Page 71

Grace

The elevator descended to their floor. When it opened, Ex and Meridian stood there in their black-on-black everything.

They looked lethally sexy.

Mirage walked in first and pressed his back to one side of the elevator. Grace followed and leaned against Mirage’s chest, feeling the thumping of his heart against his spine.

“Is that a fuckin’ armored trench?” Ex asked, staring Grace up and down.

He chose not to answer and allowed them both to keep gawking.

The elevator was almost to the ninth floor—the Browns’ wing—a floor the Blacks had never and should never be on.

Their presence would be a jaw-dropping shock all in itself.

“Okay, let’s do this shit. Everyone ready?” Ex double-checked.

“I’m always ready,” Meridian said.

Grace looked down at Mirage a moment before he answered for them both. “Yeah, we’re ready.”

“Does your team think you’re mute, Grace? I’m just wondering?”

Grace scowled, wanting Mirage to tell Ex to fuck all the way off and stop questioning him because it was pissing him off.

Mirage leaned in until Grace could feel his warm breath. One touch on his waist was all it took to calm him.

“You two are interesting as fuck,” Ex muttered as the elevator dinged for their floor.

He and Mirage stepped out first. The meeting room was a few yards away, and their admin team was waiting outside the door, like always, to greet them and ask if they needed anything during the course of the debriefing.

“I’ll have a water, no ice, Tiffany, and a Maker’s Mark, neat, for Grace.”

Tiffany turned to tell one of her assistants the order, but he’d dropped his tablet and taken off in the other direction, not stopping until he was around the corner.

Jo’s team was the next to haul ass, but she remained, always appearing so composed.

Tiffany called out to her assistants before turning around, confused.

It was then she noticed the Blacks walking toward the meeting room in damn near slow motion.

“Add two Jose Cuervo on the rocks to that list,” Ex said from beside his partner.

Did he just lower his voice like ten fuckin’ octaves? Is this his Sam Elliot impression?

“I um, y-yes, I’ll do that.” Tiffany gave a slight bow to the legendary Blacks as she hurried down the hall.

“Gentlemen, after you.” Jo extended her arm for them to go inside. “Everyone is here.”

The eight members of their debriefing team were already standing when Grace walked in with Mirage concealed two inches behind him—nothing new there—and waited to be acknowledged.

However, the director came to an abrupt halt when Ex and Meridian joined him and Mirage.

The team looked as though they wanted to run as well. Some appeared to be searching for an emergency exit.

Spectre cleared his throat, his eyes on his charges.

“Care to explain this?”

“No,” Ex answered first, then ordered, “Everyone, take your seats. We don’t intend to be here long.”

As emotionally devoid killers, Ravens never followed a command with please or replied with a thank-you once it was completed.

Their team glanced back and forth between one another as if asking the same question: What do we do?

Ex pointed to the red phone. “Call our team down and allow them access to this floor.”

The director shook his head. “That’s, um, not permitted or how we do—”

“Now,” Mirage growled.

Grace stood, fists clenched as he glared at each person around the table.

Their operations manager, Paul, leapt up and grabbed the receiver. “Jo, send for the Blacks’ handler, management operator, and debriefing team.”

Paul put the receiver back in the cradle, ignoring the director’s scowl, and opened his thick mission binder.

Spectre fumbled with getting his documents out of his messenger bag with one hand since his other arm was immobilized in a sling.

“Let’s go ahead and start with you, Mirage.” Spectre glanced their way. “What was the exact time you were first accosted by the intruders, and did you recognize them?”