Page 66 of Wrath
Sloan pulled away from his embrace and looked up at him with suspicion. “You’re not going to make me run laps around the block and record my times on a spreadsheet are you?”
“Let me guess, Griffin?” A smirk lifted his lips as she nodded. “No. But I am going to start cooking our weekly family dinners again.”
“Really? You’re going back to work at Heaven?”
“No. But I’m sure they’ll let me borrow the kitchen for a bit, and if not, we can have dinner at one of our apartments. Hell, we’ve got a dozen kitchens I can use in this building.”
She gave him a small smile, wiping her nose with her wrist. “I’d like that, bras.”
“Can you show me these new suits?”
“Yeah, but you gotta try it on.”
Each battle suit used to have a different colored trim in the leather piping, that’s how they could tell each other apart. But now, each suit was the same dusty gray—the color of shadow.
“Yours is the one with the blackfukumen,” Sloan explained, pointing to the cabinet, revealing a black scarf around the mannequin’s neck. She went to hers. “Mine is yellow.”
Right. After he stripped to his boxers, he relieved the mannequin of his suit and put it on. It was too big.
Sloan, now also swimming in her suit, sighed. “I haven’t been fitted for mine either.”
Both of them looked ridiculous. The gray arms hung past their wrists. The fabric at the legs gathered around their ankles. Catching his reflection in a mirror behind the glass cabinets, Wyatt could see that, fitted right, the suit would look wicked with its Deadly Seven emblem on the breast pocket. He began to remove the surprisingly light-weight suit when a big, laborious sigh came from the direction of the workshop. Neither of them had noticed Flint arrive, but he’d been tinkering with a gadget. He unfolded himself from his bench and lumbered over. Humor bounced in his eyes as he looked down at them from over his worker’s spectacles.
“Sloan,” he said. “If you had been paying attention when Parker completed the demonstration last week, you would have known that the fit is self-adjusting. Here.” He tapped the round logo emblem on Wyatt’s chest. “AIMI, Flint here.”
“Good afternoon, Flint,” came AIMI’s voice from somewhere in the hood around Wyatt’s neck.
“Lift that over your head and you’ll hear her better. There’s an earpiece attachment,” Flint said, and then addressed AIMI. “Adjust Wyatt’s suit to fit.”
“Adjusting now.”
Immediately, air blew out of Wyatt’s arms and legs as the suit shrank around his limbs, stretching and contouring his frame like a second skin. When it was complete, he checked his reflection.Amazing.
“Now you know, Sloan,” Flint said. “You can’t complain about your suit not fitting anymore.”
“Damn Parker,” she muttered, adjusting her suit.
“Where do we put our weapons?” Wyatt asked.
Once again, Flint gave an amused look their way as he handed his screwdriver to Wyatt. “AIMI, Flint here again.”
“Hello again, Flint.”
“Wyatt’s holding a weapon he wants synced with the suit. Please instruct him on how to do this.”
“Wyatt, are you listening?”
Wyatt’s brows lifted. “Yes, AIMI.”
“Good. Hold the weapon to the suit for three-seconds.”
“Anywhere?”
“Yes.”
Wyatt pressed the screwdriver to his sleeve.
“Syncing now. Three, two, one. Your weapon is synced. You may let go.”
