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“You need food, and we need to get our shit together,” I try to keep things vague so that I can bounce someideas off of Ben and get a little more education on what I’ll be facing.

“Does this mean you’ll help with King?” Mal demands and grabs onto the door before I can get in. Ben is returning to the driver’s side but is watching closely.

“Yes, I’ll help,” I shake my head at my stupidity.

Why can’t I just let these jerks suffer? It’s what a badass would do. I also find it interesting that he asked about King and not GV. There’s not a line that leads to her and I’m wondering about it.

“Let’s not be dumb about it. Who knows what’s in that house?”

Mal’s level one scowl lightens before he says, “You’ve spent too much time with Mitri. It’s always, prepare this, prepare that.”

“That’s because he’s a tactical genius, not an emotional beast, Mal. Suck it up,” I slide into the seat with a sweet smile of innocence.

Who doesn’t do prep work before an assault? The Old Man would have cut Mal from a team just for saying that.

Mitri passes by him with a clap to Mal’s shoulder and forces me back into the middle of the bench seat. I glance at Ben with a grimace.

He pats my thigh comfortingly and says, “It’s not the cat, so I’m happy.”

The cat? Oh crap, does he mean Kimi? I guess what I’ve seen through my nightmares could be considered cat-like. Kind of? Maybe he just smells like a cat? I don’t know. If Ben’s standard form is viewed as a dog, I suppose Kimi could be a cat.

Ben and Mitri close the doors, and I try not to get claustrophobic at the proximity.

Peacemaker:“Hello again!”

“Hey,” I answer automatically, and both males turn to me.

“Uh, where would you like to eat?” I practically shout in panic.

No one is supposed to know he’s talking to me. Too bad I can’t get the hang ofmentallytalking to someone either.

I distract myself by reaching over Mitri to the glove box. I know I hid other snacks in the car. There should have been two bags of jerky, but both are gone.

“Did you eat both bags?” I ask Ben in concern. He needs to eat more. I’m surprised he’s not a grumbling mess at this point.

I lean over Mitri’s lap to reach between his feet for the bag of bones I hid under the seat.

“I did,” Ben chokes out and coughs a little. “I think you’re making the immortal uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be a baby, Mitri, I think I’ve got it,” I grumble and strain a little further down. The gun is digging into my stomach as I stretch and look at Mitri’s face so I’m not staring at his crotch. It’s completely blank as he watches me.

“Oh, I got it!” I grin at him and brace my hand on his stomach to push myself upright.

“Tada!” I show Ben the plastic bag, and his laughter sputters out as he snatches it from my hand and digs one out.

“We’re getting burritos,” Ben mutters, a bone hanging from the corner of his lips like a cigar. He crunches through it with a snap and swallows it whole. The bag isn’t going to make it to his favorite Mexican food place.

“Sounds good,” I agree and turn to Mitri. “You like burritos?”

“Mne vse ravno, dorogoya serdtse,” he replies flatly.

Ben laughs as I say, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Ty sobirayesh'sya priznat'sya?” Ben asks with a grin, and I get confused.

I should have known that Ben would be multilingual. A Big Bad Evil raised him, so it tracks. Soon he’ll be chanting in Latin, covered in a black bathrobe, and holding a lantern or some shit.

I tune them both out and focus on what I might need to be prepared for the upcoming shitshow.