Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Cool mountain air kisses my face as I step off the plane.
The private runway stretches through the middle of an endless sea of evergreens, disappearing into towering granite cliffs that rise like ancient sentinels.
Wyoming isn’t home but it’s close enough, considering how much of my life lives at headquarters.
Voices carry across the lot as everyone splits off into different directions.
I’ve added plenty of custom work over the years.
The newest, the exhaust, growls awake, low and steady, like a tiger purring before a hunt.
My children will always hold first place in my heart of course, but this car sits second as it marked the beginning of my “me” journey after my first paycheck here at T.A.L.O.N.
The moment I remembered I existed again.
“What’s your plans?” he drawls.
My brow pulls together. “My usual. None.”
He shifts into neutral, flexing his grip on the steering wheel and shakes a loose curl from his brows. “Nyx told me about Ana’s request. I just wondered if you wanted to grab some lunch to start with?”
I stifle a laugh. “Uh huh.”
Jasper’s smile just widens in that hopeful manner of his.
Spinning on the heels of my boots, I call, “Another day!” over my shoulder as I zip my burgundy jacket.
Who does Nyx think he is discussing Ana’s meeting without me?
Figures. Jasper revs his engine as I slide into Wayne.
I answer by tapping the gas pedal. The Mustang growls, sending the birds scattering from nearby trees.
I reach across the console and hook my fingers through my round, gold-trimmed glasses, the dark lenses still toasty from the sun. “Hippie shades,” Ellie calls them.
The windows lower as I twist the black nob and crank the music. My tires screech across the pavement, drowning out the lyrics. “Oops, clutch slipped.” I adjust my rearview mirror, catching Jasper in it, still parked, shaking his head.
The private air strip leads onto a long, winding road without yellow lines.
I silently thank Scott for the gift of privacy as I shift and pick up speed, cold air flooding the cabin.
My fingers numb around the steering wheel while adrenaline burns through my veins with every climb of the speedometer.
A mule deer bounds across a distant meadow before disappearing into the pines, followed by the unmistakable silhouette of a bull moose standing knee-deep in a marsh.
Neither bothers to look up as I tear past.
The rush dies as I round the sharp corner.
I brake quickly, downshifting. Ahead, Nyx is hogging up our path at senior citizen-speed.
I lay on the horn and throw a hand out of the window, waving him forward.
Wayne sways side to side as I push him to move.
Come on. Bear leans out of the passenger window of his ‘91 Jeep Grand Wagoneer and lifts his hoodie.
He grins, flashing both teeth and the gold rings through his nipples like a delinquent cheerleader.
I groan and rev the engine in warning. Nyx keeps his hands steady on the wheel, completely unfazed.
My foot drops onto the clutch and I shift swiftly to pass the cadre.
In the rearview mirror, Bear throws his hands in the air.
Their mouths move fast enough that I can almost hear their expletives.
I laugh and turn back to the road, leaving them in a cloud of dust.
Within minutes the large iron gate ahead rises in welcome.
Falcon talons weave naturally through the bars, the only hint that this unassuming gate belongs to T.A.L.O.N.
The guard only nods in recognition as it glides open.
I circle to the back of the building where the pavement dips into the underground garage.
My reserved spot waits at the very front.
“3FB.” I ease forward and shift into reverse, giving a tap of the gas to back in.
The engine dies and the sudden silence rings in my ears.
A car lock beeps nearby. “I could literally smell your tires before I heard you at the gate.”
Cici clicks her key fob again and shuts the door of her glittering white Audi R8.
She wiggles her fingers under her chin in greeting.
We started that back in high school, referencing the Little Rascals on DVD after her mom made us change movies due to our argument of Edward versus Jacob from Twilight.
Wiggling mine in return I fall into step beside her, nodding towards Wayne.
“I’m due for another set soon anyway, just getting my money’s worth out of these while they last.”
Cici just rolls her eyes and accepts my ways, as usual. I set my luggage down before the double elevator doors, waiting our turn to enter behind the other employees.
We soon enter a bored lobby, dull and gray, with a mock receptionist desk.
It mirrors the entrance above but the illusion ends here.
The building is disguised on the outside as an old plant, but below the facade is our own personal villa.
The interior feels less like a building, and more like the heart of something big.
A vast wooden lodge lies within, timber beams stretching like ribs throughout.
We aim silently for our personal elevator to take us below. Cici eagerly taps “G1.”
We slow with a chime, the doors gliding open to reveal Greer and Jett unloading their weaponry. The desk rises from the floor, carved from a single massive log, its polished surface twisted and flowing as if shaped by time instead of tools.
