Chapter 10
SILAS
Oakley and Amelia were definitely, definitely talking about me.
Also, he just asked me a question.
“Huh?”
Oakley smiles and repeats himself. “Wanna join me for a beer?”
“Oh. Uh. Yeah, a beer would be great.” He goes to get up, but I stop him with a gesture. “I’ll grab them. You want another Modelo?” I ask, taking the empty bottle from his hand, careful not to touch him.
He nods, and Cupcake leans against my leg. She does that when my anxiety spikes.
“Cupcake, free,” I say, indicating that she’s not on duty anymore.
She looks up at me and lets out a soft woof of disagreement.
“Free,” I repeat.
Oakley scoots over and pats the couch right under one of the misters. He started doing that when he discovered Corsos are prone to heat stress. Cupcake nudges my thigh, then lopes off to sit next to her second-favorite human.
At least I think I’m still her favorite human. I’m not a good judge of that kind of thing though.
Speaking of things I’m not a good judge of, I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that he and Amelia were talking about me.
Oakley said I could trust him. He wouldn’t tell her anything private.
He also wouldn’t make fun of me.
I don’t think.
So…probably not a bad thing.
All I know is that I waited to join the Friday pool party until I thought I’d be the last one up. I hate it when I end up in the situation I was desperately trying to avoid.
And now I’m standing here like a weirdo.
Because I definitely heard Amelia say something about me being Oakley’s type.
Which is totally a lie.
One hundred percent false.
Nowhere near the realm of true.
Breathe, Sy.
I mean…if I had been his type, that was definitely before he saw the real me.
Cupcake whines, and I shake my head, then spin on my heel and head for the outdoor kitchen.
Sometimes it strikes me as deeply weird—unsettling?—how easy it is to simply go to the refrigerator and find something to eat. To know that if I finish off the beer or the snacks or whatever, the food will be replenished by the next day by people hired to do that.
I don’t remember anything about the days I was left alone. Just that I was so fucking hungry. And furious at being left behind.
I blink back to the present.
Why does my brain do this?
I’m standing here in front of the refrigerator, reliving my entire life, while Oakley’s dehydrating on the couch. I grab the Modelos and turn to find Cupcake in Oakley’s lap. He’s baby-talking her and stroking her back, and it’s so precious that it makes me want to kill something.
Not Cupcake. Never Cupcake.
Or Oakley.
Or the Wildlings.
I shake the murder cobwebs from my mind and open the beers, handing one to Oakley.
“Thanks,” he says, clinking his bottle against mine.
He’s got an expression on his face that I can’t figure out. He’s smiling at me, but his eyes don’t agree with his mouth. Honestly, he looks a little constipated.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, hoping the answer isn’t me.
Oakley’s eyes widen, but he shakes his head. Another mismatch. He goes to take a sip of beer, then thinks better of it, nailing me with a searching look.
I stiffen and wait for the worst.
“Why didn’t you say hi to me on Wednesday?”
I twist the bottle in my hands, trying to remember Wednesday. “Is this about our conversation in your office? Did I just start talking? Sometimes I do that. I’m sorry,” I say all in a rush.
He thins his lips. “No. After. In front of the building.”
“This building?”
“Yeah. I called out your name, and you ran into the alley. Like you were hiding from me.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“I would never hide from you. I…”
I really can’t remember enough about Wednesday to say definitively…
“…I wouldn’t ignore you. Though if I had on my noise-canceling earbuds, I might not have heard you.”
“Oh.”
“I promise, Oak,” I say, kinda desperate for him to believe me. “I would never ignore you.”
He taps his lips. “Then what about the cafeteria? I noticed that we tend to keep the same lunch hours, but you never join us. You always sit by yourself.”
I stare at the bottle in my hands. “I don’t like the lunchroom. It’s overwhelming. I prefer to eat outside or in the cave. But Hedy wants me to get used to being around people and noise.”
“Then why not sit with us? Maverick and I are pretty friendly,” he says with a smile.
I don’t want to explain it to him, but something tells me he’s not going to stop until I do.
“I can’t try to hold a conversation when I’m already overwhelmed. I just want to get in, eat my lunch, and get out. I’m trying to make everybody happy, but I guess I can’t.”
“Hey.”
He waits, like maybe he wants me to look up, but I can’t.
“I’m sorry, Sy,” he says, thankfully not insisting on eye contact. “I didn’t realize how difficult it is for you. I didn’t mean to take it personally. And if you want to sit next to us, you don’t have to talk. You can just eat in the quiet and be next to people who love you.”
He doesn’t mean it like that.
