Page 4 of Hero Worship

Algerone's expression darkened. "This isn't a game, Xander. What we do is serious business, life and death. It takes more than fancy moves with a stick to prove you're ready."

The familiar rage rose sharp and hot, threatening to choke me. He was always doing this, cutting me down just when I thought I'd finally measured up. "I know that," I snapped, my voice sharper than intended. "You think I've been busting my ass in here just for fun? I've got regional championships, instructor certifications, years of documented expertise. I've been training since I could walk. I've got more practical experience than half your new recruits, but you still treat me like some amateur playing dress-up."

Valentine watched our exchange with those piercing gray eyes, like he was taking mental notes for a psychological profile. It wasunnerving, but also kind of thrilling. What did he see when he looked at me? The unhinged screw-up Algerone seemed to think I was? Or something more?

"Martial skill is only part of the equation," Algerone continued, his voice implacable as stone. "Mental discipline, tactical thinking, the ability to follow orders without question—these are all crucial."

I couldn't help the derisive snort that escaped me. "Hey, don't talk to me about discipline until you've been flogged by an Austrian leather daddy who doesn't speak a word of English." The words spilled out of me before I could stop them, a reckless jab meant to throw him off balance. I winked at Valentine, feeling a twisted thrill at the way his mouth tightened ever so slightly.

Valentine's expression remained stony, but I thought I saw the barest flicker of something in his eyes. Heat, maybe? Or was I just projecting my desperate need for daddy's approval onto yet another authority figure? Either way, it was enough to keep my smirk firmly in place as his gaze lingered a fraction too long before he looked away.

Algerone cleared his throat, yanking Valentine's attention back to him. "As I was saying," he continued, scowling at me like I was a particularly annoying fly in his imported mineral water, "Xander still has a lot to learn before he’s ready for active duty. He’s too impulsive, too undisciplined. He needs more training."

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly sprained something. "Here we go again with the whole 'Xander's not good enough' spiel," I muttered, loud enough for both of them to hear. "Apparently, being a fucking prodigy in multiple martial arts and having a body that could make a gay priest cream his cassock isn't enough for dear old DNA donor."

"With all due respect, sir," Valentine interjected, his deep, gravelly voice sliding over me like expensive bourbon, "Xander'sgot more potential than half the rookies that come into the bureau. Raw talent like that doesn't come along often. Maybe what he needs is some real-world experience—a chance to prove himself in the field."

Holy shit, was Valentine actually vouching for me? My chest tightened, my breath hitching as a giddy rush of triumph threatened to burst out of me.Play it cool, Xander. Don't lose your shit just because the DILF of your dreams thinks you have potential. Don't start planning the wedding. Don't imagine him pinning you against the wall and—

Focus. Right. Professional. I can do that.

Algerone's jaw worked, his expression a tug-of-war between reluctance and resignation. "You really think he's ready?"

"With new recruits, there's only one way to find out," Valentine replied, shrugging those deliciously broad shoulders. "Sometimes, the best way to teach a baby bird to fly is to fling him off a cliff."

I couldn't believe my ears. Was this actually happening? Was Algerone "stick-up-his-ass" Caisse-Etremont actually letting me join the super-secret vigilante club? I immediately started spinning fantasies of Valentine teaching me all kinds of things that definitely weren't in the official training manual.

"Fine," Algerone gritted out, his jaw tightening like he'd just been force-fed a spoonful of wasabi. "But since you wanted to vouch for him, he's your responsibility, Valentine. Any fuck-ups are on you."

Valentine dipped his head in a calm, collected nod, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly as though he found my sheer audacity amusing. "Understood."

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. My brain scrambled to process what this meant. This was my chance. The moment I proved I was more than just Algerone's inconvenient legacy, more thanjust a pretty face with daddy issues and an extensive collection of crop tops.

And, best of all, this meant I was going to be working with Ashley Valentine, the man who somehow managed to look like he could kill you and make you beg for it in the same breath. Though honestly? I was definitely more interested in the begging part.

My emotions ricocheted between ecstatic elation and white-hot panic. This was exactly the kind of situation my therapist had warned me about. I shouldn’t be putting myself in positions where I'd either be worshipped or rejected, with no middle ground. But fuck it. Sometimes the urge to dive headfirst into potentially catastrophic situations actually paid off, right?

"Report for duty at oh-seven hundred hours tomorrow," Algerone barked, his words sharp enough to cut glass. "And for God's sake, try not to get yourself killed on the first day."

I snapped to attention, throwing out a salute as dramatic as it was sarcastic. "Sir, yes, sir!" I chirped, unable to keep the giddiness out of my voice. "No unsanctioned shenanigans, scout's honor." The fact that I'd never been a scout was beside the point.

Algerone didn't even grace that with a response. He muttered something under his breath in French and stalked out, leaving me alone with Valentine.

And oh, how deliciously alone we were.

I turned to the man in question, my grin splitting my face. "Guess I owe you one," I said, leaning in like we were suddenly conspirators. "Must be my lucky day, having such a big, strong man go to bat for little old me."

Valentine fixed me with a look that could've frozen molten lava. "I'm not one of your little boy toys," he growled, his voice low and rough enough to send a shiver down my spine. "Andyou're not going to flutter your lashes at me and wrap me around your finger."

Ash licked his lips, and I suddenly wished he’d sink his teeth into my neck and suck a nice, dark mark there, one that would last for days.

I felt the need to poke the bear. It was reckless, maybe even stupid, but I couldn't help it. Old habits die hard, and I’d never met an authority figure I didn't want to simultaneously seduce and antagonize. "You're hot when you get all growly like that," I said, batting my lashes for good measure.

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly suffocating in the best way. The warmth radiating off him? The sheer weight of his focus? It was like standing too close to a bonfire. A really sexy bonfire that probably knew fifty ways to kill a man with his thumb.

"Listen here, Xander," he repeated, each word precise and cutting. “If we do this, you follow my rules. You listen when I tell you to jump, and you don't ask how high. You just fucking do it. Are we clear?"

The words stung more than I wanted to admit. I fought the urge to snap back with something crude until I saw… Was that challenge in his eyes?

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