “Fox musta thought you had those sweet, sweet special agent skills.”
Boomer laughed.
“Okay, first off,” Evan huffed. “I am a sniper.”
Boomer and Deacon both laughed this time; Carter felt a chuckle building in his throat.
“I am!” Evam insisted. “You’ve never seen me shoot. You wouldn’t be laughing if you’d seen me shoot.” It was hard to imagine the lanky, floppy-haired kid laid out elegantly on a rooftop, cool and deadly behind the scope of a rifle. “But I’m just a sniper. I get working on hand-to-hand and stuff, but making anyone spar with those two is cruel and unusual punishment, dude.”
Boomer’s laughter died away, and he nodded. “I hear you. I’ve got at least fifty pounds on Reese, and I know he could wipe the floor with me.”
“Do they even have to do chores and stuff?” Deacon asked. “I ain’t ever seen one of those bastards holding a broom or pouring a beer.”
Evan made a face around his next drag. “No. They’re special.”
It was easy to see why prospects would be angry and jealous about two of their own kind slacking off on the grunt work. But. “I honestly can’t imagine either of them mopping the floor, can you?”
He got three glum head-shakes. Deacon’s was grim. “They’re hogging all the girls, too.”
“I didn’t even know Reese knew what girls were,” Boomer said, frowning.
A flicker of motion at the mouth of the hallway drew Carter’s attention, and a darted glance proved it was Tenny lingering in the well of shadow there, high cheekbones and blue eyes visible above a fitted white t-shirt. His gaze, as glittering and indecipherable as ever, was fixed on Boomer – who hadn’t noticed him yet, silent as he moved.
Carter nudged Boomer’s boot under the table with his own.
Boomer pressed on, oblivious. “And, like, not to be that guy, but who would wanna hook up with Reese? He barely even talks. He’s like a fucking statue.”
“Maybe he’s like a statue where it counts most,” Evan suggested, to Deacon’s sniggering.
But Boomer was speaking in earnest, warming to the topic. “No, really. He’s a freak – and I don’t mean the good kinda freak, shut up, Deacon. Like, are you honestly gonna tell me he’s a good lay? That he knows how to make a girl feel good? He probably doesn’t even know where to put it in.”
Tenny’s crisp voice rang out from the shadows. “Perhaps someone was so helpful as to show him where to put it in.”
All the blood drained from Boomer’s face. His eyes popped comically wide, and he sucked in an audible breath.
Carter sighed – and braced himself. He’d only ever had a handful of interactions with Tenny, and while he knew Reese was dangerous, and well-trained, and expert, it was Tenny who was most likely to knife one of his club brothers over some small slight.
Carter remembered, vividly, the conversation they’d had a few weeks before. If anyone ever touches my property, I’ll rip him apart piece by piece, and stop his heart last of all. Tenny and Reese might be on the outs at the moment, for whatever reason, their personal drama awkward and obvious in the way they were never in the same room at the same time anymore, but hearing someone else insult Reese was going to be a triggering offense, Carter knew.
He whispered, “Don’t make it worse,” as Tenny pushed off the wall and strolled languidly into the room.
Boomer trembled, faintly.
Watching Tenny close the distance, unhurried, but alive with elegant tension, was like watching a leopard pad through the tall grass toward an antelope too scared, or too stubborn to run.
In Boomer’s case, a little bit of both, with a pinch of stupid thrown in.
Tenny reached their table, and even Carter knew an urge to tighten his hands on his cards. He became hyper aware that he was still in his workout clothes, and that his gun was all the way down the hall in his dorm. A stupid thought – he wasn’t going to have to defend himself.
Right?
Tenny laid one hand on the back of Deacon’s chair, and the other on Boomer’s shoulder, deceptively casual. Cocked his hips and surveyed their table; his mouth was soft, his gaze was