Page 26 of God of War

I reply quickly.

Safe. Package secure. No tail.

I wait for his response.

“Delaney?” I call, over my shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Just checking,” I reply. This time I do hear her call me an asshole.

Another buzz.

Both packages?

He means the drugs and Delaney. The back of my neck prickles, like I’ve got eyes on me, and I scrub at the skin with my blunt nails.

Yes, I type back. I hesitate before adding: Orders?

Griff would never give a direct order to do something illegal via text. He’s too smart for that. But part of me is on edge, waiting for the bomb to drop.

How would he say it, if he did text it? Something vague, like telling me to ‘Take care of it,’ or this time would he cut the bullshit and just write, ‘Kill her’.

The phone buzzes again.

Stay put. Will update soon.

Okay. Okay, I can work with that.

My muscles relax. The sharp knife of fear dulls to something manageable.

“Ares?”

I sigh and stride back out to the living area, only to find Delaney bent over and digging in a lower cabinet. My tongue is heavy in my mouth. Delaney Jackson is not allowed to have an ass like that. She’s a scrawny little foal, just a dumb kid, and I do not find scrawny little nosy-ass kids attractive.

She straightens up and turns to me. Her mouth stretches into a beaming grin, like she’s forgotten for a minute what kind of situation she’s in.

“I found beans!” she exclaims proudly.

Something creaks open in my chest — a rusty door latch — and I see that kid again. Sweet and feisty and just needing a friend.

“Cool beans,” I reply.

She frowns, confused, and turns one of the cans over to read the label. “Well, I was thinking we could heat them up somehow.”

“No, it’s like… Y’know… Cool beans. People say that.”

“People like who?”

“It’s a thing,” I growl, feeling my face heating “Or it was. It means just… cool.”

“Cool beans?” she says, eyebrows raised questioningly. Her lip twitches. It takes me a second to realize the little bitch is making fun of me.

“Whatever, just fucking… Here.”

I yank open a drawer, find the can-opener, and slide it across the counter to her. She takes it, eyebrows still raised, and I stalk past her to the door. I flip the lock and while I’m peering out through the flimsy blinds, I hear her crack into the can. Then I hear her soft laugh.

“Cool beans,” she murmurs to herself.

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