Page 12 of Final Sins

Not exactly the current situation.

Liv poked her head out of the RV, two black sacks in hand. “We still doing this, boss?”

The flicker of understanding on Army’s face lifted her spirits. She stared him down. “Absolutely. Gentlemen. Hoods on.”

Munsinger backed away, shaking his head. “Not cool. Seriously not cool.”

Army stood his ground, though clearly he was attempting to burn her down with his laser-like stare.

“Suit yourself.” She headed for the RV.

“Wait!” Munsinger shuffled after her. “You’re supposed to get me out of here. You can’t just leave.”

Reaching the RV, she grabbed the hoods from Liv, holding them out as she whirled back to face the two men. “My game. My rules. Are you in, or out?”

Mouth open, Munsinger eyed his companion.

The man reached her in two strides, yanking the hoods from her hands.

The sheer power of him made her long to back away, but she stood her ground.

He tossed one of the hoods to her client. “Suit up, Gravy.”

7

Sparring gloves lacedtight at her wrists, Alex circled Mac in RAVEN’s state-of-the-art gym the next morning. Her breath came in short bursts, muscles burning with exertion. Her fists connected with Mac’s chest, each strike echoing through the cavernous space. The rhythmic thud of her punches formed a symphony of effort, punctuated by the soft whir of high-tech equipment surrounding them.

The more she sweated, the clearer her mind grew.

Screens flickered in the periphery of her vision, bathing the room in a cool, blue glow, totally the opposite of the heat radiating from her body as she pushed herself to the limit. She ducked Mac’s swing, the rush of air tickling her sweat-dampened hair. Her nostrils flared, catching the faint scent of leather from the training mats and the sharper tang of their shared perspiration. As she pivoted, her sneakers squeaked against the polished floor, the sound crisp in the climate-controlled air.

Mac pulled his hands back up to his jawline, readying for another punch. He was breathing almost as hard as she was. A huge victory in her book.

He caught her gaze. “You were pretty hard on Mr. Special Forces last night, girl.”

Alex’s roundhouse kick betrayed her frustration. “Not as hard as I’m gonna be.”

Mac’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not thinking about using the Castle Protocol?”

“Absolutely. The man needs to be erased.”

“But Alex?—”

She jabbed at his midsection. “Munsinger was supposed to come alone.”

“Things happen. You know that.” Mac sidestepped, then froze. “Hold up,” he whispered.

Alex whirled to find Reilly in the doorway, sleep-tousled and curious. His borrowed tech tee rode up slightly, revealing a peek of white gauze beneath the hem. Despite the ordeal he’d been through, he looked annoyingly fit and alert. The pallor that had clung to him the night before had mostly faded, leaving behind a healthy glow that had no business being on the face of a recently injured man. His eyes, sharp and inquisitive, took in the room with a practiced sweep that spoke of years of training. Alex felt a twinge of irritation at how quickly he seemed to be bouncing back.

She’d seen seasoned operatives laid low by less severe wounds, yet here he stood, looking like he’d just stepped out of a mildly inconvenient fist fight rather than a bullet-riddled escape. She strode over, ignoring the sweat trickling down her back and the unbidden thought that his resilience was, grudgingly, impressive.

Yet another reason to get the man away from RAVEN headquarters without him being able to divulge their location.

Mac untied his boxing gloves and retreated, towel in hand. “Gonna check on our client’s ID papers.”

Jason surveyed the high-tech room. “You’re not FBI. They’re not trained to fight like that. Ex-CIA?”

“... ish.” Alex slid off her gloves, tossing them on the weight bench behind her. “You’re Delta Force, with a splash of something extra on top. Black Ops. Deep black, I’m thinking.”

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