Page 4 of Act of Brotherhood
“The way yer touching that case says I was right the first time. We really need to get you laid.” Gram gave a half snort. “I can bend a few rules inthatdepartment for you if it tickles yer fancy. Name yer kink and I’ll find a lass willin’ to make it happen.”
The fact the man had connections with women in low places shouldn’t have shocked Garth in the least. Gram wasn’t exactly a choirboy. Yet, somehow, his friend managed to surprise him. “Right now, I’m more concerned about youheading out into the world on yourown. I’m not sure the world is ready for you to be unsupervised,” said Garth, in reference to the fact that Gram was slotted to leave Team Eight within the month.
Gram was taking a position within the Shadow Agents’ side of PSI. That meant he’d go from being part of a team of men to a solo operative.
Garth would have taken offense to the man’s decision to go, but he knew it was time for Gram to expand his wings and try new things. The Scotsman tended to get restless if kept confined in one place too long. And he’d been Garth’s second-in-command for centuries.
He’d also been Garth’s best friend for just as long.
The Shadow Agents Division would be a good move for Gram, and it would advance his career. But, it would mean Garth was losing his right-hand man. Thankfully, he had the perfect replacement in mind. He just had to convince the bullheaded Russian werebear to accept it.
As soon as the thought entered his head, the man in question entered the room as if he’d sensed Garth thinking of him.
Rurik Romanov approached from the outer hall, his weapon over his shoulder and an annoyed look upon his face. No surprise there. The Russian was always pissed about something. It was actually funnier than it sounded.
He, like the rest of the team, was dressed head to toe in black ops wear. Though, Rurik had added a Russian flag patch to his bulletproof vest. The flag was one from the days of the U.S.S.R., or as Rurik would say, the glory days. The man also still viewed America as he had during the Cold War. Living here full-time wasn’t exactly awesome in the man’s eyes.
Garth waited for a smart-ass remark about hating the mission to fall from Rurik’s lips. Usually, he lived for every second he could complain. Not now though. The man was oddly quiet. The look on his face was grim.
Garth eyed him. “What is it?”
“There are taxidermied bears in the den and pictures of the owner on hunting expeditions, standing before dead bears and other big game, gloating. He kills our animal world brothers and sisters for sport. For show.”
Gram cast Garth a worried look. Both knew the Russian’s temper. Combine his temper with the fact he was an actual bear-shifter, and they had the makings of a problem.
A big one.
“Captain was thinking of buying it. He dinnae mind dead bad guy bits all over the place. Wonder if the stuffed next of kin sways him any?” Gram flashed a wide smile.
Rurik’s gaze whipped to Garth. “This house looks as if it belongs in Vegas. It’s so…so…overdone like Americans always do. And the owner is into stuffing animals. He himself is a shifter! He should show some respect for nature. He should—”
Gram sighed and patted Garth’s shoulder. “I got this one, Viking. Least I can do, seein’ as how I’m leaving you to your own devices soon enough.”
Before Garth could comment, Gram had stepped to Rurik. “The bag of dicks is out in the van in cuffs. Want me to take you out so you can knock him around a bit? Maybe bite him in the arse or tear his head off? I’m guid with either scenario so long as you do nae kill him in any van we have to ride back in. Captain may be fine with pieces of flesh lying about, but I do nae want to have to sit in dead guy bits all the way back to the plane. That shite starts to smell. Besides, the arsehole is a cat-shifter. None of us want to have to smell that for longer than need be.”
Rurik cracked his version of a smile, which was downright terrifying. He looked like a deranged serial killer who just gotten handed a new set of knives on his birthday. He launched into Russian, announcing the plan to be a very solid one.
Groaning, Garth shook his head. “How was that helping, Campbell?”
Gram laughed. “Och, I said Ihadit. I dinnae say I’dhelpwith it.”
“I thought it was implied,” stated Garth.
“You thought wrong, Captain.”
As captain of Team Eight, Garth was ultimately responsible for whatever his men got up to. Letting Rurik anywhere near a bad guy who made killing bears a sport would certainly lead to nothing but trouble. The Russian’s temper was notorious. There would be no hesitation on his part before he killed the guy they had in the van. A man they needed to use in order to weed out even bigger baddies. That couldn’t happen if Rurik tore him into itty-bitty bits.
Something Garth had seen Rurik do more than once when provoked.
The Russian had once pureed a bad guy. There was nothing else the act could have been called. It was legendary around the office. The cleanup team had been less than impressed, not that Garth could blame them. The actdidearn Rurik the not-so-coveted award of Asshole of the Week, as well as a new blender, compliments of the men at Division B.
Seemed like a fitting gift.
Operative Johannes “Hans” Bach joined them in the room. He took his special ops wear to the next level, adding a half-turtleneck to the mix and fashionable boots. Everything on the man was more than likely designer. He liked the finer things in life. Expensive cars, houses, clothes, and women.
Not that Garth could find much fault in the man’s taste in the opposite sex. He’d seen a few of the ladies Hans surrounded himself with. Legs that went on forever, long blonde hair, and well-rounded breasts. Garth was fairly certain the women charged a lot of money per hour. He never saw the same woman twice with the German.
Hans, like the rest of the men on Team Eight, wasn’t into the idea of commitment. They were in the primes of their immortally long lives. None of them had mates to tether them down. They had no one to answer to and no rules when it came to how they spent their free time.
