Page 65 of Kings Against the World

That’s the thing about FBI Agent Zoe Strauss—she hides behind her cold exterior at almost all times, but there’s these small glimpses of her that show other sides. Only I seem to see them, where she’s laughing at something dumb I’ve said or sharing an anecdote I suspect she rarely mentions to anybody.

Dumb little cute habits of hers, like the cup of tea she always makes before bed or how she folds her dirty clothes and neatly places them in a laundry bag.

She’s guarded and off-putting to most people.

And that’s the point. For her to put off people and use it to push them away. Something tells me she does it subconsciously, like some sort of shield to protect herself. From what or who I don’t know.

But Zoe’s been hurt bad. The more time I spend around her, the more I pick up on it.

I run down to the hotel lobby to pick up the pizza we’ve ordered and then head back up to our room. Zoe’s changed into a sports bra and booty shorts as she waits for me cross-legged on the bed.

“Finally!” she groans in relief. “They said delivery in fifteen minutes.”

I chuckle, walking over to the bed with the large pizza box. “I think the driver got lost on his way to the casino.”

“Rookie mistake.”

“Look at this bad boy. Extra cheese with pepperoni and jalapeños. New York style.”

“We’re such fat asses.” She leans forward to swipe the first slice once I’ve set the box down on the bed and propped it open. She eats pizza like I do, holding it up and letting the cheese stretch all the way out.

She catches the stringy cheese with her mouth, then notices I’m watching her with a grin.

“What?!”

I shake my head in amusement. “Nothing. Just… you eat like I do.”

“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”

“Trust me, there’s nothing insulting about it. It’s… kinda cute. Most girls pat down their pizza with a napkin or take tiny bites, especially around a man they’re seeing.”

She arches a brow. “You forget we’re not seeing each other?”

“Still undercover, aren’t we? Don’t worry, Special Agent—it’s hot that you eat like a garbage disposal. It shows you’re comfortable around me.”

“Don’t make me throw my pizza crust at you. I will do it, and believe me, I have impeccable aim.”

“I don’t doubt it. I saw the piece you were carrying the day you came to the Steel Saloon.” I join her on the bed, peeling away a slice of pizza for myself out of the box. “You said you’re an expert marksman?”

“That’s right.”

“What else you proficient on?”

I’m not sure what I’m expecting when I pose the question. I don’t know a damn thing about the FBI or their training, but I’m the weapons specialist at the MC. The armory’s my responsibility as well as making sure we’re stocked up on enough ammo.

That’s without mentioning I’m usually the first guy to break out a grenade when necessary.

Different kinds of weapons have always fascinated me. Guns, knives, explosives.

The first time I was ever arrested was for illegal possession of a firearm. I was fifteen.

Zoe swallows the bite of pizza she has and then hops off the bed to go digging for something in her luggage. At first I’m thinking she’s gonna bust out with a Sig Sauer or something like it, but instead she’s clutching a cell phone.

Her real one.

The one that belongs to Zoe Strauss,notJade Fowley.

She returns to the bed, sliding aboard on her knees, swiping her thumb on the phone screen. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she turns the phone over to me.

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