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“What are you laughing about?” Lunchbox asked as I climbed into the backseat with Goblin.
“Just—you guys change vehicles more often than some people do their underwear.”
“This is why I skip underwear,” Alphabet said over his shoulder. “Everyone’s a critic.”
Giggling, I shook my head and then twisted to look back at the other vehicle. We were in a pair of SUVs now. Both muscular, heavy duty cars. Plenty of room for our supplies, including a whole new damn wardrobe for me apparently, body armor, weapons, and computer equipment.
At least from what I’d seen while they packed. I knew they had to have more in those cases and boxes or arranged for moreto be waiting for us somewhere. Their minds were playgrounds of possibility; clever, unpredictable, and always two moves ahead.
It took a few hours to get to Lyon, but the drive was far more relaxed than our in the dark of the night rush to Paris or our escape from the raid. The guys played music, laughed, teased, and it was—fun. We stopped once for bathroom breaks, to stretch legs and let Goblin out.
Maybe it was the calm before the storm or all the emotion swirling around me. Maybe it was because I’d staked my claim in all of this. I wasn’t just along for the ride. Or maybe it was because I was no longer the damsel in distress. I was a key player and they acknowledged it.
I was part of the team. It gave me purpose and a place. What we were doing mattered. Stopping these sick bastardsmattered.Buttheymattered too. These men—brilliant, unpredictable, and gloriously outside the lines—had let me in. And that meant something. It wasn’t just their brains or their bravado—it was their belief in me. In this fight. And suddenly, I wasn't just surviving. I wasbelonging.
The new safe house, as it were, was… a house. They definitely had a way of getting what we needed. I wasn’t even going to ask this time.
It was late afternoon when we got in.
“Eat. Shower. Sleep.” Bones ticked those items off. “Or sleep then shower. Everyone up and ready by four hundred. Grace, you’re with me.”
“I already called dibs for tonight,” Lunchbox argued even as Alphabet snorted.
“Grace?” Bones held out his hand and I shouldered the one bag I’d been allowed to carry before sliding my hand into his. “She’s with me because she needs sleep and so do you. Let’s go.”
The muttering behind me almost made me laugh. As it was, I was biting the inside of my lip as he guided me down the hall, up the stairs and to a bedroom. It was a little frilly for my tastes, but it looked comfortable.
Once in the room, he set his bag down and lifted mine from my shoulder. “Bathroom is yours first.”
“Don’t we need to eat?” I was pretty sure that was the first order of business.
“Yes, I’m going to get our food then come back. You stay in here.”
Hands on my hips, I raised my eyebrows. “Bones.”
Teeth gritted, he gave me a long look. “Please stay up here. I meant what I said downstairs, you will all distract each other and play. That will likely lead to some very noisy, if athletic sex that will cost you in sleep and flexibility tomorrow. I need you sharp, I need them focused. If we—you and I—eat up here, then fewer distractions and you get the rest you need.”
“So, no orgasms for me tonight?” Was I baiting the bear?
Absolutely.
“I didn’t say that.”
Heat swept through at a fiery rate and I swore steam had to be rising from my head. I couldfeelthe roots of my hair as he held my gaze for an endless moment, then nodded once before slipping out of the room.
Wow.
I had no idea who was winning in this tug of war between us, but I couldn’t say I was unhappy with the current results. Putting a hand to my stomach, I took a deeper, steadying breath. Then I headed for the shower.
While I didn’t waste time, I did linger under the pulsating heat of the hot water long enough to relax the tension in my back. I also took the time to put on lotion and slip into a clean pair of panties and a sleep shirt.
The scent of food hit me as soon as I opened the door. Bones stood with his back to the room, the soft cotton of his boxers clinging low on his hips, revealing the carved architecture of his body, a frame forged through years of brutal discipline.
The warm pools of yellow light from the twin lamps spilled across the floor and over him in fractured streaks, casting shadows that rippled across the dense muscle of his shoulders and spine. Each contour, from the hard angles of his trapezius down to the taut lines of his lower back, was defined in stark contrast, like a sculpture half-snatched from darkness.
His legs, powerful and lean, were braced apart with a casual menace, the cords of muscle tight under skin bronzed and dusted with faint scars, more reminders of the violence he’d lived through, and carried with him. There was no softness to him, no spare weight, just efficient strength, honed and ready. Even in stillness, he radiated that quiet, dangerous energy, the kind that turned a room electric without a word.
Behind him, the room breathed with shadow and heat, the lamps casting golden halos on the walls. It seemed the space itself, like me, was holding its breath.