Page 28

T he end of April rolled in, bringing with it an early spring.

Azrael spent almost every waking moment training, organizing YA ops, and spending time with Real.

They had their separate agendas, but they made it work.

He learned that he was messy compared to Real, but chalked that up to his warrior’s military background, and he put in extra effort to pick up after himself.

Real didn’t watch much TV, but gave in when Azrael suggested it. Although the man spent most of their movie time nuzzling into or playing with the strands of his hair.

Real told him that having his hair draped over them like a silky cloud during sex was one of his favorite things. Azrael had silently vowed never to cut it.

“Azrael?” Dave asked.

Guiltily, Azrael snapped his eyes to Dave, where he stood just on the outside of the training building.

The former Secretary of Defense had arrived yesterday to assess YA and the possibilities of expanding on the ranch property. Dave had also apologized for keeping his financial support a secret.

“It’s not your fault,” Azrael had assured the man. “I told you I wanted to do it by myself. I guess I took on too much, didn’t I?”

Dave shook his head. “No, you have ambitions and that’s admirable.”

Azrael had flushed beneath the praise.

“You seem distracted,” Dave murmured, opening the training facility door.

“Sorry,” Azrael sighed and caught his long hair to tie it at his nape as he stepped inside.

“What’s got you so lost in thought?”

“This isn’t my normal?” Azrael joked.

Dave grunted, but Azrael saw the smile on the man’s mouth.

The hum of the air conditioners filled the structure, but the cold blast felt good on his face when he stepped inside. Dave followed, and the heavy door swung shut.

The room was filled with men. One side held weapons training within a soundproof room. Targets lined the far wall and several operatives were in stalls, firing guns at those targets.

One section was cordoned off as a sparring ring, center mass, and from there several other areas branched out. All with mats, weights, and other gear needed for training.

Rock music thumped in the background with a song Azrael had heard Stone playing once.

Carry on My Wayward Son, written by Kansas, filled the air. The song had been written back before Azrael was even a blip. The classic rock music seemed to catapult the men as if subconsciously, and they picked up the pace.

“How is this space working out for you?” Dave asked as they reached the far wall where a section was cordoned off. Hand-held weights and resistance training equipment sat against the side, with a training mat used for sparring in the middle.

“It’s perfect. We don’t need bigger than this, yet,” Azrael said, running his eyes over the area Dave and Will had given them for YA.

On the mat were Boston and Freedom helping each other with stretches. Beck and Rebel were bouncing around with Beck holding strike pads and Rebel with dark red boxing gloves.

“Hey, guys,” Azrael lifted his voice. “Dinner is ready.”

“Hell yeah!” Rebel held out his hands to Beck, who unstrapped the gloves from Rebel’s hands.

Freedom and Boston jumped up. Both boys wore black workout clothes that doubled for working clothes. A few days ago, Freedom had said he wanted to get a feel for the clothes YA wore.

Will had spared no expense to get YA geared. Genesis had invested in several of the thinnest bulletproof vests ever made that resembled a black long-sleeved t-shirt. All members of YA were ordered to wear them, and in the face of Will’s directive, nobody argued.

Besides, there was a cool blood red emblem with the letters YA on the front. The red was really dark, so it was easily missed, but they couldn’t have something flashy in their line of business.

The young men of YA walked with him, and Azrael noticed Freedom checking his phone.

“Have you heard anything?” Azrael asked, dropping into step beside Freedom.

“No…Fierce is probably sulking,” Freedom scowled.

Azrael didn’t think that was possible, but he didn’t know Fierce. The assassin had left the very next day after the ass chewing from the SecDef. Plus, the altercation between Boston and Freedom hadn’t helped.

Not that the fight between Boston and Freedom had been anything major. Freedom wanted the bunk Boston had already snagged. Both boys were hot-headed, and it had been Boston pushing Freedom first.

After the air cleared and the argument settled, the pair had become fast friends, finding they had a lot in common besides age.

The mess hall noise bombarded his ears when he walked through the door.

Meal times took some getting used to around there. Music blared inside; the same type that had been piped into the training facility now thumped overhead. Men were gathered on long picnic-style tables and benches with trays stacked high with the meal of the day.

It was ground beef and gravy over mashed potatoes without mushrooms after that first day, thanks to Real. Azrael had heard some call it shit on a shingle, but that didn’t seem right to him. It looked more like shit on a mountain of goop.

Grabbing a tray, he served up a large cheeseburger patty and some deviled eggs that looked awesome. Of course, he took some of the beef gravy and potatoes too.

“Az!”

Real’s deep voice boomed over the room, yet was muffled beneath the noise and music, but Azrael heard him.

He located Real at one of the tables near the wall, sitting along with Rip, Crow, and Winter, as well as several men he couldn’t remember the names of. There were too many of them to recall.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight of Real. They were getting to know each other, and it was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

Real had saved the whole bench across the table from them. When the warrior waved a hand for them to sit, Azrael plunked his tray across from Real and slid onto the bench.

“You guys done for the day?” Real asked.

The way Real’s gray-blue eyes ran over him tightened Azrael’s gut and sent warm butterflies through his stomach.

“Um, yeah,” Rebel said, elbowing Azrael. “We’re going to go swimming after dinner.”

The elbow knocked him out of his daze, and Azrael flushed before stuffing his mouth with food. A small smile worked at the corner of Real’s mouth. Fuck, the man was hands down the sexiest man alive.

“Are you going swimming with them?” Real asked, his voice low and husky sounding.

Azrael thought about it. It was either swimming or take Real back to the cabin they shared and have sex on the wide bed. He did want both. The thought of the water sounded awesome, but then so did the thought of sex with Real.

He wondered when Real would stop long enough to make a firm commitment between them. So far, every time he brought it up, Real evaded him.

Their last conversation had been last night when Azrael had found the courage to ask Real.

“So, are we dating now?” Azrael had asked.

“Let’s see how things go, there’s no rush. You don’t have to commit to anyone.”

Or…you don’t want to commit to me, Azrael thought silently, but he let it go. And the only reason he had let the words slide was because he knew Real was trying and that it was all very new to them.

“Yes, I am going swimming,” he said with a wide smile at Real.

Even though it was late April, the lake water was still hella cold, but Azrael would brave it and go. He tipped his chin up, smirking at Real.

His warrior pouted at him. Oh, it wasn’t a big pout, but Azrael knew the signs. The heavy sigh, the drop of shoulders, and the small downward curve of Real’s lips.

Azrael lifted his spoon with potatoes and gravy and flipped it at Real.

The goopy mess smacked Real in the nose and splattered his cheek. The potatoes, beef, and gravy did a slow slide down one cheek.

Real’s eyes widened with disbelief, and Azrael grinned. He was damned pleased with himself.

“You’re going to pay for that.” Real’s sexy growl sent goosebumps over his skin.

“Oh yeah? Bring it, big guy.” Azrael tipped his chin.

“Food fight!” Beck shouted and flung his own spoon of food at another guy sitting across from them.

The Genesis soldier didn’t take that lying down like Real had, and food was flung back and forth with gusto.

Azrael ducked for cover.