Page 67 of You Don’t Kiss Your Brother's Best Friends

“Delaney.”

I froze at the sound of my last name. All the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up.

“Turn around. I know it’s you.”

The voice was nameless, faceless, but somehow familiar. Instinctually I wanted to keep walking, to pretend that none of this was happening. I was just a few steps from the main hallway. Almost home free.

But a sterner voice in the back of my mind warned me that I couldn’t. If someone knew my name it was a problem, and a very serious one at that.

And in a situation like this, serious problems always needed to be taken care of.

I turned slowly, ready for anything. Then I saw the neck tattoo, and my heart sank.

“Morris,” I said reflexively.

The man blinked twice, then took a few quick steps in my direction. Every last fiber of my being wanted to shiftimmediately into a fighting stance. Despite this, I forced my body to relax.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded.

His gaze was accusatory. Strangely however, he kept his voice low.

“I thought I saw you working in the kitchen last night,” he hissed. “I figured it couldn’t possibly be you, but then—”

“Yeah,” I admitted finally. “It’s me.”

An awkward silence settled over the hallway as we sized each other up. Morris was almost a foot shorter than me, but still in the best shape of his life. He had arms like tree trunks. Legs like tree trunks. His two bushy brows met in the middle, folded over a pair of dark, saddle-brown eyes.

“Again,” he growled angrily, “what thefuckare you doing here?”

To anyone who didn’t know him, you knew right away the man was both powerful and dangerous. And I knew him well.

“I’m here for Roman,” I admitted. “I’m here for Blight.”

Morris’s scowl deepened. Through my peripheral vision, I saw the muscles in his forearms go tight.

“I snuck in here hoping for a job.”

The lie was simple, and slipped easily from my lips. Whether or not it stuck, was still up in the air.

“A job?”

In case it didn’t, I had to be ready to break his neck.

“Do you know how hard it is out there, in the private sector?” I pressed.

He half laughed, half coughed. “For a guy like you? Please.”

“You know me, Morris,” I went on. “Think I could sit still for some cushy security job? Ride a chair as some intel analyst?” I shook my head. “No fucking way. Besides, most private firms are shit.”

Morris looked me over some more. He bit his lip and grunted.

“You always were restless, Delaney,” he spat. “Remember Sulaymaniyah?”

“Think I could ever forget?” I laughed.

“None of us could. You kept us up all night with that bullshit.”

“It saved our asses though,” I pointed out. “That drone strike happened less than an hour later. If we hadn’t gotten thrown out of that hotel…”

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