Greer leans over the lobby table to the collecting agent. “I don’t want the G45, I want the G42! Three silencers next time, not two.” Tiny but mighty she is. The girl could slip through a keyhole, but her attitude makes up for her dense bones.
Jett glances at the collector apologetically. “Thank you ma’am,” he says politely. Natasha turns cherry red, returning a swift nod before quickly gathering Greer’s display. Then petite blonde scampers behind the vault as Greer groans.
“Jett,” Greer snaps. “I know you just love to melt the ladies with your cunning good looks but how about saving that for when I’m not putting the fear of God into them.”
My luggage plops to the floor as Cici slips past me clutching her invisible pearls. “Why, our humble Jett would never use his powers for such a thing.”
Jett stands just a few inches shorter than Bear, but his body build is the complete opposite.
He’s packed with sharp muscle, every inch of him as solid as the soldier he is.
Jett’s hair is cut close and intentional, tight curls kept neat and disciplined.
Good looking is an understatement. We often tease him about being hidden away from society instead of chasing a modeling career.
My other duffel, filled with my own unloaded and sheathed weapons, hits the counter with a clunk.
Most might argue it’s excessive, but I call it prepared.
My dad used to tell me that you never leave the house in a car without a coat, you never know when you might end up walking.
Same principle. Firearms. Knives. Hatchets. Crossbows. MREs. Climbing gear.
I don’t announce my choice of Glocks and sharpened daggers like the others, though.
Natasha will receive my email of demands later.
I crouch and loosen the laces of my boots, sliding my hidden blades free for sharpening.
The elevator chimes behind us as the rest of the unit enters.
My knives hit the counter a little harder than I intend as voices flood the lobby.
I still need to speak to Nyx about running our sector without me.
Sensing an opportunity with everyone in the room, I climb up on the nearest bench. “As most of you know by now, Ana has asked us to all spend time together outside of our missions. Nyx and I will sit down tonight to create a schedule and send it through our email chain.”
Bear raises his hand frantically in the air “Does this include a trust fall with benefits?”
Oomph.
Nina jabs an elbow into his ribs. “Thank you,
Florence.”
Nods of confirmation go around the room as they gather their luggage and separate to their dorms.
Nyx leans against the oak beam, boots planted like he’s ready for war. I step down from the bench, squaring my shoulders. He pushes off the beam and meets me halfway. “Is there a reason,” he says quietly, voice low and rough. “You felt the need to take charge of that little announcement?”
I stop short in front of him. “Is there a reason you went around giving an order meant for the both of us to share without speaking to me first?”
His jaw tightens. “You weren’t there.”
I snort. “That doesn’t give you sole command.”
His gaze drops briefly. “You think this is about authority?” he asks evenly.
I lift my chin, shifting my weight. “It must be since you acted without your other lead.”
Silence settles between us, heavy and immediate. I’m suddenly aware of how close he’s standing.
Close enough that I can see the faint scar along his jaw through his beard. Close enough that his voice doesn’t need volume. “I didn’t, but you sure did,” he grunts as I fold my arms. “You don’t decide on any of this alone, Florence.”
I raise my brows, gesturing to the invisible jury. “Then explain that then, with Jasper.” I snap. “If you want to play games Nyx, we can play them.” I snarl as I straighten tall, waiting for his excuse.
Nyx studies me before a devilish grin creeps out beneath his mustache.
Why I ought to... “I only relayed the information to Jasper in hopes he could ease your feelings on the matter since being social seems to be so difficult for you. You two seem so … close. I was only trying to help you, Angry Bones. As an adult I don’t play games. ”
There must be steam coming from my ears because Nyx lifts his hands, taking a step back.
His lips part to speak again but I cut him off.
“I would hope as a mature adult you would have the balls to come speak to me yourself before throwing it off on someone else. And for your information, Jasper and I are not close.”
He smirks. “Fair enough, let’s not start off on the wrong foot. If you want to let me know the appropriate time to knock on your door after your bubble bath,” Nyx snickers. “I didn’t realize grown women still enjoyed such things—then I will gather my balls to come discuss our project with you.”
I fake a yawn, jerking my leather tightly over my shoulders.
My eyes narrow into his. “And I didn’t realize old age has you already picking your genitals off the floor.
Eight p.m. Be there.” I don’t give him room to answer as I spin to the dimly lit hallway.
Cedar paneling lines the walls down into the navy plush carpet, silencing the angry stomps of my boots.
The familiar honey wooden door shines invitingly.
A mixture of daffodils and Indian paintbrushes wait neatly in a small mason jar on my mat with a card hidden in the middle.
Ana. I love you to the kingdom, Florence.
I hum at her sweet gesture … though I know this is her apology for the task at hand.