Chapter Nineteen #2
“This is where the restaurant will go,” Arrow was saying, gesturing to an open space on the sixth floor. “It will have three-hundred-sixty-degree views thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Imagine hosting clients here.”
They moved through the space, Arrow keeping up a steady stream of commentary.
He wasn’t flirting, just being a professional, and yet Bancroft was eating up his narrative as if Arrow was seducing him.
All Flint could notice was that there was nothing like the warm, affectionate mate who’d kissed Flint goodbye earlier that evening, while promising to be careful.
That’s because he’s working, Flint reminded himself. The same as you.
“And up here...” Arrow led Bancroft toward the seventh floor. “This is where it gets interesting.”
They climbed the stairs, Bancroft breathing a little harder now. Through his scope, Flint could see them emerge onto the seventh floor, backlit by construction lights. Arrow moved toward the window, positioning himself carefully to the left.
Bancroft followed, stepping into the frame.
Flint’s breathing slowed. His heart rate dropped. Everything narrowed to the shot - windage, elevation, the rise and fall of Bancroft’s chest as he panted. Flint’s finger rested against the trigger, the curve of it familiar and sure.
“The master suites on this floor are…” Arrow stopped mid-sentence, tilting his head like he’d heard something. “Hold on, did you hear that?”
Bancroft paused, listening. “Hear what?”
“I thought I heard voices downstairs.” Arrow frowned. “Security might’ve started their rounds early.”
“Should we…”
Flint squeezed the trigger.
The suppressed shot barely made a sound. Bancroft dropped, dead before he hit the ground. Through the scope, Flint watched Arrow step back, pull out his phone, and send the cleanup signal as he made his way back to the stairs.
Flint waited another thirty seconds, confirming no response from the building and that there were no unexpected complications. Then he broke down his rifle again and packed everything into his nondescript backpack.
Three blocks away, Arrow emerged from the building, tie loosened, suit jacket slung over one shoulder. He looked tired, the charming mask completely gone now. Just Flint’s mate, ready to go home.
Flint jogged down the fire escape and met him at the corner, falling into step beside him without a word. They walked in silence for a block, then two, putting distance between themselves and the site.
Finally, Arrow spoke. “What do you usually do now? After a job?”
Flint considered. “Get away clean, check in with whoever’s running cleanup, then...” He shrugged. “I find somewhere quiet so I can decompress.”
“How do you decompress?”
“Chocolate cake. Ice cream, if I can get it.”
Arrow’s mouth quirked. “That’s very specific.”
“Sweetness grounds me. It reminds me that the job’s over, and that I can relax.” Flint glanced at his mate. “Why?”
“I’m just trying to understand your process.” Arrow’s hand found his, their fingers linking naturally. “Our hotel has room service. I’m pretty sure they can handle cake and ice cream.”
Something warm settled in Flint’s chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Arrow pulled him closer as they walked. “And after you’ve decompressed, maybe I can help you relax some more. If you’re interested.”
The promise in those words made Flint’s snake hiss. He recognized the look in Arrow’s eyes - his wolf had gone hunting, and now he was finally able to drop the performance and claim what was his.
“Very interested,” Flint murmured.
They caught a cab back to their hotel, and the ride felt endless even though it was only ten minutes.
Arrow kept their hands linked the entire time, thumb stroking circles against Flint’s palm, which was grounding and reassuring all in the same go.
Flint didn’t realize how much he needed something like that after a job until he had it.
The hotel lobby was quiet, late enough that only the night staff remained. They took the elevator to the eighth floor, still not speaking, the anticipation building with each passing floor.
Arrow swiped the keycard and held the door open. Flint walked into their suite - nothing fancy, but clean and private - and placed his backpack by the closet.
“Room service first,” Arrow said firmly. “I promised you cake.”
He grabbed the menu while Flint shrugged out of his jacket, ordering chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream and coffee for himself, and then asked if they had fresh strawberries. When he hung up, he found Flint watching him with a small smile.
“What?”
“We do have strawberries back at the Alley - there’s a whole ton of them growing in there.”
“I wanted you to have a taste of home.” Arrow crossed to him, slid his hands around Flint’s waist. “Taste and scent can be very grounding.”
Flint leaned into the touch, breathing in his mate’s scent, feeling his soul settle. This close, he could see the exhaustion in Arrow’s eyes, the tension he’d been carrying all night.
“You did good tonight,” Flint said quietly. “You made it look easy.”
“It wasn’t.” Arrow pressed his forehead to Flint’s. “Pretending to be that guy again, even for a few hours...I hated it.”
“I know.”
“And watching you work, knowing you were up there with a rifle, waiting for my signal...” Arrow’s arms tightened. “It made me realize how often you’d done this alone. How many times you’ve had to get close to marks, manipulate them, before leading them to exactly where you needed them to be.”
“It’s the job.”
“I know. But I don’t have to like it.” Arrow pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “From now on, if you need someone to play bait, I’m volunteering. I want to keep you at a distance where you’re safe.”
Flint’s snake coiled, pleased by the protectiveness even as Flint himself felt the need to argue. “Arrow…”
“I know you can handle yourself. You’re an amazing sniper, but you’re also my mate, and if I can keep you from having to touch these pieces of shit, I will.”
Before Flint could respond, a knock at the door announced room service.
Arrow answered, tipped generously, and wheeled the cart inside.
He’d ordered enough chocolate cake for three people, the ice cream already starting to melt in its silver dish, and the bowl of strawberries looked fresh from the market.
Flint settled on the couch and picked up a fork. The first bite of cake melted on his tongue, rich and dark and exactly what he needed. Arrow sat beside him with his coffee, watching with undisguised affection as Flint worked through the dessert.
“Better?” Arrow asked after a few minutes.
“Getting there.” Flint offered him a strawberry. “Try one.”
Arrow bit into it, juice staining his lips. Flint watched, mesmerized, as his mate’s tongue swept out to catch the sweetness.
“Good?” Flint asked, his voice dropping.
“Very.” Arrow’s eyes darkened. “You want to finish your cake, or should I show you what else I have in mind?”
Flint set the plate aside. “I can finish the cake later. Show me.”