Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
The gunshot echoes within the range, I remove my headset to exchange Glocks. The digital clock in the cubical blinks six thirty, so I decide to allow myself a few more minutes before I head to pack. After the meeting with Ana and Nyx, I’m pumped now more than ever.
Having been given such short notice for this mission, we wanted to inspect the profiles immediately and discuss strategies over the map of the building.
The men listed look a lot more qualified than the last bunch we busted, each folder slimmer with records which is not a good sign in this case.
We called in Cici immediately to put her on a digital manhunt for any critical missing information we might need.
Jasper steps into view, sliding his hands into his blue jeans, peering over at my collection displayed on the table.
I smirk as I click the magazine into place. “Are you here to gawk or shoot?”
He turns without a word, and I find myself frowning as he disappears, but he returns a second later with his own safety glasses and headphones. “Ready when you are.”
Electricity surges through me. “Ladies first.” I bow, stepping away to grant him access.
His chuckle cuts off as I set my head gear into place.
Jasper reaches for a similar Glock to my own, throwing a quick wink over his shoulder before locking his feet into place.
Jasper’s gentleness melts away with each rise and fall of chest, his doe eyes zeroing in on the target ahead.
The shot snaps like thunder, causing me to jump as it shatters the quiet.
The green of his eyes shimmer with triumph as the target reveals a perfect bullseye.
“Did I scare you?” he asks, unloading the magazine carefully, then setting it back in its place on the table behind us.
I step into his empty spot. “Uh no, I was just zoned out.” Widening my stance, I shake my head to clear my thoughts.
It takes all but a second for a face from one of the files to blend into view.
Imagining this stranger this way will make the days ahead much easier.
Especially knowing what they’re doing to these wolves.
Fire ripples through my veins, my own breath falling still as death.
I pull the trigger, and a brutal bang immediately erupts through the range.
As always, a bullseye. Right through Jasper’s. Reaching to pull off my headgear, Jasper’s hands slide over my own to stop me. I whip my head around, his chest pressed to my back, arms holding me in place. I look up to question him, but he mouths. “Again.”
I struggle against him. “Let me go.” I demand.
He lifts my earmuff. “Just trust me.”
My heart hammers in my chest, black spots clouding my vision at his touch.
I tighten the grip on the gun, needing to ground myself.
Jasper lifts his hands, his calloused fingers brushing up my arms to my shoulders, pulling my frigid body into him.
Warm. Too warm. My breath becomes ragged, fight-or-flight alarms screaming throughout my body.
I grip the gun harder, raising it back to the target.
Focus. My shoulders lock as I try to picture a different culprit for the shot, the images in my brain blurring as my mind cries out over a man gripping me.
Devin’s face appears, screaming at me from the target.
His brown hair shakes against his brows as he curses, his eyes turning black with rage.
Reality flickers as Jasper’s thumbs gently massage my back in slow circles.
He eases his hands to my waist, slightly adjusting my stance.
My body betrays me, leaning into the steady wall of Jasper Hart.
I hate it. I hate that my shoulders loosen.
Hate that some part of me feels safe right now before my brain can argue differently.
The man from the file filters back onto the target as I lean into Jasper, his heartbeat steadily thumping against my back.
Words are not something I can form as my mind completely blanks; the only thing I know to do is pull this trigger.
Pop. It isn’t just a sound that comes through the barrel, but a shockwave that soars through my nerves.
My eyelids flutter rapidly; all I can do is stare.
I missed. By an inch. I never miss. I jam my elbow backward, meeting Jasper’s solid abdomen, but he doesn’t budge.
I rip the head gear off, throwing it on the ground, and whirl around to face him, still in his arms. “What was that?” I demand, anger rising in my chest.
Jasper grips my waist tighter, unfazed by the blow. “I was just helping,” he replies with amusement.
The rage swirls in me like wildfire. “I don’t need your help, Jasper.” I spit his name off my tongue as if it were poison.
He looks over my head, examining my missed shot, head tilting side to side. “Ehh, I’d say you do.”
My nostrils flare. The air is hot and fast as my chest heaves. I spread my fingers across his chest, shoving him backward.
He stumbles and throws his hands in the air laughing hysterically. “Oh, come on, Florence.”
I drop the magazine on the table with a clunk, ignoring him, and began to collect the guns to return to Natasha.
