Page 160 of Darling Wildfire
A low rumble of a laugh escaped Atlas and I quickly looked away, dropping the bags and turning away. I physically felt the air shift as he came up behind me.
“You can look you know,” he said gruffly. “I won’t tell anyone you’re checking out a man.”
“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t,” I shrugged. “What are you—”
I turned to smirk at him but I hadn’t realized just how close he was to me and my shoulder bumped into his chest, bringing my face inches from his. My eyes dropped to his mouth as his lips curled into a rogue smile. I lost the ability to breathe. The air between us rippled with static tension.
“What am I going to do about it?” He finished the sentence I couldn’tseem to get out. “I can think of a few things.”
My lips parted, whether to say something or close the distance and kiss him, I will never know, because Knight appeared around the corner.
“What do you guys want to—oh shit, sorry,” Knight chuckled.
I stepped back to put some distance between Atlas and I like we were a pair of teenagers caught doing something we weren’t supposed to.
“My bad,” Knight went on, his grin a mile long. “Just was coming to see if you guys wanted whiskey but now I’m thinking we should take a few shots of tequila—”
Atlas laughed and strode over, punching Knight playfully in the shoulder.
“Tequila just makes me want to fight—or fuck.”
He turned and winked at me before throwing an arm around Knight’s shoulders and leading him back into the kitchen.
“Fifty-fifty—I’ll take those odds,” Knight said, his voice fading as they bantered their way out of the room.
I let out the breath I’d unintentionally been holding. I ran a hand through my hair and shrugged my shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension I felt as though my skin was too tight on my body.
God, this was confusing.
Fuck it. Since when was I ever hesitant about fucking shit up? In true Nyx fashion, I was always one to mess around and find out—ask forgiveness, not permission, that sort of thing.
Why would this be any different?
74
THERON
SALZBURG, AUSTRIA
We were standing in a warehouse in Salzburg. Weapons were strewn around tables mixed with the maps of the terrain. A disassembled AR sat in front of me as I cleaned it under the dingy lights. Nyx strode across the main floor with another man in step behind him, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
He pushed shaggy brown hair out of his eyes and looked around the room. He looked like a tech version of Bruce Wayne—tall, muscled and calculating.
“Guys, this is West Blackwood,” Nyx said, clasping the man on the shoulder. He pointed us out in turn for introductions. “That’s Atlas Sterling, Trent Knight and Theron North.”
Knight walked over and took his bag, shaking West’s hand.
“Welcome to the team,” Knight grinned.
“Thanks,” West said. “So a treasure hunt, huh? That’s a first for me.”
Before anyone could answer, I heard a motorcycle rumble to a stop outside the warehouse doors and looked over at Knight.
“She’s here,” I sighed.
A moment later the door slammed and the storm herself sauntered across the room. All black leather hugged lethal curves and aviators flashed as she pushed them to the top of her head. Dark auburn red hair fell down her back in tousled waves, messy from her helmet. She smirked around a cigarette smoking gently between her lips.
“Hello boys,” she said, extending her arms out.
