Page 40 of The Wild Charge

He waited.

“Best to leave him be. Let him cool off.”

Reese hesitated, then said, “I don’t think he will. Not if he’s alone.”

“Hm. He is good at sulking.” Fox took a long, loud sip of his soda and contemplated Reese a moment, gaze inscrutable. “What do you think?”

It was going to take more time, he thought, before he grew used to having his opinion asked. “I think – no, I know I’ve never executed such a high-profile hit before. That creates complications.”

Fox nodded. “Right, right. But I was actually talking about Tenny. What do you think about him?”

Reese’s breath caught. He was still learning, always learning, but Tenny had said that MCs didn’t allow…or, at least, didn’t smile upon…whatever it was they were doing. Men sleeping together, without a woman present. All the other Dogs were either married, or slept exclusively with women. There was Ian, but Ian wasn’t patched; didn’t fly the colors.

And Fox’s expression was, as usual, impossible to interpret. What was he asking here?

When Reese didn’t answer right away, he said, “You’re protective of him – that was made evident in Texas, when you let Luis go in favor of tending to him. When you stepped up to challenge me about him.” The ghost of a smirk toyed with his mouth, a fleeting second. “And now: you’re ready to go after him. To help him see sense? To comfort him?” His head titled the opposite way. “Or perhaps to commiserate? Maybe you agree with his take on all this.”

That pressure at the base of his throat intensified, swelled hard and tight as a fist. He took a measured sip of his drink to try and dispel it, but no such luck. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Tenny…is…he’s more emotional than me. Or you,” he added, because that was something he’d learned to be true over the past few months.

Fox’s brows lifted a fraction.

“He’s very well trained, and he’s very good at what he does – better than me. He can use accents and languages and disguises better than me.” He glanced down at the ridiculous outfit he still wore. “But when he isn’t working, he…feels a lot of things.”

Fox’s tone turned almost gentle. “What sorts of things?” He sounded, somehow, like he already knew the answer to that question – like he did when he was using interrogation to educate them.

“Anger,” Reese said, right away, frowning. If Fox knew this, then what was he getting at? “Frustration.” He hesitated again, though he knew what he was about to say was true; it felt like a betrayal, but he said, “Fear.” Because under the constant, trigger-hair anger and frustration was a wild fear that he caught in the quicksilver gleam of blue eyes. He’d seen it the night an interrogation went sideways and he’d had to take Tenny’s knife into his own hands; the night he’d kissed him, for the first time.I like your face.And Tenny had rolled away, and rejected him.

Fox took a breath, began to speak – and then nodded instead. Frowned, and drummed his fingers against his paper cup. He nodded again. “Might as well take the brat the rest of his dinner, then.”

Reese stood, collected the remnants of both their meals, bagged them, and turned for the door.

Fox said, “Reese.” A half-turn revealed that Fox’s expression had gone stony, serious. “Take care of him, yeah? He – he likes you, and God knows he won’t let me.”

The words followed Reese out the door, and the three steps to his own door. Inside, he found Tenny stretched out on the far bed, hands linked behind his head, staring mulishly up at the ceiling. He’d ditched the flannel shirt in the car, and was left now in a black t-shirt and jeans. He’d toed off his boots, socked feet flexing slightly, the only part of his body that moved, as he no doubt churned with anger on the inside.

“I brought your food,” Reese announced, lifting the bag.

Tenny grunted something noncommittal.

Their room was a mirror image of Fox’s, complete with its own cheap, two-person table. Reese unpacked the food there, and after a few long moments, and some muttered curses, Tenny got up and joined him, falling into his chair with a huff.

He lit a cigarette.

Reese caught his gaze over the flick of the lighter, and skated a pointed glance toward the small, but obvious No Smoking sign on the TV table.

“Shut up,” Tenny muttered, but tucked the cigarette away again and took an agitated bite of his now-cold burger.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Reese was hungry from the fight, still buzzing faintly with an unusual amount of post-op adrenaline, and he wished he’d ordered two sandwiches, now. As he was finishing his fries, Tenny snorted and shoved his own half-eaten order across the table to him. He hadn’t finished his Big Mac, either, Reese noticed, absently, but didn’t comment.

“Thanks,” he murmured, over the shared fries, and dragged them closer.

Tenny picked up his drink and leaned back in his chair. “What sort of bollocks did he feed you over there?” A tilt of his head toward the wall they shared with Fox was all the explanation needed. Reese could read the unasked questions:What did he say about me?And, maybe:What’s your take on it all?

Reese swallowed and licked salt off his lips. “Why do you think he said anything?”

Tenny’s eyes widened. He smirked. “Listen to you – listen to you hedging. Who are you and what have you done with that hopelessly honest tit who just blurts shit out?”

“I’m not…hedging.”

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