“So, you got some butterflies big deal.”
I slam my hands on the table and blow out a ragged breath. “What? I didn’t get butterflies,” The lie leaves my mouth faster than intended. “You just threw me off, adjusting me where it wasn’t needed.”
He huffs. “I beg to differ I think it was needed.” Jasper slides his hand up the side of the post, leaning in closely. “Those vultures in your chest can make room for something new.
Although he towers over me, I still straighten, balancing on my tiptoes. A sad attempt to meet him eye to eye. “Are you saying I’m dead inside?”
Jasper stares at me, brows drawn. “Dead inside? Not a chance.” He laughs. “I could feel that fire in you a second ago; you just need take a dive into something new at some point in your life Flossie. A little splash wouldn’t hurt to simmer you down.” He bats his lashes dramatically.
I roll my eyes, forcefully lifting my hand up as I rock back onto my heels. “You’d evaporate before I felt any sort of relief you think I need.”
I turn back to finish zipping up my bag.
He nods once, as if he expected nothing less. “Then I won’t ask for relief. I’ll take the heat. You’re worth it. Scorch me to ashes if you must but stop pushing me away, Florence. If you really wanted me gone you wouldn’t look at me the way you do,” he murmurs, taking a step closer.
I snort. I hate it when he’s right.
The realization settles somewhere beneath my ribs, sharp and unwelcome. He always has a habit of seeing things I work hard to hide. Things I don’t even like admitting to myself.
My pulse stumbles as the distance between us shrinks.
Slinging the bag over my shoulder I turn to face him once more. “Jasper…”
He lifts a hand, cutting me off. “You can’t bite everyone’s head off that tries to get close to you, Florence.”
Instead of backing away, Jasper takes a step forward. Then another. I retreat automatically, backing up as he follows. The door suddenly collides with my back.
Jasper slowly plants a hand beside my head, closing me in. Part of me wants to climb the freaking door. The other part notices the flecks of green buried in his eyes, and the way his freckles bunch together at the bridge of his nose, then burst outward like fireworks.
The space between us shrinks. So do my insides. Heat rolls between us as his gaze drops to my mouth. Every ounce of breath in my body vanishes; the motion is so quick I almost miss it. My stomach betrays me with a violent twist. It’s not sickening. No—it’s something warm, yet painful.
“Florence—” Jasper murmurs.
The sound of my name settles on his lips like a promise. For one impossible second, neither of us move. It’s just us. No mission. No wolves. No Greyline. My mind puddles into the possibility. What it would be like…
The realization hits me. This is a distraction. If I don’t do something now, I might do something stupid. Something stupid enough to cost me what I’ve worked so hard for.
I duck beneath his arm before my courage can fail me. The movement immediately breaks whatever spell had settled between us.
“Don’t corner me then. If you end up bleeding, that’s on you.” I spin toward the door, wrenching it open, and pause in the frame. “My heart doesn’t need butterflies Jasper. It needs exhale.”
The gym is wide awake, unlike me. The hallway lights even seem to dimly yawn as Nina and I push through the training room doors. The smell of rubber, sweat, and coffee greet us immediately. The wooden plank floors are long and scuffed from countless pivots, footwork drills, and sparring rounds.
I tug on my compression top, the cool fabric hugging irritably against my ribs.
Thankfully, my tactical pants fit high at the waist but are still flexible enough for movement.
My hair is braided back tight and high so no one can grab it, a habit I’ve never broken.
The hand wraps hung around my neck sway as I move, scouting the open arena.
Along the wall runs a full floor to ceiling mirror, bordered by a low wooden ledge and metal handrail, reflecting the hanging handbags and making the room feel almost cavernous. From the dark industrial ceiling hang five heavy black punching bags, evenly spaced, each suspended by chains.
My bare feet are tepid against the floor, my soles immediately recognizing the wear of the training room.
A body slaps against the mat as we set our bags along the bench, and Greer winces at the sound as she slurps her steaming mug.
I look up to see Bear standing over one of the larger night watch guards, the only person remotely close to his size.
The man groans and rolls to his side while Bear steps back, giving him space to breathe.
“Again,” Bear says calmly, like he hadn’t just folded the poor guy into the floor. He notices us, giving a quick short nod. “Morning Warden,” he says.
I return the nod, slipping the long white fabric from my neck and start wrapping my hands.