Page 11 of The Wild Charge

“So he gave you a loan,” Walsh said. “Just like that.”

“Just like that.” Smug, now.

“Waverly’s the head of Abacus?” Mercy asked.

“One of them.”

It had taken only a little more flashing of the screwdriver for Luis to offer up names. “Abacus is the people whocount,” he’d said, sounding almost proud, and not at all like a stupid young man taped to a chair.

Thirty minutes later, Walsh handed over the list of names they’d been given, and Reese watched Ghost’s brows climb to his hairline.

“This one’s a senator,” he said.

“And apparently, he’s been the liaison between Abacus and that millionaire pastor of that megachurch on TV,” Mercy said. “What’s it called? Praise Atlantic?”

“Bobby Monroe,” Ghost said, sounding shocked. “Jesus.”

“You a Bobby Monroe fan, boss?” Mercy teased.

Ghost’s expression darkened. “If I crossed the threshold of a church, it’d get struck by lightning.”

Mercy shouted with laughter.

Tenny shook out a cigarette and elbowed Reese in the ribs. “Come on.”

Reese didn’t ask where they were going, or suggest they stay; he fell into step with Tenny and, as they left through the front door, and walked to a picnic table, Reese felt an unclenching in his chest; the release of a knot of tension he hadn’t known was there.

Tenny climbed up to sit on top of the table, as was his usual approach to most tables, his feet resting below on the bench, and Reese climbed up beside him, close enough that their arms brushed every time Tenny lifted his cig and took a drag. The familiar scent of Marlboro Reds loosened the tightness in Reese’s chest another notch. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and took a few deep breaths, struggling to understand the pounding of his heart – slowing, now, thankfully.

“You weren’t expecting it,” Tenny said, and Reese glanced toward him.

The sun was down, now, but the security lights were on, limning Tenny’s elegant profile in blue-white. He took another drag and exhaled slowly through a soft, open mouth afterward, contemplative as he studied the parking lot. “The patches,” he explained. “You didn’t think you’d get them.”

Reese had been certain that it was Luis, and the interrogation, that would be occupying Tenny’s thoughts. Surprised, he said, “It hasn’t been a year.”

“No.” Tenny’s gaze slid over, bright and shark-like, assessing – in a way that Reese found as comforting as the brush of arms and the scent of smoke. No masks, now; just the glittering attentiveness of a fellow predator, now that they were alone. “You didn’t think you’d get them ever, did you?”

Stunned by the question, Reese blurted out, “No,” before he could stop to think about it, and then realized it was true. No, he hadn’t ever expected to be fully patched in.

Tenny’s next drag was sharp, and quick, and he exhaled the smoke out forcefully through his nostrils. Enough glow from the security light reached them to pick out the way a muscle leaped in his cheek. “You were happy to prospect even though you thought they’d never take you on as a full member?”

Reese didn’t answer.

“What would you have done?” Tenny sat up straighter, and flicked the last half of his cigarette away, an impatient movement. “Stayed on as a prospect forever?”

Reese knew that a more socially adept person would have taken time to consider, truly reflected on what the answer would suggest, but Reese didn’t need to think, here: he knew. “Yes.”

Tenny made a dismayed sound, and turned to face him fully, features in shadow, save his eyes, which gleamed even in the dark, like a panther’s. “You would have let them use you like that? I thought you said this was afamily?” Said mockingly.

“It is,” Reese said, and felt a now-familiar patience creep over him. This was his role; this was how they worked together. Tenny became outraged over small things, and Reese found it comforting to be the voice of reason. “But I’m not like them. I wouldn’t blame them for never patching me.”

“How could you – why would you–?”

“Where else would I go?”

He didn’t say it with any sense of desperation or doubt: he truly didn’t have anywhere else to go – nowhere he wanted to go. He’d always belonged to someone. To a handler or master. Here, with the Dogs, he had more autonomy than he’d ever imagined; he felt, sometimes, as if these handlers were more like friends. Mercy, Tango, Carter. He liked them, even Aidan, who failed to be as effective as Reese thought a team member should be. He liked Knoxville; he liked having his own room, and plenty to eat. Liked being spoken to. Liked having a chance to use his skills in a way that benefitted the people around him – his allies – his club.Hisclub, now, with all these new patches on his back.

But Tenny only grew more agitated. He huffed an indignant sound. “No, no, you’re right: you’re not like them. Not like that useless lot of beer-drinkingidiots,” he snapped, waving behind them toward the clubhouse. “You’reskilled, Reese! You could have people competing to hire you. You could run your own crew, if that’s what you wanted.”

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