“Okay. I’ll see,” I say, then take a sip of beer so I don’t say anything else.
He leans forward and grabs my knee. “It’s always okay to choose the option that regulates your nervous system.”
Yeah, but then I’d never get to see you.
“Thank you.”
Oakley, thankfully, seems like he’s willing to let the subject drop. “I wonder where the others are?” he asks just as both our phones go off.
The buzzing pattern is earmarked for calls from Wimberley.
We share a look. Oakley’s new to the operational side of things, but multiple phones going off is usually an emergency of some kind.
The last time it happened, we saved Mav and Boone, then killed everyone in Whitaker’s fucked-up little neighborhood.
Good times.
I pull up my phone.
Jake: WhiteHat operation incoming.
Oakley holds up his phone, which shows the same message. “What does this mean?”
“We operate a group that monitors the Hell_AI app in our region, and whenever something goes down, we intercept it. You might remember that’s how we found out there was a hit placed on Maverick and Boone.”
“Oh. Interesting.”
Despite his words, Oakley looks as though he doesn’t quite get it.
“We’re trying to stop a bad thing before it happens,” I explain.
“I get that,” he says, randomly rubbing Cupcake’s ear. “I just… If you intercept everything on the app, why are people still using it? How can you tell they aren’t lying to draw out the WhiteHats?”
I should’ve realized he’d ask the smart questions.
God, that is so fucking hot.
“Oh, uh…we prioritize what is harmful over what is illegal, and, uh…Jake does a thing where he makes it look like the plan, or whatever, was a success.”
“How?”
“Um, well, a lot of these guys aren’t that bright, so he just signs in as the guy we took out and puts up a celebration GIF and some message about how the mainstream news might cover it up, but, you know, mission accomplished, blah-blah, red pill, blah-blah.
” I lift a shoulder. “It’s pretty effective. ”
“Thank God for stupid evil people,” he says, standing with me. Like maybe he means to join us.
“Oh,” I say, looking down at my phone. “I think for you this is just a notification. I’m the one who has to go.”
He shakes his head and switches to a new message from Hedy.
Hedy: Ride in with Sy. This is a low-stakes takedown, good for observing.
I sniff. She knows I don’t love being observed.
He holds up his hands. “Guess I’m riding with you.”
“Okay.”
Fuck.
“Is this really what passes for low stakes?” Oakley asks as another bullet whizzes over our heads. He leans against me, close enough for me to see the vein in his neck pulse.
Night has fallen, we’re on a dark country road, and my body feels alive.
“Nope.”
Gosh, he smells nice. Expensive. Like a hotel lobby.
Focus, Sy.
What should have been the easy takedown of an aging Epsteiner in his country estate turned into a firefight on a stretch of abandoned two-lane somewhere outside of Leander. He’s basically hired a private army, and we were ambushed.
Makes me think of Oakley’s question about how we use the Hell_AI app as our personal mission finder.
I peek out from our hiding spot, clocking the asshole with the rifle who is firing from the passenger side of a big SUV. Got ’em.
I have one of the newer, more compact pistols, and it’s almost as fun as killing people with my bare hands. I take aim at the driver and ash his head clean off, along with part of the roof.
I examine the tiny pistol and do a shoulder shimmy. This thing is adorable as fuck.
Meanwhile, the SUV angles off the road, slow rolling into a ditch, dead grass glowing in the fractured beam of the headlights. Score.
Oakley smiles at me as he grips my free hand.
“What?” I ask while tracking the shooter. He’s in the shadows, trying to climb out of the side window. Sucker. I can see in the dark.
I take aim, but a red dot paints his back, and he turns to ash before I can get off a shot. I look over, and Maverick is pumping his fist.
Good for him.
Oakley chuckles. “I can barely make out your face, but I’ve never seen you this…happy.”
“I did say”—I can’t help my smile—“murder is totally my happy place.”
I take out a lady who thinks she’s being sneaky by climbing out the back way. Please.
She’s another Epsteiner down. They’ve gotta be in the single digits by now. I’d love to help us get the full set.
Oakley is still gripping my hand, but he’s gone quiet. I turn to check on him, but I can’t read the expression on his face.
“You okay?” I ask, patting my tactical vest for an emesis bag. You’d be surprised how many times I’ve had to offer one up. “There’s no shame in puking your first time.”
I press the bag into his hand, just as another asshole pushes the headless body of his friend into the ditch and tries to restart the SUV.
The other Wildlings are in a fight with the occupants of a second, equally large SUV, so I hop up and race toward the dumbass who doesn’t realize he’s actually stuck in that ditch.
“Be right back,” I toss over my shoulder.