Page 86 of Nothing More

Tenny traded an infuriating look with Ian, then looked back to her, taking a lazy drag on his cigarette. “All the more reason for us to be here. You really trust local boys and petty thugs to get the job done?”

Prince dragged a chair out with a deliberately loud scrape, and drew a flicker of a glance from Tenny, dismissive and disrespectful.

“No offense,” Tenny said.

Raven drew herself stiffly upright and folded her arms across her front – mostly to keep her shakes at bay. “In case you haven’t already guessed,” she said to Prince, “this insolent little wanker is my brother, Tennyson. And his husband, Reese.”

Tenny flicked ash onto the floor.

“I would apologize for his behavior, but since I neither raised nor trained him, I won’t take the blame for him. I’m also not overly attached to him, so you can kill him if you like. I won’t mind.”

Tenny snorted.

Raven turned to Reese, who was sitting in a chair like a normal person, his coat hung over the back of it, his fake glasses pushed up into his hair. He was, as ever, hard to read, expression placid, posture relaxed. “Reese, darling, did you not at leasttryto talk him out of this?”

A faint, puzzled groove appeared between his fair brows. “No.” Then: “I’m Sergei, his personal assistant.”

“Who doesn’t talk much, because his accent’s ass,” Tenny said.

“You’reass,” she said, jabbing a finger at him. “The scene you caused! My God, Tennyson, everyone there is going to go back to work, and home, and to their bloody book clubs and talk about the great big show Yuri the Russian Model made in front of the ‘famous manager’ Raven Blake. We’ll be lucky if we’re not on the news!”

“TMZ, more likely,” Reese said, helpfully.

“Look,” Tenny said, sighing, growing more serious. “Whatever’s going on, our skills won’t go to waste. And it was a happy coincidence I did make a scene, because that one there” – he pointed toward Toly with his cigarette – “was being conspicuous as fuck.” He hunched his shoulders and scowled in a poor, over-the-top imitation. “All anyone will remember now was some diva” – hand to his own chest – “being a brat about his new manager. No one recognized us; our faces aren’t pinned up on the wall in some mafia den, with darts being thrown at us.”

“Yet,” Prince said, and Tenny looked around at him. He produced a wooden match to light the cigar clamped between his teeth, hand cupped round the flame in what Raven suspected was a dramatic show for effect. After, he said, “If you start messing around in this, your faces will be known to the mafia – to the bratva, to be exact. That’s who we’re hunting. I’ve already got one of my boys making himself known to them. Start poking, and they’ll know you, too.”

Tenny sneered. “Do you think thebratvascares me? After the ops I’ve run?”

“Tennyson spearheaded the strike team at the Beaumont Building,” Ian explained. “And worked special ops for the British government before that.”

“MI6?” Prince asked, with only mild interest.

Tenny’s grin was aggressive, all-teeth. “More special than that.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very impressive,” Raven said. “But youdidn’t need to come.”

Tenny’s gaze returned to her, and he grew serious, suddenly; a flipped switch, a startling reminder that, yes, he was impressive. He’d killed loads of people, and would probably kill loads more in his tenure as Lean Dog. “Someone mailed you a finger and an ear. That’s a threat, no two ways, and a nasty one. Doesn’t matter if they’re after you, or scaring you to get to someone else: you can have all the mean-faced bastards flashing rings and guns and making threats that you want, but you need a pair of ghosts. You just look desperate denying it. I can go places and talk to people that no one else can.” His look dared her to deny it.

When they’d first arrived, a barman had brought in a tray of bottles and glasses. With a sigh, Raven turned to it and poured herself a generous two fingers of Irish whisky. She slugged it back in one go, other hand resting on the table edge.

“You know I’m right,” Tenny pressed.

“Yes, I know you’re right, you annoying little shit.”

He snorted.

She was angry, yes – she was angry all the time these days, because it was simpler and more tolerable than being bloody terrified – but, and maybe it was the welcome burn of the whisky settling in her belly, she felt her nerves bleeding away, too. Though a more difficult personality to wrangle, Tenny was the next best thing to Fox. With him, he brought his entire repertoire of vocal and behavioral disguises. With clothes, makeup, accents, languages, he could become anyone from anywhere, an invaluable chameleon. And if it came down to quietly killing a few select people, well, he and Reese were the boys for the job.

Prince said, “I’ll put you in contact with Kat. He’ll need to know to watch out for you.”

“That’s your man?” Tenny asked.

“Yes. My nephew. He never worked for the British government” – a wry note – “but he’s entirely capable.”

Tenny made a noncommittal sound, and Reese said, quietly chiding, “Ten.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

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