Page 26 of Scorpion

Unless… Am I meant to be playing personal bodyguard then get myself up on a roof? “Uh, am I riding with you?”

His eyes brighten. “Take out the with and it’s an enthusiastic yes.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Right.

I frown.

Mathijs reaches beneath the desk and throws a backpack toward me. I catch it midair. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

He smirks all mischievously, and I narrow my eyes at him. Cautiously, I unzip the unassuming backpack and pull out the hard shell casing within.

“Code is four-nine-seven-two-six.”

I spin the dials and the latch clicks open. My eyes drift to him once more before I swallow whatever skepticism I have and open the lid, then unpack the contents.

My shoulders fall. God, I’m dramatic. I was a specialist sniper. I’ve been hired to be his sharpshooter. Of course he’s giving me a fucking rifle. Duh.

Even disassembled, the cool metal is a comforting presence in my hand. Like muscle memory, I spring into action, putting together the sniper like there’s someone holding up a timer and yelling at me to hustle.

I internally smile when the last part clicks into place.

I still got it.

Flipping the weapon over, I point it to the floor to inspect every detail of it, only to still at the serial number at the bottom. My lips part. “This is property of the US military.”

He shrugs, looking far too smug for his own good. “Perhaps.”

“How did you get this?”

“I’m resourceful.”

“It’s illegal for you to have this.”

“Darling, everything I do is illegal.” He winks. “You’ll find that it’s more fun that way.”

Shaking my head, I disassemble the weapon and return it to its case. Honestly, I expected nothing less. For some reason, I thought he’d be buying off gunrunners who do it all off the books. There’s poetic justice in pulling the finger at the government while using their guns to circulate counterfeits.

“There’s more.”

I pause just as I’m about to return the case into the bag. Sending him a questioning look, I inch the front zipper open. This motherfucker. I wave the Cheetos in the air and raise a questioning brow.

He grins like this is his best work. “In case you get hungry.”

The Capri Sun wobbles in my hand.

“It’s important that my staff stays hydrated.”

Fucking hell.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m a good employer.”

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