Page 79 of Wrath
“Fuck!” Wyatt shouted at the ceiling. He hated feeling like this.
“Settle down,” Flint said. Always the cool one. Always so easy going. “You lot were going at it like a family of rabid dogs. It’s a lot to take in. I’m sure Misha has just gone to get some space, and if she hasn’t, she won’t get far. We’ll catch up.”
“I’m leaving,” Parker announced. “Who’s on comms?”
“I’ll do it,” Flint offered.
Parker shot Sloan a withering stare. “Last time, Sloan. I mean it. Things are about to change around here.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She took the end of her pigtail and popped it into her mouth to suck.
Parker stepped toward Wyatt and straightened to his full towering height. “This isn’t personal, Wyatt. When you get that, I expect an apology.”
He lifted his purple battle scarf to cover his nose and mouth. Golden eyes glared with the full focus of his proud center. Parker lifted his hood without breaking eye contact. “I’m traveling the city by roof. If this all blows over quickly, we’ll redirect to provide assistance. I suggest you get into your suit in the meantime, Wyatt. You want assistance from the team, then act like you’re one of us.”
Wyatt bit off his snarky retort and stared back. It took all of his self-control to nod. Parker was right. Deep inside, Wyatt knew that.
“Good.” The challenge faded from Parker’s eyes, and then he strode out.
Mary let out a hiss of breath and pinched the bridge between her eyes. “I swear you lot will be the death of me, not some knife to the gut.”
Flint snorted, pulled the spectacles down from his nose and refocused on the small black box he was pulling apart. “But we love them.”
“Don’t remind me.” To Wyatt, her face hardened. “I’ll come with you.”
“What?” Flint’s gaze lifted.
“There’s still three of us here.” Mary walked to one of the glass cabinets housing a battle suit. It was smaller than the others, black leather and weathered. “I haven’t put this on for years, but it still fits.”
Of course it did. She hadn’t been officially working as an assassin for years, but that didn’t mean she’d let go of her skills, or her physical fitness. She trained daily and put the seven through the wringer. She just didn’t go out into the field.
“No,” Wyatt said, and Flint agreed.
“You don’t heal like the kids, Mary,” Flint said. “You know this.”
The look she sent her husband could have melted stone. “Forty years, Flint. Not one vital injury.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt,” Wyatt added, his hand moving to his scar on instinct. “We regenerate. You don’t.”
Mary’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you. I can still kick your ass.”
“Try it, and you’ll break your fist.” He was going for a laugh, trying to diffuse the situation, but Mary had none of it.
“I’m not having this conversation.” She opened her cabinet and tugged her suit down from the mannequin. She began unbuttoning her jacket. “My son needs me, I’m going.” Then she slid her don’t-fuck-with-me eyes to Sloan. “You too,mija. Suit up.”
Sloan’s mouth gaped open and the soaked ponytail strand fell from of her mouth. “But…”
“No buts.”
Sloan’s desperate gaze whipped to Wyatt. “But, I’m a liability. My reaction time is down.”
Wyatt forced his face to calm. Every second they argued, the more his panic rose. He had to go after Misha. Please let her be upstairs. “I’m not going to force you, and I’m not going to be offended if you decide not to come.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You coming?”
“But I said—”
“I know what you said, and I don’t believe it. Yes, you’re out of shape, but the first step to fighting sloth is to get up and do something. So, you’re coming with me to rescue Misha’s brother. You’re not a liability, Sloan. You’re an asset.”
“Ugh.”
