Page 2 of Agony

A sheen hit Beck’s eyes, but the teenager gave him a silent nod and tried to bravely smile, but it fell flat.

With one last glance, Mouse hauled ass out of the room and raced down the stairs.

Crow caught him on his way down.

Greek God of Erebus—“The personification of darkness and shadow.”

Snick.

A bullet punched a hole in the center of the perp’s forehead, sending the guy falling backward. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

Fisher snapped a glare at his partner.

Every single time they cornered a mark and made a plan to take their target out, Justice always jumped the gun.

Fisher could have brought up the fact that they had agreed on who would take the first shot. Or that they had, just last night, made a plan.

But none of that would have mattered.

Justice had a habit of taking charge on his own. And Fisher wondered why they’d gone through the trouble of making a plan in the first place when it didn’t matter in the end.

He ran his eyes over his partner. Justice was all power, deadly, and always approached most things with sheer brute force. For a guy who was pretty much low-key, quiet, and patient, Justice had his own brand of menace.

Those looking at them would say they were a perfect match. But that was not the case. They were exact opposites and not only in height. Justice with his big, powerfully muscled body at six feet four inches dwarfed his own slender frame. Of course, his slightness in no way diminished his ability to accomplish his job. What he lacked in girth he made up for in speed.

“You just couldn’t help yourself,” Fisher said, and he received a shit-eating grin that accompanied a long, stalking stride as Justice approached the dead guy.

The problem was that Fisher could have watched that sexy swagger all damned day. He shook himself. Don’t go there.

“Just this once, I wish you’d stick to the plan,” he grumbled.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Justice crouched next to the dead guy.

“I want a new partner.” That got a rise out of Justice like he knew it would.

“Not happening.” The man flipped over the perp and pulled the guy’s wallet from his back pocket.

“I have a say,” he warned.

“Keep telling yourself that, Slim.” Justice let the body roll back to the floor and pulled the ID from the mark’s wallet.

He hated nicknames that call out his size. The asshole.

“I could kill you with my pinkie.”

Justice snorted, or was that a snicker?

Damn the man.

Justice had been all up in his shit for the past two weeks and it was…irritating? Exasperating? Certainly not exhilarating.

“This isn’t our guy,” Justice muttered.

The hair on the back of Fisher’s neck stood and he dodged to the right, taking cover behind a heavy sheet of plastic that hung in the warehouse. As much good as the plastic would do against a bullet, he shifted closer to a stack of plywood. The five-foot-high stack of wood would give him time to scope out the place.

The warehouse was under new construction and Justice, who had the same thought as him, was able to roll and find cover behind a stack of supply boxes.

Pulling his silencer, Fisher crouched and gestured to Justice to come to him. The man shook his head and motioned him to come to the other side. They were always at odds… again. And when that happened, it was almost always Justice who won.

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