“We have it under control. You panicking was the reason we decided not to overshare. Besides, there’s a good chance this has nothing to do with you. You might have just been unlucky enough to be in their path to Bristlebrook.” He stares down at me from under his brows. “This’ll go a lot easier if we don’t have to carry you with us. You calm?”
Lightheaded, I nod. What does he mean, they’re not after me? But . . . if they’re heading toward Bristlebrook . . . if that’s their goal . . . then he’s right. They probably weren’t targeting me specifically. I was just the side quest.
Am I really that unlucky?
“Are you calm?” he repeats.
“Yes, sir.”
I nod again, more sure this time. Beau tucks his pistol away, and I swear his fingers still tremble. He doesn’t look at me.
“Good. I don’t suppose you told anyone back home where you were going?”
I duck his eyes. “I left a note.”
And lied through my teeth to all three of them, but I’m not mentioning that.
“Great. Fantastic.” Dom’s eyes roll to the sky for a moment, then he shakes his head once. “They better have enough good sense to stay put. We should duck in front of C17 so Jasper can get a visual.”
After addressing the last to Beau, he points at me.
“You. You want to prove you can keep up? Then do it. We’re not stopping till we find a sign of them or it gets too late.
When we do, you will stay put, out of the way, and not make a sound. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dom surveys me then, cataloging every inch of my expression. He grunts, then stalks through the brush, somehow managing to make very little sound.
I give Beau a questioning look, and he points his chin after Dom, indicating for me to follow. He still doesn’t meet my eyes.
Can he really not understand why I had to come out here? He could have told me the truth too.
Trying to ignore the stinging hurt in my chest, I follow after Dom.
Chapter 26
Jaykob
SURVIVAL TIP #138
If they think the worst of you,
be worse than that.
I swing the door shut on the washing machine and place my tools back in their holsters. It takes longer than I’d like—all I want to do is turn it on and see if it works—but discarding tools just anywhere is how you lose them.
Working at my uncle’s car yard growing up, I saw plenty of sloppy mechanics losing their tools, or treating them so rough they were no good to anyone, and it ain’t like any of us had the cash to just go buy replacements. You take care of your tools, and they’ll take care of you. It applies for a wrench or blowtorch as much as it did for my weapons after I enlisted with my brother.
I scowl against the ache in my chest—the one that sucker punches me every time I think about Ryan—and glare at the tumble washer. I’ve been working on it for two damn weeks and haven’t been able to fix it. I’m actually regretting the whole month I was “too busy” to look at it. It was funny when his royal highness was the one spending hours cleaning my socks, but now that it’s Eden . . .
Whatever, it doesn’t matter to me if she scrubs her fingers raw. I’m just usually quicker at fixing this shit, and it’s starting to piss me off.
The guys are on my ass about it too—every one of them grilled me about it this week. Funny how they all managed to ask about the washing machine and didn’t give me one single word of apology. Except for Jasper, but since he spent the whole time lecturing me about “not retaliating” and finding “appropriate ways to manage my anger,” I’m not counting it.
I dumped a bucket of engine grease down the back of his fancy shirt.
That seemed to manage my anger pretty good.
Screw them all, anyway. One day I’m beating up on big-eyed librarians, and the next I’m their fix-it guy again? They’re lucky I didn’t torch the stupid Playboy mansion from under them.
It’s not like any of them offered to help, either.
She did, though.
Tools secured, I turn back and hold my breath, hovering over the switch. If this doesn’t do it . . . I flick the switch to “ON”
and wait for the telltale lighting up of the small screen.
Nothing.
“Useless goddamned junk!” Frustration spills over, and I kick the broken thing hard, denting the metal door. A dent that I’m also going to have to fix. “No good to anyone.”
I yank my wrench out of my side pocket, not sure if I want to go back in or just start beating on it. “Stupid son of a—”
“Hey, I’m sure the machine’s mama was a nice lady.”
My head drops back. I clench my teeth together and count to ten in my head. Don’t bash his head in. It ain’t worth the wrench.
“You know, likes a tumble, always wet.”
I up my counting to twenty. Shouldn’t have left my pistol in my room.
“Plus, she could probably take a real big lo—”
“Get out.” I yank the dented door open and get back down.
Lucky laughs, ignoring me as per fucking usual.
He crouches down beside me, blocking my light. “Is it working yet?”
I shove him back so he overbalances. The light clears up, and I grunt in satisfaction. I put away the wrench and reach for the screwdrivers; I need to take the panel back out.
“Guess that’s a no, huh?”
The panel’s sticking and it takes a yank to pull it out.
“Not in a talking mood? That’s cool. We don’t need to talk. People talk too much, is what I always say. Talk about nothing really, just on and on and on . . . ”
My grip on the screwdriver tightens, and I imagine it plunging into his neck. It’s long enough—could probably get him right through the voice box.
“And on and on . . .”
“Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”
“Not really. Drying shed’s stocked. Eden’s hanging out with Jasper today.” He grimaces and looks at the ground. “She wanted to smooth things over with him, I guess.”
Of course she’s with Jasper.
What would those two have to argue about? Whether caviar tastes better with crackers, or just on the tiny little silver spoons they were born with?
My mood sours further as I stare at the coils of wires I’ve been looking at for weeks. His highness is exactly who a princess like her would get all wet over, with his fancy books and fancy hair and degrees. The kind of guy who said things like “existential” and “grandiloquent.”
I catch sight of my greasy fingers and scowl. Pulling out of the machine, I slam the door shut again, not bothering to re-secure the panel. What’s the point? The damn thing’s broken beyond fixing. Better to just get it out of here.
Lucky stares at me from where he’s still sprawled where I shoved him.
“Why don’t you go run off and play with them?”
They’d probably love that. Most annoying shit on the planet but everyone just loves Lucky. Ryan was like that. Probably the only reason I haven’t actually beaten his head in yet.
Lucky’s mouth twists in a way I’m used to seeing in the mirror. “Nah, I’m good.”
My scowl deepens as I stare at him. I don’t do the touchy-feely shit.