Page 72 of Dangerous Mission
“What’s going on fellas?”
It’s not the first time I’ve wondered how Rory learned to speak such perfect English if he’s a Russian mercenary. Or why he’s got a name like Rory, but I go by a nickname, so there’s that.
I don’t bother with a reply to his question.
I may or may not be fantasizing about torture.
Aria takes off, muttering something unhappily as she goes, carrying her boots in her hand as she starts traversing the muddy terrain.
It galls me that she’s going to be wandering around with a man that clearly scared her somewhere nearby, but I’m not going to be far behind her as soon as I deal with this ugly-faced fucker.
Another large form appears on my left shoulder. This time it’s Justice. And next to him appears Marshall.
Agile’s running deep.
Brundage glances across the grim faces—the same men that saved him from me earlier—and mutters, “Bunch of jarhead assholes.”
“SEALs,” Marshall corrects. “You were leaving town. Didn’t know this was on the way out.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I speak to Griffon Kane. I work for him. Not you.”
Agent Torres joins the party, killing my brief comfort that he was watching Aria as she left. He hooks his thumb behind him. “Mr. Brundage, a word with you.”
Seeing as the team has things under control, I don’t bother waiting around. With my muscles vibrating, I grab the gear—tanks and bags—and take off up the hill.
Aria’s just scrambled up the steep incline, but I have her in sight which eases some of the constriction in my chest. But the reprieve only makes room to let other confusing thoughts bubble to the surface.
Boyfriend.
Why would she call me her boyfriend?
And what the fuck are up with the scars on her wrists?
When you’ve done the work I’ve done, you’ve seen scars like that before. And nothing good makes that kind of mark all the way around someone’s wrists. They come from being bound by something sharp-edged.
Maybe she had some kind of accident. But deep down, Iknow that’s not the answer. Every step I take up the goddamned slick ass slope, I get angrier and angrier.
Who would hurt someone like Aria?
The need to get to the bottom of her mystery grows until it’s a pounding drumbeat inside my head.
She startles when I emerge from the trees.
“Just me.”
Nodding nervously, she glances around the trucks as if looking for the next assault. She reaches for one of the bags. “Sorry I left you with all the gear.”
I set her bags on the ground and set the tanks down. “No problem. I can manage it.”
Biting my tongue, holding my questions is harder than I thought.
“What now?” She glances at my bare chest, then quickly away as something repulses her.
It shouldn’t hit me hard, but it does. I tug my shirt over my head, regretting not doing it sooner.
“Now we leave.”
“But—”