42. Addie
ADDIE
NELLY HOPE – ALL STAR
“So, if you’re my Donkey”—I pointed at Dek in the chair beside me, then twisted to look at Beck in his kitchen—“and you’re my ogre—”
“What?!” He choked on a sip of coffee, mug clutched like a lifeline against his chest.
Ignoring him, I looked up at Van, perched on the edge of the counter. “Does that make you my Gingerbread Man?” I asked sweetly, batting my lashes.
Van snorted, rolling his eyes. “In that scenario, I’d like to think I’m more of an Antonio Banderas, Puss in Boots type.”
Beck tossed a hand towel at his head, laughing. “You wish, asshole.”
Van retaliated by bouncing off the counter and chasing Beck through the kitchen with the twisted rag, attempting to whip him with it—at least until Beck stopped dead and thundered, “Out of my kitchen, Evander Ignatius Lockwood!”
My jaw dropped. “Ignatius?”
Dek leaned over, grinning, and whispered in my ear. “He means it, too. Van burns everything he touches in any kitchen ever.”
“I do not,” Van griped, catching that last part as he dropped into the chair across from me.
“You do, too,” Beck grumbled, throwing the towel over his left shoulder in a move that was way too hot to be casual. “Now stay out so Addie can at least get something edible into her stomach before debrief.”
And just like that, their moods collectively soured.
“What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
When nobody answered, I whirled on the one I figured would be most likely to cough up. “Deklan Pearce, if you ever want to use those piercings on me, you’ll tell me what’s going on.”
Dek spluttered, choking on his own breath as he contemplated the ramifications of holding his tongue. Predictably, he confessed within seconds. “We have a mission debrief in sixty minutes… and you have a psych eval in thirty.”
“Right. And?”
“And it’s with Dr Calper… she’s… not the nicest—”
“Her bedside manner sucks,” Van offered, trying to be helpful.
But in the end, it was Beck who laid it all out on the table. “She’s direct. Invasive. Cruel, even. They call her Doctor Scalper for a reason.”
I nodded my understanding as he continued.
“And you cannot tell her how close you came to dying last night. You cannot mention—can’t even allude to a relationship with any of us, let alone all of us. Blackwing will have you reassigned within the hour.”
“Or worse,” Van murmured, placing a hand on my knee.
“Or worse,” Beck confirmed.
“That’s all?” I looked at each of them in turn. When Beck nodded, I said, “Easy. I can keep a secret.”
“We believe you,” Beck answered with a sad tilt to his lips as he slid something across the table to land in front of me.
It was about the length of my hand, with a crosshatching design in the handle and a wicked-sharp edge carved into the spotless silver metal.
He eyed me with a stern take it, just in case expression and I nodded, testing its weight before tucking it into my boot. Trying to be nonchalant with three intense gazes drilling holes into my face, I shrugged.
“How hard could it be?”