Page 2 of The Hard Way

“Grazi,” Odin said, followed by something in Italian I didn’t quite catch. The waiter replied in rapid Italian and left, and that was that. As ex-covert operatives, Odin and Zeus—not their real names—were fluent in most languages. I was fluent in the language of looking like I was following along. I was equally fluent in staring off into space and not really giving a shit.

“Claus,” Zeus said, pouring more champagne.

“What?” Odin shot back. He’d been on edge. Distant. His nightmares were back lately—worse than ever. I felt so helpless. We were a team, but Odin suffered alone at night, not wanting people near him because of them.

I wished he would let me near. I would suffer with him. We all would, if only he would let us.

“It’s Mr. and Mrs.Claus,” Zeus said again. He was fairly drunk, I noticed. It was actually a wonder he hadn’t pulled the foursome card with the poor waiter. “Mr. and Mr. and Mr. and Mrs.Claus.”

I sighed contentedly, wishing I could keep the snapshot of this in my mind forever. The four of us happy and safe together, vacationing in a fun and glamorous style. Not being chased. It felt too good to last.

As soon as I thought that, I banished it from my mind. I hated that thought. Mentally I whacked it over the head with a replacement thought: We were too badass not to last.

Too badass not to last, motherfuckers!

Thor moved his fingers over my ankle where I had one of our gang tattoos, a cloud and four lightning bolts. The lightning bolts were us. “I can feel it,” he said softly, tracing the edges. It was getting me kind of hot.

“Here’s me,” he said, sliding his finger around—presumably around one of the lightning bolt. “Here’s Zeus. Odin. You.”

I leaned back. “Do it again.”

He gave me an evil smile and again traced the tattoo, or at least pretended. Each of us had our other gang tattoo,You WISH we were dead, motherfuckers,on one arm.

Odin frowned at Zeus. “Claus. Fine.” Odin was from Morocco, and they really didn’t have Christmas. I realized here, though, that his frown wasn’t about Zeus drunkenly correcting his cultural knowledge. He wasn’t in a joking mood. He was in…a different kind of mood.

Gulp.

Thor slid his fingers around the very sensitive flesh of my foot. “You could kill a man with the points of these heels,” he said.

I was about to complain how much they sucked on the cobblestones, but I stopped myself. Thor had a good thing going on with my foot right now, the latest installment in his recent foot-fantasy jag. “I suppose I could,” I whispered darkly.

I could feel Odin’s eyes on me, glittering dangerously. He’d worn a fine black Italian suit tonight, not trying to work against his innate gorgeousness for once. His olive skin glowed in the candlelight, and his voice was deep and smooth. “Did I ask you a question?”

“A question? You asked me a question?” Okay, maybe I was tipsy, too. Maybe we all were…except Odin. As I reviewed the night, it came to me that he’d barely drank much at all.

And now he’d fallen into that slightly dangerous type of mood that I should really know better than to like. Even Thor looked a little intrigued. You never knew what Odin was up to.

Thor had his strong hand around my foot, three fingers shoved between the bottom of my foot and the insole of my shoe now, but Odin held me far more tightly with just that darkly glittering gaze.

He was unpredictable when he got like this, and not always in the best way. My heart began to hammer. I totally loved it.

“The question was,” he began, “do you see us as somehow avuncular? Mama and her threepapas?” He spit out the wordpapalike it was somehow distasteful.

“Is that so horrible?” I said. “Is mama and three papas so fucking awful?”

Odin tilted his head, keeping me pinned with that gaze, but it had changed. Now the gaze was like,I cannot believe you even just said that. Though Odin was far too cool to put it that way. “Oh, Isis,” he said sadly.

A bolt of excitement shot through me, up my front and down my back, settling between my legs to sizzle deliciously.

Odin flicked two fingers at Thor. “Take her into that alley down there. Bring me back her dress.” He settled his evil gaze on me, then continued, “You’ll wait for us there, in nothing but your bra and panties, Isis, shivering in the night. You’ll wait there until we’re ready for you. Because we are not your uncles or papas or three Santas in Santa suits.”

“Excuse me?” I gave him my most stunned look, setting down my glass on the worn wooden table. “What do you have against Santa?”

Odin intensified his stare. “Andher panties,andher bra.”

“Um—” I looked around. This was a business area, not a residential area; it was pretty deserted at this time of night.Still…

“Will you protest again? Should I ask for your shoes, too?” Odin continued.

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